#(but it is close to being done in terms of amount of work left)

[angel-of-the-moons]

Small Surprises Pt. 2

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Single Mother!Reader

TW/CW: None! Well, maybe Marc and Jake being shameless flirts and a little innuendo/implied sexy times but nothing is detailed!

A/N: The amount of love I've gotten for the first part just blew my mind. I'm so happy you guys loved it so much! Have this gift for the holidays!

Taglist: @katitakenway @winniethewife @thisismiku @justafandomgvrl @chrishy973 @stardream14 @moonkxit @kult6 @blackqueengold @bellaramseysbitch @kimmib13 @skarrkiie @thespookywookies @becca-rebel38 @capsiclesworldsblog @phantom-wizard @idkimherebutidk @call-me-cherrry @bluesophia @ilovepurple31 @queerponcho @dahehow @peachyrue-777 @thevintagevictorian @lemongirl5910 @howellatme @giulscomix @kinglokisqueen4ever @katitakenway

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That night, to say you were freaked out to see a nine foot tall bird guy standing in your baby girl's bedroom at almost 9pm was an understatement.

You had immediately grabbed your trusty straw broom and promptly went to beat the shit out of whatever-he-was.

Yeah, you did it mostly because he was a literal god stranger in your daughter's bedroom; but you also were partly venting the frustrations you felt at the things the boys told you Khonshu forced them to do, at times.

And damn, did it feel good. You hadn't snapped like that since you left your ex.

Once Marc recovered enough from dying of laughter at the sight of such a diminutive human wailing on a god with a fucking broom, he grabbed you and convinced you to stop before you had a stroke.

Victoria didn't seem to understand, so the two of you had to explain that Khonshu was a "friend" (In very very loose terms). That's when Marc explained what exactly Khonshu was, and...

To his credit--and despite his reputation--Khonshu was... good with Victoria. Sometimes he would loiter in your flat, and Victoria would practically glue herself to him when the boys weren't around (namely when Steven was working or Jake was busy driving others around in his car) and pester him endlessly about what Egypt was like way back when.

And he literally was a living witness to that history, so she would stare enraptured at him as he would inform her and tell her everything the experts got wrong (you figured he probably got an ego boost to have someone so enthralled in what he had to say, and hanging on his every word).

Despite the things Khonshu had forced the boys to do, despite the things he was capable of, you came to trust him with your precious baby. When you were busy working at your computer or on the phone for your work, Khonshu would keep Victoria occupied, either listening to her chatter like an excitable little squirrel over her toys and games, or she would listen to him tell her stories. You even peeked into her room and saw Khonshu (albeit half-assedly) playing with her toys with her.

You did some research into what the ancient Egyptians believed Khonshu to be, and the whole justice and protection thing checked out, but what surprised you was his association with fertility. On crescent moons it was said that Khonshu blessed, and women could conceive. So maybe him being able to connect with Victoria was in relation to that aspect of his divinity. After all, you can't make a baby without conceiving one first, right?

You had half a mind to ask if, maybe somehow Khonshu had a hand in your pregnancy (or any other god, really) but you decided to let it lie. After all, what's done is done and you had your wonderful daughter to hold and love, what did it matter if a god blessed you to get pregnant in the first place?

The boys didn't like Khonshu being so close to Victoria, fearing that maybe Khonshu was grooming her in some way, perhaps to be a follower, or even a future Moon Knight.

You however, didn't get that feeling from him. Perhaps Victoria's innocence was refreshing to him? Perhaps he merely enjoyed the absolute wonder and curiosity of a child? As long as Khonshu didn't hurt her, you felt at least comfortable with him being around her so much.

If anything, it gave a teeny bit more security to know that in addition to the boys, she had a literal god watching over her.

But the boys on the other hand were incredibly protective (and jealous) of Victoria. Khonshu as well, thankfully knew when to step back and allow the boys their time with her, without his presence. After all, he was sick of arguing with them over simple jobs and targets, and perhaps granting them this sense of normalcy would make them more compliant in the future.

Once Victoria started to call Marc daddy, Jake and Steven were then adamant about getting her to call them a similar title, but unique to themselves.

So, Jake was afterwords known as Apá, and Steven was simply Papa, or rarely "Stevie" (thanks to overhearing Donna call him that.) However, Steven began to like the nickname only when the two of you called him that, because where the two of you used it as a term of endearment, Donna often only used it to irk and annoy him.

Yeah, your newfound family was strange... But you wouldn't trade them for anything. Old bird man included (though you made it pointedly clear he was on very thin ice).

Yeah... Life was strange.

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It had been one whole year since you guys were official. And in February it would be one whole year since Victoria had appointed Marc (and of course Steven and Jake) as daddy.

At some point, you had given the boys your full consent to move in. Or at least mostly. You and Victoria had your own stuff, but when you saw just how much stuff the boys had, Marc sheepishly chuckled and told you they can still help with your bills and afford their flat just fine.

After all, with Steven's income and Jake's, it was relatively easy. Not to mention the money Marc had hidden away in case of emergencies.

But the consecutive days Victoria awoke to find your boys there? Oh, it was like Christmas morning every single time.

Speaking of holidays, learning about the ones that Marc, Steven, and Jake acknowledged was... interesting. (As was Steven's veganism, but that was a whole other tale)

One night, you had just finished sending some spreadsheets to your boss when you decided to call it quits for the night, your eyes exhausted and dry from staring at the screen for too long.

You'd closed your laptop and stood, rubbing your dried eyes while you pushed your chair from the desk. Your fingers ached and your tendons were sore from using them for so long, and you were internally groaning at the time and how dark it had become outside.

But honestly, it all melted away when you walked out of your room to see Marc holding Victoria in his arms, telling her about Hanukkah, and why they were lighting the first candle on the menorah.

He had her small tiny hand wrapped in his as they held the longest candle over the first wick, and Victoria blinked, wide-eyed as the candle flickered to life, the light shining out of your window for all who looked up to see.

You were stealthy enough to snap a few photos and snag a video of Marc having this sweet moment with your daughter, his smile illuminated by the light of the menorah; the corners of his eyes crinkled and his eyes glowing as Victoria asked him this and that, why the candle was shaped funny, why they needed to light eight other candles with the biggest one, why it was celebrated to begin with...

All three men had adapted to her curiosity remarkably quickly. Marc enjoyed teaching her things, doing things with her that he wished his parents did with him after the death of his brother.

Even his father stopped including him in special moments like these after a while. Whenever the menorah was lit, Marc remembered sitting in the pitch blackness of his room, looking out onto the streets below, seeing couples and happy families go about their holiday plans, play, and simply enjoy being around one another.

All the things Marc could no longer enjoy without his mother tainting them with her alcoholism and abuse. His father kept promising to get her help, to make her "better" but he never did.

Marc would always come home from school (or running away for a few hours or days) to the sound of a cracking belt, feeling the welts, the bruises, and even the occasional burns from cigarettes his mother never smoked. No, she wouldn't smoke them recreationally, they were merely another tool to vent her anger and abuse on poor little Marc (and of course Steven and Jake).

And his father still sat by, pretending he didn't hear the snaps, the sound of leather on skin or the crying of his now-only son, and the cruel, hateful words of his wife.

If you buried your head in the sand, you could pretend it wasn't happening at all.

Which is how his poor young mind fractured in the first place...

But no. Marc wouldn't focus on those times, not around Victoria, not with her. Marc vowed that he would be everything he never had as a child, that he would give her his all. Steven and Jake made the same oath; one they took more seriously even than their servitude to Khonshu.

Love could be stronger than fear, if you let it. And your boys were letting it be stronger, for the first time in their lives.

Love and safety.

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"So... You celebrate Christmas but don't celebrate it?" Jake had asked you curiously as he watched you fight to untangle the multi-colored lights you pulled down from the hall closet.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." You say awkwardly, looking at him with a smile on your lips. "I've never attached religious significance to most holidays, honestly. They're just... special days to celebrate for me. And it's a bit more fair to Victoria, because it's hard for her to understand that other people celebrate Christmas or--until recently anyways--Hanukkah."

Jake leaned over, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked down, "Hmmh. So you just celebrate it for the sake of it?"

"Yeah, plus Victoria loves decorating the tree every year." You sigh, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair, earning a content hum from him.

He'd decided not to grow out a mustache this time, staying clean-shaven for the time being.

He slipped his arms around your waist, his thumbs brushing your stomach idly as he watched you battle with the stubborn cables.

"...I say we toss those damn things and get new ones." He snorted. "Saves the trouble."

"I know, but Victoria loves this colour, and I can't find them anywhere else in stores this late in the season." You sigh.

"C'mon, amor, sit on the couch and I'll help undo them."

"God, what would I do without you guys?" You groan while you turn your head to kiss his cheek.

He'd pulled you around and tipped your head back to capture your lips with his, of course. Jake was a very adamant kisser; he put his lips and tongue into each second of every kiss.

Marc was gentle, content to give a long kiss comprised of the dancing of lips; Steven was a bit more chaste, he was happy to litter your entire face in sweet, soft kisses.

Your lips broke apart and you leaned in to bite his bottom lip for a moment, tugging as you pulled away in reprimand.

"C'mon, you horny devil. I want these undone before she wakes up from her nap."

Jake grinned widely as you twisted free of his hands, sauntering over to the couch with exaggerated sways of your hips.

Jake would have to ensure that Victoria was deep in sleep, tonight, for sure.

Thankfully you got the lights untangled in time for her to jump to her little feet and rush into Jake's lap--even going so far as to dart between your legs just to get to him faster!

You snickered and feigned a broken heart, sequestering yourself to the kitchen to prep lunch in mock-sadness.

You were busy wrapping the hot dogs in the doughy wrap for Victoria's lunch, and you paused your hands as you lined the tray when you heard Jake talk to Victoria; holding her up in his strong hands as he walked her around the tree, letting her wrap it in the pretty yellow lights.

That's when you heard it: he was singing to her.

It was a song you knew intimately by now: La Vida Es Luna. After she'd watched that Puss in Boots movie, she would play it on her tablet on repeat. Thanks to Jake's knowledge, he was slowly teaching her to flawlessly sing it in Spanish, like he was right now.

Their voices conjoined were sweet, even if Victoria was a little tone-deaf at some parts, and your heart throbbed as Jake would laugh with her and gently correct her pronunciations.

Love and joy.

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Steven had to work hard to earn a favor from Donna, and one of the other managers, but he'd managed to snag permission to bring Victoria to work with him as an early Christmas/Hanukkah present for her.

She was thrilled. Steven thought she was going to vibrate out of her seat on the bus with excitement.

Even if she knew that he would be working most of the time, and they were both stuck in the gift shop, Victoria was just happy to spend time with Steven and talk about their mutual obsession with ancient Egypt.

Donna at first didn't believe Steven when he told her that he was dating a single mother, she even laughed at him and said she'd get off his back if he produced said child.

And boy, seeing the look of horror and recognition on her face as he came in with a little girl dangling off his arm?

Priceless.

"Papa." Victoria asked Steven as he was stocking the front counter.

"What is it, poppet?" Steven smiled at her.

"Why does 'Shu only got the birdy skull?"

Steven always had to suppress the urge to laugh when she called him that. Khonshu wasn't one for nicknames and oh, did it bring him joy to hear him merely be demoted to "'Shu" in the eyes of a child.

"Cause in my books he's got feathers n stuffs, or sometimes he's got blue skin or somefin'."

"I don't rightly know, m'love." Steven said sweetly, booping her nose. "Maybe he thinks it makes him look cooler? Spooky, certainly."

"Mebbe." She sighed, pouting in thought. "But I 'fink it's just cause he's so old." She replied. "Cause he's older than my mommy and you."

Steven finally couldn't hold it in, and busted out into laughter, having to sit on his haunches and hold his gut as his muscles ached from his fit. Victoria tilted her head at him curiously as his laughter died down into choked gasps and he wiped away a small tear from his cheek.

"Oh, oh I just have to tell your mother that." He sighed, looking at her with a grin.

Victoria tilted her head to the other side, her lips pursing. "But papa, I'm serious."

"I know, love." He chuckled, pulling her close to kiss her forehead. "It's just so funny to hear you compare us to that bloody ol' pigeon."

"But he's not a pigeon!"

Steven snickered again as he went back to work.

It was about thirty minutes later when a group of secondary school students came pouring in from their field trip to the museum.

The girls chattering obnoxiously about some topic or another online, the boys being rambunctious. All the sudden loud noises had Steven wanting to chew his nails off, but he resisted the urge hardcore not to do it. He was succeeding, but didn't need much more effort when he looked over and saw Victoria start to squirm from her little box fort behind the counter, frowning and lip wobbling as the students so callously destroyed the organized shop Steven had painstakingly arranged (with her help, in some parts!) and made such a ruckus.

Steven could see she was close to melting down, by how her little hands reached up, one gripping at her hair and the other smacking her leg as she made little noises.

Steven immediately forgot his own discomfort and knelt down in front of her, pulling her hand gently from where it was fisted in her hair and holding it in his larger one, bringing her in to brush his nose against hers a couple of times as she whimpered.

He smiled gingerly and placed her little headphones on her head (the new ones that had stickers of toys called Squishmallows that Victoria had introduced him to. He had even started his own tiny collection of them because of how soft and adorable they were).

He grabbed her tablet and played her usual list of music. It soothed her somewhat as all sound from outside the muffs were bled out thanks to the tunes, but she was still upset at all the people suddenly being around her like buzzing insects.

As ironic as it was, Steven despised large influxes of people. Before, he was too tired to pay them any mind. After he found out about Marc and Jake and they all arranged a better fronting schedule, Steven was given more time to rest as a result and only became far more aware of how large gatherings made him uncomfortable and twitchy.

But right now Victoria was more important than himself, so he scooped her up and held her against him. He knew he could do his job of ringing up customers with one hand while the other held Victoria to comfort her. After all, his body was fit and strong and she was a tiny little thing.

He wagered he's held boxes of stuffed animals heavier than her, before.

Of course, being an attractive man with such a sweet disposition and adorable little girl on his hip... he had become a blip on the radar of the women and teen girls flitting about the shop.

Apparently having good looks and the outward appearance of a man who loved children was attractive to many.

He was mostly clueless to under-the-radar flirting, but right now two of the girls were being positively shameless in how they hung on his every word.

Their voices started to blur together as they took turns speaking, their teacher (whom talked loudly about her divorce to emphasize the fact she was indeed, single) would cut in, tapping her nails on the counter as she leaned in, smiling with her obnoxiously bright scarlet lipstick and batting her heavy mascara'd eyelashes at him.

However, these girls and women seemed to entirely disregard how uncomfortable Victoria was, or how upset she was as she sniffled and rubbed her face on his soft shirt. All that did was earn sweet coos from them as they noted how "affectionate" she was.

He gritted his teeth, wanting so badly to run away from this awkward conversation with Victoria in tow, but his need for this job kept his feet rooted to the ground. That, and his own bubbling upset that was beginning to simmer within him. He could even feel Jake's consciousness begin to float to the surface to see what was happening.

"So, you must be divorced, right?" The teacher laughed as she shoo'd away the younger girls, wanting to circle this kill for herself.

His brow twitched as he reached up to pat Victoria on her back to soothe her with his free hand. "Well, actually--"

"It must be so hard to handle her on your own!" She sighed, finally taking note of the child's discomfort.

"Did her mom leave her? Because she's special?"

Steven felt his eye twinge a bit, and his jaw clenched. "Well, no. Her mom is--"

"Oh, did she cheat or something? I can't help but notice that little thing on your hip doesn't bear any resemblance to you." She interrupted once more.

"No, Victoria isn't mine. Her mother--"

"So she did cheat?! How horrible!" The woman gasped, drawing her own conclusions as she clutched her imaginary pearls.

"I would never do that to a child! If I was her mother--"

No. Nope. That was it. Her first comment about Victoria was enough to bring his rarely seen anger to the surface, but now she was insulting the both of you. That was enough to make the tips of his ears burn.

All because she wanted to flirt with him? No, his family was off limits in any regard.

"Victoria isn't "special" as you mean her to be. She's autistic, like me." Steven huffed, frowning deeply.

The woman clapped her obnoxiously made-up lips shut as Steven continued.

"And Victoria doesn't look like me because she isn't mine. Biologically." He informed, adjusting his hold on her as she continued to rub her face on him.

"Victoria's father abandoned her and her mother before she was born. I am currently dating her mother."

The way this woman deflated filled him with such an ego boost, he finally knew how Jake felt when he'd won an argument over Khonshu. The rush was just that good.

It seemed she wasn't expecting that.

"Oh, so her mother is..."

"Dating me and happily committed." He said with a jerk of his head downwards. "Now, ma'am, do you intend to make a purchase, or do you intend to hold up the line building behind you for this till and cost me my job?"

Her face flushed scarlet and she began to sputter, scowling at Steven as he politely told her to buzz off.

"Have a nice day!" Steven called out as she walked away, her horrible perfume following alongside her.

Steven felt victorious as he gave the little girl in his arms a kiss to her forehead.

Love and loyalty.

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Victoria was happily tucked into her bed, fast asleep thanks to Khonshu regaling her with a story of one of his previous Fists fighting evil doers in the sands of the desert.

He omitted the violence, thankfully, and merely settled for a cliché "the hero scared the villain into being good" trope for the ending, as per your wishes.

He did not want that broom lodged in his eye socket again.

"So... Did Steven tell you some woman tried to hit on him?" Marc asked you as you brushed your teeth, your wonderful skin still dewy from the shower, your body clad only in a fluffy pink and blue striped towel. Christmas day was in the morning and you wanted to look somewhat presentable when you recorded the gift opening when the sun came up.

You almost choked on your toothpaste as you yanked the brush free.

"What?"

"Yeah, some teacher." Marc grinned at you as he ruffled his own damp hair from the towel. He knew your legs were still shaky from your previous romp in the steamy bathroom, but you stood strong until that subject came up.

"What did she say."

"Honestly? From what he said she was being rude. About you, about Victoria, not letting him get a word in..." Marc scoffed as he dropped his towel into his lap.

You spit out the toothpaste and aggressively rinse your mouth out, a pang of jealousy sweeping into you.

"Steven actually told this lady off."

Oh?

"He did? I have a hard time believing Steven can do that..." You murmured, looking at your reflection in the foggy mirror.

"Yeah, but he was insanely passive aggressive with it." Marc laughed, stretching his arms above his head. "Her face got soooo damn red."

You grin as he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, fingers toying with the knot in your towel.

"Hah! Serves her right for talking about my baby." You say triumphantly.

"Serves that woman right for automatically assuming we were into toxic, divorced, Holiday Barbie-looking bimbos." Marc scoffed.

You giggle as he placed kisses to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your damp skin.

"Marc Spector, you are insatiable." You sigh, raking your nails through his damp curls.

"Hey, it's Christmas Eve, don't I get to open a present early?" He murmured into your pulse.

"You're Jewish."

"And I do the work of an Egyptian god and you celebrate Christmas without the religious part." He grinned, tugging on the fluffy towel around you.

"So... do I get to unwrap my present or not?"

[nouearth]

baby-sitting for miguel o'hara.

miguel o'hara x m!reader headcanons.

part ii.

warnings: smut, perverted!miguel, stalker!miguel, top!miguel, bottom!male reader, small!male reader, weak!male reader, sir!kink, thoughts of sex, masturbation, fingering, spying, kinda dubcon (?), heavily focused on sweat and smelly musk (hehe).

notes: say hi to my first miguel story! i couldn't stop thinking about him ever since I rewatched the movie, tbh.

—at first, miguel was rather reluctant to hire you for babysitting.

—your experience was almost non-existent, if it hadn’t been for that one time you babysat your nephew… eight years ago. of course, you left that part of information out.

—but miguel deemed you trustworthy, concluded that so even before he ran a background check on you.

—and so far, he seemed correct.

—on the first day, he was just as nervous as you were, leaving his precious and sacred gift to the world with a complete stranger—it was frightening and if he had the choice, he wouldn’t have done this.

—he would tell you about the cameras installed throughout the house—mostly for the safety of gabriella’s, but your well-being was also a considerate factor in this choice. 

—you were small, and if miguel said that you looked weak, you’d probably say a questionable thank you considering how quietly submissive you were towards him.

—later that first night, miguel knew he made the right choice in picking you (out of a measly three candidates, but still). 

—you managed to get gabriella to sleep by her bedtime, one routine that miguel still hadn’t figured out yet.

—but to be fair, babies woke up and slept according to their own terms, so did they really have a bedtime other than day, afternoon, and night?

—like the first night of many, you bid him goodbye after being paid.

—goodnight, sir! i’m pretty much free all summer until my semester starts, so if you need me on stand by or something… go crazy!

—all right, I’ll keep that in mind. 

—and… thank you.

—something ignited in him when you guys spoke. it must’ve been… what, your fourth interaction together? 

—the first few have been more formal—interviewing you, introducing you to gabriella, and checking up on you with a phone call. it was limited, a thick barrier that miguel would put up between you and him because it was work—just work.

—even though he sent you off fairly quick, the interaction was long enough for him study you like he never did before. 

—he never realized how handsome you were, optimism practically seeping from your smile to your voice. it was a stark contrast to his moodiness, strained by the constant amount of stress put on by work, and furthermore by an ongoing divorce case.

—but he liked you, more than he’d like to admit.

—miguel liked the way you would tuck your shirt into your pants. a younger version of him would’ve labelled you a nerd, church boy even.

—but he found it attractive when the fabric laid on your chest with the right amount of tightness—a slightest exposure that would have him staring for an embarrassing amount of time.

—he also found it attractive when the peak of summer closed in on you.

—one day, you would show up at his doorstep in shorts.

—you preferred walking. 

—no wonder you were so radiant to him, you practically soaked in the sun every day before you two would meet.

—sorry if i look like a mess, sir- i look gross, don’t i?

—that feeling in him returned again, churned like butter as he would watch the sweat calmly roll down your aching legs.

—i’d be lying if i told you no, wouldn’t i?

—you were a mess, miguel would go on to agree to himself. not because of the way your hair sparkled in the sun as it latched onto sweat—but because of the way you were completely oblivious to how you made him feel.

—it only grew stronger with subsequent meetings.

—you can use my shower, you know. it’s gotta be uncomfortable to be sweaty in those clothes for—what—eight hours?

—no, no! I’m fine, sir. i don’t think it would be right of me to-

—well, just throwing it out there in case you needed to. 

—next time, then!

—and the next time, you would carry an extra bag of clothes because you and miguel both knew the outcome.

—it was a proud moment when miguel could smell his body wash on you when you left that night.

—sure, he probably bought the most generic brand he could find. but he has never smelt that scent on you before, so it inflated his ego to know that you’d be walking home in his usual scent.

—sleeping in his scent.

—like every other night, a shower would mark the end of miguel’s day. it was his favorite pastime—all thoughts were left behind as soon as he stepped under the shower head, letting the warm spray of water wash him of stress.

—when he stepped out, something caught his eye in the corner of the tiled floor—something blue.

—your briefs. 

—you forgot to take your briefs with you because you were rushing when you heard gabriella suddenly cry.

—it would’ve been off-putting by anyone else, but this was you.

—this was your briefs, miguel would then hold up like a trophy. a piece of fabric that would contain and cover you—touch your most vulnerable parts.

—with the current feelings miguel had for you, it would’ve been a missed opportunity if he simply threw it in the washer.

—so, he doesn’t.

—11 am. where miguel would usually find himself sleeping by this hour—he was inhaling the scent of your musk instead, scrunching your sweat-stained briefs to his face as he jerked off in bed.

—in all honestly, he was ashamed to admit that he loved the smell of your sweat.

—but miguel would nonetheless take deep whiffs, desperate to smell you in your most vulnerable state.

—and he comes at the very last second when he can.

—it wasn’t enough for him though, so miguel doesn’t waste a single second to jerk himself off again—his cum lubing his sensitive cock up with a generous amount of stickiness and slick.

—good morning, sir!

—(m/n), i thought i said that you can call me miguel?

—oh… right! sorry, that completely slipped my mind. i must’ve forgotten.

—never stop forgetting, miguel muttered to himself, fucking his heavy cock into  the depth of your briefs.

—he loved the way you called him sir. it made him feel authoriative and only fueled his want and need to protect you—you and your weak body. 

—you’d be powerless if something were to happen to you, and the chances of that happening were well in your wits since you continued to insist on walking home.

—unbeknownst to you, every night miguel would follow you in the shadows—an undisclosed bodyguard of some sort—until you reached home.

—even then, he wasn’t fully relaxed because most crimes always took place domestically.

—he would watch you from below, through your window, for quite some time, making sure your parents’ house was a danger-free zone. 

—and it wasn’t until you took your pants off and began stroking yourself through those same blue briefs, that he was finally at peace. 

—fuck... miguel stopped fucking into your briefs to take another whiff of the fabric until his nostrils stung—a mixture of you and him together now. 

—the fabric clung around miguel’s cock as his thick precum was the only glue that pieced him and the presence of you together. 

—he would think back to how you would suck on two of your fingers as you stroked yourself to nothing but lewd thoughts—your eyes tightly closed to visualize your perverted mind into reality. 

—what are you thinking about? who are you thinking about? is it me? are you thinking about my cock?

—the air in his bedroom has gotten heavier, thick with sex as he sweated under the cloud of you fingering yourself with the clumsiest yet neediest precision.

—he spat on his cock to slick it up again—because he could go on for hours—replaying back to the night where he watched you completely juxtapose with the innocent image he had of you prior.

—your hips were lifted up, legs awkwardly bent back as you dug into yourself, working your hole open deeper with one, then two, then three fingers because—miguel was right. like a spell, you were thinking of him and his cock.

—he had to be big, you were so sure of it. the fact that you strained your neck from looking up at him was a telling sign that he was, as ignorant as that was.

—and you were practically drooling at the thought of his cock stuffing you with the most fulfilling amount of pain and pleasure.

—you’d want him to be ruthless with you and show no mercy as he couldn’t care less about the way you whimpered and cried out for him to stop.

—fucking you from behind as his strong arms held you in a headlock, applying pressure that would frighten a choke out of you.

—because you were nothing but his fuck toy.

—it was all overwhelming for miguel on that night, almost too good to be true and he had to squeeze his cock through his sweats to make sure this was reality.

—you would confirm that it was, with the image of you coming all over your chest and stomach, all to the pathetic plunging of your fingers.

—and miguel does too, coming powerfully, to the point of shudders running down his broad back, into a part of your briefs where it would hold your own dick because he wants his smell to be imprinted on you, inked deep into your flesh.

—until you smelled like his.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[yamujiburo]

Do you think you could info dump all that you know about Madame Boss and Mayomoto with drawings? I would love to know more about their dynamic and about young Giovanni with baby Jessie. Maybe Delia could ask Jessie about it in a comic? Would it be sad or nostalgic? Maybe both? Like a flashback or something would be cool! Anyway, love your art and everything that you do!! ❤️

I'm not sure I can get it out in just drawings (just because it's a lot) but I have quite a few I've already done if you wanna look through my tags~ I'll also explain a bit here with some of my old comics. Long post under the cut~

Canonically, Madame Boss is the founder of Team Rocket and Giovnanni's mother. Miyamoto was one of her elite agents and Jessie's mother. They're REALLY close as evidenced by how they talk to one another (ex. Madame Boss calling Miyamoto "Miyamoto chan", Miyamoto's informal way of speaking to Madame Boss despite her being her superior, their friendly banter, etc.). Madame Boss sends Miyamoto and two other Team Rocket members on a mission to find Mew, but she and the other members never return. Miyamoto's implied to still be alive, endlessly chasing Mew with Jessie as her north star and reason to keep going. Madame Boss passes away sometime between the radio drama and before the events of the first Pokémon Movie. You can listen to the whole drama here! Madame Boss and Miyamoto are primarily in the first part, but Miyamoto pops up at the end of each of the other parts at different periods of time.

This is more where my headcanons begin! Miyamoto, whose dub name I hc being (Calamity) Jane, joined Team Rocket mostly because of her not great circumstances. She works her way up the ladder quickly and impresses Madame Boss. They become close but at the time, Miyamoto was dating a charismatic performer/con man that MB, not so subtly, doesn't approve of. She was right to not approve as this man got Miyamoto pregnant but left her before he'd known.

Madame Boss, despite her penny pinching behavior (Team Rocket wasn't that big yet), does what she can to help out Miyamoto. They had to tread carefully though, they didn't want anyone thinking there was any sort of favoritism happening.

Jessie is born, and for a little while Miyamoto keeps her and raises her the best she can. On more short term missions she'd leave her with Madame Boss, who's not super fond of children, and would have her own son Giovanni watch her (or have another grunt in Team Rocket watch her). This wasn't sustainable, so Miyamoto quickly puts Jessie in foster care (the foster care part is canon). Miyamoto would still visit her daughter whenever she could.

Ultimately, Miyamoto was a very driven, one track minded woman. She would constantly go on missions and after discovering Mew, became obsessed. It was around this time Madame Boss was starting to catch feelings for Miyamoto. Miyamoto would play along but was not nearly as invested in their relationship is Madame Boss was. Not in a malicious or leading on sort of way, she just had a job she wanted to get done

When it was time for Miyamoto to go on the mission to actually find Mew, Madame Boss, while excited at the prospect of getting her hands on a legendary Pokémon and the money that came with that, began to worry in the days leading up to the mission and tried to get Miyamoto to stay. She offered to send a different team out. To her they were disposable, but Miyamoto wasn't. Miyamoto didn't take the offer, wanting the glory and money of finding Mew for herself (but also had a daughter she wanted to get back to and be able to provide for). She leaves and goes MIA

Madame Boss is brokenhearted and after several years of Miyamoto going missing, is not able to run Team Rocket, troubled by the immense amount of guilt and heartache, and Giovanni takes over. She remains in the organization, more so operating in the background. It was rare for agents to see her out and about. But years later she sees Jessie's joined Team Rocket as a trainee. She requests Viper and Giovanni keep an eye out for her. Viper doesn't know why but does as he's told. Giovanni understands, remembering Jessie as the little toddler he'd have to take care of many years ago as well as her mother Miyamoto, who he knew was very close to his mother.

Not too long after, Madame Boss passes away but Giovanni keeps his promise and continues to keep Jessie employed.

I don't think Jessie remembers much of her mom or anything from around this time. I don't think she even remembers her mom being in Team Rocket or Giovanni babysitting her. She just remembers her mother leaving and never coming back and holds some resentment, not knowing the context of why Miyamoto disappeared.

I've thought about doing a story where Miyamoto returns in my hanamusa au but I still gotta think it out more. It starts with Miyamoto stopping by Delia's restaurant and she and Delia talk, not knowing the little connection they have via Jessie.

[sugarandspicewriting]

I am humbly requesting some headcanons for Genshin women,,, can I get Ei and Arlecchino dating hcs, I am asking for myself.

Anything for you pookie

Summary: General dating hcs for Ei and Arlecchino

Warnings: Does Scaramouche count as a warning. 828 words.

A/N: Arlecchino's section includes Scara and is set before he erased himself.

Arlecchino

You’d have to be a high ranking member of the Fatui or a harbinger to get close to her.

She’d have to come to like you on her own terms. No amount of flirting or seduction is going to get her to like you if she doesn’t already. 

She will not waste her time on you if she doesn’t see value in you. So if she does express romantic interest in you, it’s probably because your goals are closely aligned.

That being said, the way she flirts/shows affection can be vaguely threatening.

“Can you run in those shoes?” 

“What?”

“I said, can you run in those shoes? It would be horrible if something were to happen to you…”

Hey queen! What did you mean by that.

Anyways, romantic threats aside,  she’s very old fashioned in her courting rituals.

She absolutely calls it courting

SHe carefully arranges dates for the two of you. You really should be grateful she makes time for you in her busy schedule.

She enjoys inviting you to her residence in Fontaine at the hearth and drinking tea with you while chatting. 

She takes you on walks to places where she’s noticed beautiful scenery.

She keeps correspondence with you through letters when she’s away

But in the brief moments you get alone, she is open to receiving  physical affection.

She enjoys having you on her lap. To her it represents the power she holds over you. If you’re lucky she’ll allow you to do it while she’s working at her desk.

“Are you a child?” Scaramouche sneered. His face contorted into a look of disgust. Arlecchino continued writing, choosing not to dignify his statement with a response. You tore your gaze away from the iron cast  flickering fireplace from your spot on her lap.  

It wasn’t a good idea to indulge Scaramouche by replying to his insults, but the compromising position he had found you in left you feeling defensive.

“And what if I am?” you retorted, your voice steady despite the irritation bubbling within. “It’s better than being an insufferable fool.” Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more.

“If you two are quite done,” Arlecchino’s voice rang out from behind you. “I have work to finish. Do say what you came for and leave Scaramouche.”

She isn’t a conversationalist, but she’ll allow you to discuss whatever you’d like. If anyone else wanted to discuss their favorite light novel with her, she wouldn’t allow it. But you get the privilege of discussing trivial things with her. 

If she has the time, she might even read the novel herself.

A relationship with Arlecchino would be unconventional, but it’s not something she’s concerned about. If a conventional relationship is what you wanted, you’d be with someone else.

Ei

You would need to be someone who worked in Tenshukaku. Ei very rarely leaves and doesn’t have anything romantic on her mind when she does. 

Yae will probably have to help her decipher her feelings. After having spent so much time in the plane of euthymia she would have forgotten how it feels to like someone in that way.

“I cannot recall ever feeling this way about anyone else. Just simply being around them brings me great joy. I find myself wanting to experience new things with them, and add them into my definition of eternity. What does this mean?”

“Ei… you’re so childish sometimes.”

Once she stumbles her way through her confession, she likes to give you little trinkets she finds when she does leave, or even something she finds around the building.

One day she might give you a rock that reminded her of the color of your eyes, another time she might give you an exorbitantly expensive necklace she saw on one of her rare outings. 

As someone who has been alive for hundreds of years and has her sights set on eternity,she sees both of those gifts as equally valued, and expects you to see them that way as well.

It’s important for you to help her get out of her head sometimes. If she had it her way she’d keep you in Tenshukaku, or even the plane of Euthymia at all times to keep you safe. She knows that’s not what you would want, so she won’t but she worries about you.

She enjoys sharing meals with you. Every time she discovers a new treat, her first thought is to share it with you.

“Have you tried this before? It’s called Daifuku. It’s a mochi stuffed with sweet filling! Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

“Ei, I thought we were supposed to be eating dinner, not dessert.”

“Not every meal has to be particularly nutritious. The Shogun doesn’t know everything.”

“Ei!”

Being with Ei as a mortal being will be an interesting experience. She doesn’t like when things change, and she knows you won’t always be around. But she is more than happy with spending a moment in her eternity with you.

[she-is-ovarit]

I'm over the term "gender equality", and the way in which it is being used and advocated for by the mainstream, status-quo left.

"Men and women are equal" operates under the bias that men are the default standard of equality, which women are then sometimes required or expected to meet. Usually statements like "women are just as strong as men", "women are just as capable as men in sports" act as support.

It intentionally is meant to be cheered on as liberating, but the reality is it's a derivative of "I don't see race I just see people", "no race but the human race", "not disabled just differently-abled", etc. It's a form of sexism that ignores sexism. It's "I am going to ignore biological differences based on sex" when the reality is being of the female sex shapes both my material and lived reality in extremely complex ways and can have dangerous consequences when ignored.

The average woman is not is strong as a man and it often takes a deliberate amount of persistence, training, and/or testosterone injections for us to come close to or meet the male default. "The muscle strength of women indeed, is typically reported in the range of 40 to 75% of that of men". The average man could easily kill and overpower me, and if I were an athlete a man who trained equally to me would defeat me in competition.

Women are 47% more likely than men to be injured in a car accident. Cars were designed for male drivers. In 2011 was when "female" crash dummies were introduced into measuring car safety in the US, however sometimes organizations in the US and UK just used "scaled down male dummies" to test car safety for women. As this article explains, we are not scaled-down men. We have different muscle mass distribution. We have lower bone density. There are differences in vertebrae spacing. Even our body sway is different. And these differences are all crucial when it comes to injury rates in car crashes. And what about pregnant women?

We have different needs and different experiences than males and the world around is us designed with males in mind - from housing to automobiles, to entire economic systems. 85% of women will eventually be mothers. When women take maternal leave to care for a newborn while the man continues to work (or returns shortly later), he effectively advances his career and over time earns more promotions and pay. His schedule is to focus on his career growth and then come home for a few hours in the evening to play with their child (or play videogames). Mothers pay a significant wage penalty for having children from being months out of the labor market.

This list could really go on.

"Gender equality" is utilized by men to distract women from focusing on only women's rights and needs to men's rights and needs. It's used to shoehorn in arguments of "men too" and sympathizing with men on "men's mental health" (while neglecting the fact that men are overwhelmingly and in shocking numbers responsible for violence done to both sexes - and are additionally unlikely to want to work on themselves mentally).

Reframing and enfolding "violence against women", "women's rights", "male violence", "female liberation", and "women's oppression" into the vague language of "gender equality" is a deliberate act of obfuscating the power dynamics between the sexes - in which men globally exploit and oppress women on the axis of sex.

And as vague language, carves a place for people to have the opportunity to shift the responsibility and blame onto women and girls for the suffering that men wield onto their own sex.

Women and girls do have advantages and strengths over men and boys due to our biological differences - yet this, too, goes ignored under the vague concept of "gender equality" and the cultural belief system it evokes, which treats man as the mold that women should fit.

[lloydfrontera]

i don't buy that lloyd would get over his fear of the restoration of fate that quickly. he was doomed by the narrative for years and now he's supposed to shake it off in less than two weeks? absolutely not, he literally tried to kill himself in order to avoid it, ain't no fucking way he just stopped being scared about it in a couple days i don't believe it

anyway. this is my way of saying that lloyd refused to cross dimensions until he made javier swear that he would kill him with his own hands if there was even a hint of the restoration of fate starting up again. he wouldn't consider going back if it meant putting his family and home in danger again even if it meant being left behind in a place he would've rather died than stay at.

and they both know that javier would fall on his own sword before hurting lloyd but they also know lloyd would take his own life before allowing him to do that or to let his existence put his loved ones in danger again. they know lloyd doesn't really need javier to kill himself, not if he's really committed to it. he's done it before it after all.

him asking javier this is. a warning. of what he's planning to do if the restoration of fate starts again. it's his way of telling javier that he cannot promise things will be okay if he comes back. that he must be ready to lose lloyd again if necessary because lloyd won't allow anything else.

it's also maybe... an indulgence on lloyd's part. he's felt himself die so many times now. and so many of his deaths were painful or terrifying or surrounded by his enemies and sometimes all three at once.

but he remembers a sunset, a coat over his shoulders, shaky yet reliable hands holding a sword. a quick, peaceful death on his own terms, done by someone lloyd trusted with something far more important than his life.

and he knows it's selfish, he knows it's cruel, but if he has to die, for real this time, can't it be at the hands of his best friend? if he has to be killed, can't it be done by someone lloyd knows cares for him? if he has to close his eyes and never open them again, can't the last thing he ever sees be the face of the person he loves enough to die for as many times as necessary?

and javier agrees because. what else can he do. he spent so long hoping lloyd would finally trust him enough to tell him what he was planning so javier could help him in anyway he was able to and now. now lloyd is asking this of him.

he desperately doesn't want to say 'yes'. but he cannot say 'no'.

what else can he do.

what's the point of being the most powerful human on the world if he can't even protect the one person he swore to protect above all things. what's the point of him if the only thing he can do is promise to kill his best friend because he has no other way to protect everything they've worked for.

how can he promise lloyd that everything will be okay, that things will work out, that if needed javier will die for him before letting anything happen to him, when he already failed before.

what else can he do

anyway. i don't think any amount of end spoilers and confessions to the jewel of truth are enough to soothe the terrified, paranoid and utterly traumatized part inside lloyd's chest that goes tight any time anything goes even remotely wrong for a good while. it takes a couple months, maybe a few years even, before lloyd stops going cold every time there's even a hint of trouble around him. before he stops reflexively looking to javier's sword to calm himself down whenever things don't go perfectly right in every way.

it takes a while. but it does happen. and things aren't perfect, that's not how life works, but they're good and even when they aren't, lloyd can finally face them and believe they're not his fault. that his existence is not an obstacle for the happiness of the people he loves.

[stonedcoldfoxtarot]

What effect do you have on your crush?

From left to right:

Pile 1 -> Pile 2

Pile 3 -> Pile 4

Pile 1 Zazie Beetz

Tower, 4oP, 4oC, Empress, 2oP, Emperor, 9oC rev, Fool rev, 10oP, 5oW, Judgement, 6oW (Magician)

The person who was used to getting their way in relationships, being doted on and even chased by several options, had their world shaken up when they met you. This person was used to holding their cards close to their chest and acting unbothered but you entered their life and made them reconsider everything they thought they knew about love and relationships. Whatever you have done to this person has them seriously reconsidering their long-term goals and priorities when it comes to this connection. And while they might have been hesitant to give up their player ways in the past, this person is now ready to fight for this love because your connection caused them to have a major awakening to the reality of their deepest desires for their future. They see you as the ultimate prize Pile 1 and will take on the competition to win your heart, no matter what it takes.

I heard “She don’t know it yet, but that’s wifey right there” from White Chicks 🤣😩

Pile 2 Legs with boots

Hermit, 10oS rev, Judgement, 4oW, 9oS, Temperance, AoW, World (9oP)

Pile 2, you made this person feel like this is a love that is almost unreal. When you entered their life, they were in a dark or lonely place they felt they couldn’t get out of. They may have gone into a state of self-imposed isolation to get over a painful breakup or betrayal and didn't think they would ever open their heart to new love or find happiness with someone new ever again.

But you helped heal and transform this person by just being yourself and because of your presence, this person was able to close the chapter to a painful time in their life and free themselves from the pain and anxiety that held them back from truly enjoying life to the fullest. You have inspired them to work towards their hopes and goals for the future, which includes you and them being together.

Pile 3 Etch-a-Sketch

2oS, 3oP, 9oC, 5oC, Hierophant, Strength, 3oC, World, 9oS rev (10oP)

Since meeting you this person has slowly started to come out of their shell, despite being naturally stubborn, skeptical, and distrustful of others. In the past they may have been closed off to love and establishing new connections due to getting their hopes up only to be left sad and disappointed when things don’t work out. When this person cares for someone or something they tend to put their all into it but if things go south or the other party doesn’t put in the same amount of effort they tend to get discouraged and give up.

This person feels energized and uplifted when you’re around them. They feel you have opened their eyes to a world they previously feared or avoided due to anxiety and fear of rejection. They now see you as a part of their “tribe” and feel that with you by their side they can take on anything life brings.

Pile 4 When Can I See You?

2oS, 3oW rev, 10oP, 5oC, Strength, Hanged Man, 10oS, 10oC

Is your person already taken, pile 4? If yes, you might be a sneaky link or a "what if" connection that lives within someone's imagination. Whenever you are around, this person loses their train of thought and can barely think straight. Your attention makes them have thoughts of reckless abandon about leaving everything behind to run away with you for a night of unbridled passion and love making. However, they realize they would hurt a lot of people with this level of betrayal, so they hold back.

Regardless, this person still feels very moved by you and it takes a considerable amount of effort for them to hold back strong feelings of attraction and affection towards you. At times they may even refuse to look, speak or interact with you to keep their composure. Their feelings and desire for you run deep, but they know the two of you could never be so they do not pursue things further.

Thanks for reading 🔮✨

© 2023 stonedcoldfoxtarot. All rights reserved. Please do not copy, translate, edit or redistribute.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone (Part 2)

Pairing: Jim Hopper x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: This is a continuation of "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" where the reader is a secretary at the Sheriff's Department and Hopper drives her to and from work everyday. Hopper gets worried when he finds out the reader is sick and decides to take care of her. This story is the aftermath and set a few days after the reader has recovered. Set before the events of Season One of Stranger Things.

Tropes: Mutual pining, angst, fluff, grump x sunshine, age gap (reader is fresh out of college), jealousy, shy reader

Warnings: No Smut, mostly fluff, self-deprecating talk, indecisiveness, occasional cursing/a lot of cursing, Hopper is a little OOC, contains a few references to sex (I'm going to label this one mature just in case, only because of Sandra.)

Word Count: 4.7k (I'm so sorry- but not really because it's great)

There is a minimal use of (y/n). Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you."

Internal monologue is done in italics

Honestly, this is kinda self-indulgent, but absolutely necessary. If you don't like, don't read. If you do like, you're my favorite!

ENJOY!

Main Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

*********************************************************

Exactly four days later you feel 100 times better and are ready to go back to work. Hopper hadn't stopped by again, but he had called to see how you were feeling and if you needed a ride to work. You glance at your reflection in the mirror trying not to cringe at the memory of Hopper peeling you off the bathroom floor and tucking you into bed.

UGH. I can't believe he saw me like that. You groan to yourself. All stuffy, hoarse, and drippy. EW. You internally curse Marcie for bringing back the illness from work. But then you thank her.

You had spent an entire day with Jim Hopper and you weren't scared. It wasn't that you were afraid of him hurting you, but rather that you were shy and usually couldn't think of too much to say to him without blurting out how nice you thought he looked.

He made you soup, carried you to bed, and carried you to the couch. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how perfect it felt to be held against his large chest, how his arms seemed to be made to carry you. You glance at my reflection in the mirror, thinking about putting on some of Marcie's makeup.

After Jim had seen you sick, you thought that maybe today you should try harder to dress up to erase the image of your feverish and leaky self the other day. You stutter on the thought of his name. When he left you hadn't meant to say it, you just wanted to call him by his first name because what he was doing felt personal and in that moment calling him Hopper, sounded wrong.

Maybe I scared him. You snort at the thought of scaring a man almost three times your size.

You were aware that your feelings for Hopper had passed work colleagues and friends a while ago, and you had been successfully ignoring them, until he showed up like a knight in shining armor and took care of you when you were sick.

I mean the man peeled me off the bathroom floor and TALKED TO MY MOTHER.

You flinch at that though. That had been increasingly awkward when she demanded to know if you were sleeping with your boss, a question that Marcie asked you when Hopper left and she came out of the shower with a wide smirk. When you said no she then tried to convince you that he wanted to, but you shook her off and went to bed.

Bed being a relative term, because every time you closed your eyes you thought about how good it felt to be pressed against him when he carried you.

That entire day all you could think of was that it seemed like maybe he had feelings for you too, but then when you hugged him and said his name he bolted.

You sigh to yourself, applying a small amount of mascara to your lashes, that you will inevitably rub off, and spritz your tangerine perfume twice in the air before glancing one more time in the mirror and walking to the living room.

Hopper's car appears in the driveway and you practically float out the front door, smiling to him through the windshield before looking down at the ground with red cheeks.

"Hi." You smile at him while climbing up into the car with as much grace as you can muster.

"Hey." His smile is wide, but his voice sounds a little hoarse.

"Oh no are you getting sick. I'm so sorry-"

Hopper clears his throat. "It's okay I'm fine."

"Well just let me know and I can make you some chicken soup, return the favor- ya know." You smile wider moving closer to the middle of the car, to bump your knee against his.

"Yeah." Hopper leans away, making you feel like a bucket of ice water has been dropped on you.

What did I do?

"Well I made you some lemon squares anyway." You reach into your purse before pulling out the container to give it to him.

"Lemon Squares?" The corner of his lip quirks.

"Yeah I made them from scratch."

"Really?"

"Mhmm. It's what I wanted to do before I started working at the department." You place the box on the seat between you.

"Make lemon squares?"

"No. Open a bakery." You blush looking out the window of the car and thinking of all the plans you had. "Now that kinda feels like that is on the back burner for a bit, just until I get more comfortable in Hawkins."

"I didn't know you liked baking that much." He looks over at you curiously from under the brim of his hat in a way that makes you believe that he sees right through you.

"Yeah I went to a fancy schmancy baking school and everything and I was going to open a bakery where I lived, but Marcie called, said she had cheap rent here and we always said we would be roommates so-" You shrug your shoulders. "Ended up here."

"And you hate it?" Hopper offers.

"No. It's just different." You smile over at him. "I actually really like working at the department, everyone's really friendly."

He snorts. "Not everyone."

"So what? You're a little grumpy, I think it's kinda cute-" As soon as the words pass through your lips you suddenly think that you've said something wrong, because Hopper's entire body goes taunt and he looks away out the windshield. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-" You begin to apologize, blushing deeply.

You honestly hadn't meant to say it, but it was all you thought when you walked by his office door and saw him scowling down at some paperwork on his desk or when Callahan would ask him a stupid question before Hopper had his coffee.

"It's okay." Hopper's voice is tight, but he doesn't look at you in the minute that follows before he pulls into the parking lot of the station. He practically jumps from the car before he puts it in park, which you don't understand because you believe it should be you that's embarrassed. You didn’t think it would offend him so much.

Your cheeks are still burning with embarrassment as you walk behind him through the front doors, that he holds open for you, without making eye contact.

"Hey (y/n)! Good morning! I got you coffee." Callahan gestures with a full mug in his hand so enthusiastically he spills some of it on the stack of papers on the edge of your desk.

"Oh-um- thanks Callahan." Your smile is tight lipped, still too focused on what just happened in the car to give Callahan your full attention.

Callahan usually said hello before his shift and did occasionally bring you coffee. And although you thought he was sweet, he was too sweet. You preferred Hopper's grouchiness to Callahan's happy go lucky attitude, but still appreciated Callahan's positivity in the office.

Hopper growls something under his breath and sidesteps around Callahan to get to his office without looking back. Callahan follows behind him obediently asking Hopper about something that happened yesterday.

You sit down at your desk and try really hard not to cry, but every second sit there what you said and Hopper's reaction chase each other round and round in your head.

How could I be so stupid? How could I say that? He's your boss- you shouldn't be trying to get close to him.

At lunchtime you try again.

Your knock at his office door is light, but after an audible pause he tells you to come in. Hopper's eyes are focused on the stack of papers in front of him, cigarette still smoking in the ashtray, and although you know he's working, you have the sneakiest suspicion that he is faking. The Hopper before this morning usually looked up as soon as you walked in and smiled, ignoring the stack of papers on his desk no matter how tall it was- but not today, not in the aftermath of your slip-up.

"Hey I just thought I'd bring you a lemon square to go with your lunch." You smile at him, hoping that he will acknowledge your entry into the room.

"Uh-thanks." He doesn't look up.

You place it just on the edge of his desk just out of his vision, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t.  His gaze remains leveled at the paper. So you turn to go, defeated.

"Hey (y/n)-"

You whirl around, your heart surging-

"Um I'm going to be a little late tonight. Maybe you should call Marcie to come get you." He says it plainly, controlled, still looking down at the file.

"Oh-um-okay." Your heart breaks inside your chest and tears begin to bubble up in your eyes, but you hold back the tears. "That's alright I hope you don't have to stay too late."

You practically run to the bathroom before the tears begin to trickle down your cheeks, soft sobs shaking your shoulders. Why did I do this? Why couldn't I have kept my big mouth shut? Pretend that I didn't have feelings? The mascara you applied that morning blurs and stains the soft skin below your eyes. You spend another 8 minutes in the bathroom trying to remove it and finally when you emerge from the bathroom with bloodshot eyes and bright pink skin, your day somehow gets worse.

Sandra breezes past your desk as soon as you sit down. Damn Sandra. You have to clench your teeth together to avoid the slew of curses that bite against the tip of your tongue.

"Hopper." She purrs sauntering over to catch Hopper just as he leaves his office. She's wearing a dark red dress that hugs her every curve and runs one hand through her perfectly curled black hair where two plastic earrings tangle into the strands.

What person wears a dress that revealing to work? You think to yourself, watching Sandra flash her perfectly tan skin when she pulls off her sweater, before leaning into Jim with a sickening smile.

You force your eyes onto a piece of paper on my desk, but the words all blur together into a haze of black and white.

Sandra was in essence... everything you wanted to be. She was confident, sexy, and beautiful. She also wasn't afraid to say what was on her mind, that became increasingly apparent when Hopper first started driving you to and from work and she cornered you in the bathroom.

*4 Months Ago*

"So you and the chief are getting cozy-" She was waiting at one of the vanity mirrors for you to come out of a stall while applying a fresh coat of dark red lipstick.

"Um I don't think we-" You had practically jumped when she appeared outside your stall door. Sandra hadn't said two words to you since you started working at the department. She worked in the call room and answered the phone, while you worked in the main lobby with Flo.

"Look Honey I’m gonna give you some advice, because I’ve seen this happen more than once.”  She makes eye contact with you, still swiping the dark colored stick back and forth, purposely plumping out her lips. “Sure he seems interested in you now, maybe he takes you out once or twice, laughs at your jokes, pays for dinner, is just the right amount of charming- Jim Hopper is the smoothest man who knows how to work any woman under him.” She pauses with a sigh. “He’ll screw your brains out- and it will be incredible, mind blowing-but at the end of the day Hopper is damaged goods. Can’t get it together enough to stay with a woman for more than one night, of course we seem to be closer than the others…” She trails off proudly with a shrug, before putting her lipstick in her purse and taking out a tube of mascara. “But I’m warning you now, you can’t have a relationship with him. He's only good for one thing and definitely not boyfriend material. Anything he says to you before he gets you in bed, is just a lie, broken promises. I've seen it time and time again, all these women who think they can change him. But no. He doesn't change. All that shit with his daughter and his ex-wife messed him up for all of us, which really is a shame because damn I’d like to have him all the time.” Sandra sighs mournfully.

She doesn’t even care what he’s been through, doesn’t even care what he feels. You stand there in stunned silence, trying to stop the all encompassing rage that surges up with her words. How dare she simplify him to just a piece of meat? Jim Hopper is one of the most kind, compassionate men that I've ever met. And yes maybe at the beginning he ignored me, which I've got no idea why, but he's not just something to be used for sex, he's a person. And that's horrible to act like what he went through was nothing. He lost his daughter to CANCER and then he had a divorce. Who wouldn’t be effected by that? I see everyday how it hurts him.

“But if he’s going to be with anyone it’s me. Because we make sense. Just wanted to give you a heads up.” She says swiping her right eye one last time before throwing the mascara in her purse. “He’s definitely not going to want a relationship with someone half his age with no experience. And he always comes back to me.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Your jaw is clenched together, holding yourself back from throwing down with a coworker. But oh how she deserves it.

“Good.” Sandra winks. “Bye sugar.”

*Present Time*

You flash out of the memory before grabbing a pen from one the cups on your desk so you can pretend to be writing something when in reality you're shamelessly eavesdropping on them and  trying not to notice how Sandra is dragging her claw-like hand across the front of his chest.

"Hey Sandra." Hopper tips his hat with his free hand. You can hear the smile in his voice.

"I was hoping that tonight maybe you could come over? We just had such a nice time the other night and I was thinking that we should do that more often." You don't miss Sandra glance over at you when she says it.

You suddenly wonder how accurately you can throw the pen.

"Uh well." He chuckles.

"You didn't have a good time? Well it sounded like you were having a good time." She presses again, this time sending a flirty smile at him.

I'm going to throw up.

Honestly you had thought about being with Hopper once-well- more than once, but it wasn't just to reduce him to sex. It was because you loved him and you wanted him to just-. You watch the way he looks at Sandra, smiling down at her. You wanted him to look at you the way he looks at her.

He hesitates. "I did."

Hopper glances over Sandra's head at you, catching your gaze, but you immediately drop your eyes, blushing at getting caught. A sickening feeling fills your chest imagining them together, thinking of how he makes her feel, how she makes him feel.

Maybe he really likes her and he's just afraid to tell her or is afraid of the commitment. You consider sadly. I need to just get over this, move on. It’s only going to make working here harder. Plus he’s my boss. Might as well set boundaries… You think about the other day when he took care of you, held you close to his chest so tightly it didn't seem like he was just being friendly. He made me soup, tucked me into bed, carried me to my bed. How can he go from that to barely looking at me? Hot to cold so quickly that I feel like I'm covered in frostbite and sunburnt at the same time?

"Good. I'm free at 6 and I stay up late. Bring some more of that wine, you know how it makes me do crazy things." She winks, before kissing Hopper on the cheek and sauntering away, but not before glancing at you one more time with a smirk.

And there's the answer. He'd rather spend time with her.

You see her pouting her lips in the mirror again, making you feel inferior with just a look. Maybe that's why he doesn't like me, because I'm too young? Inexperienced? It's not like I'm a child. It wouldn't be that weird to date me would it?

You watch him turn and walk back to his office avoiding eye contact with you the whole way, making something tug at your heart as he does. Will today be the last day he drives me to work? All because I said that I thought it was cute that he was grumpy? Maybe this is because he's worried I have feelings for him and he just wants to be friends, which he's right I do, but I wish that he would just tell me, not avoid me!

The next few hours trickle by in a haze while you sit at your desk and try to pretend your heart isn’t broken. Hopper passes exactly twice and both times he doesn’t acknowledge you.

Just like old times I guess. You think about the two months before he started driving you home, when you were still relatively new and he avoiding speaking to you and would give you a tight-lipped smile occasionally that never reached his eyes, for a reason he never explained. You thought it was because he hated you, but it changed when he started driving you home and you hadn't ever asked.

When it’s finally time for you to go you don’t bother to call Marcie, instead you just begin to walk the 1.23 miles home and of course as soon as you leave, it begins to rain.

Exactly 30 seconds after you leave the station you're soaked to the bone and shivering, but you refuse to go back to the department.

I can’t go back and see him again. Everyone else has probably left by now anyway and the last thing I want to do is catch him sneaking off to Sandra's.  He probably wasn't staying late at work, just needed an excuse not to take me home ever again.

Tears fall from your eyes blending with the rain that trickles down your cheeks, making your hair tangle in a wet mat at the nape of your neck, but you don't care. Within 30 minutes I'll be home curled up on the couch after a hot shower, bawling my eyes out properly while Marcie hands me a pint of ice cream from the freezer. You raise your eyes to look at the desolate sidewalk ahead. Just a little longer.

Cars pass you along the road, illuminating your body for a moment before vanishing into the darkness beyond. Each yellowed streetlight stands like a beacon, but all they do is illuminate the raindrops that swirl from the heavens and soak through your thick sweater, that you guessed smelled like a wet dog right about now.

Appropriate because I probably look like a drenched poodle.

Finally a car races past you so fast you feel the wind tear across your body, but instead of vanishing into the night, the car screeches to a halt in the road. The driver shuts off the vehicle, and you watch them maneuver their large figure from the car, before stomping around to the sidewalk where you are walking with your arms wrapped around yourself.

Fear trickles down your back and you think about running. Your mother had sent you countless bottles of pepper spray and despite Marcie's incessant pleas for the two of you to take the only self-defense class in Hawkins, you weren't prepared for something like this. The pepper spray she sent was still on your desk and the self-dense class never seemed to be at the right time for you both to fit it into your schedule. Right about now you wished that you made time.

You prepare to run, when finally the street light above the imposing figure catches the face of the driver beneath his hat and you realize that it's Hopper. He towers over you, glaring down from under his hat.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? I TOLD YOU TO CALL MARCIE TO PICK YOU UP!" He roars dark eyes flashing in the night.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE OUT HERE WALKING IN THE RAIN ALONE! DAMN IT (Y/N) YOU WERE JUST SICK-"

"Just leave me alone Hopper. Or better yet just get in your car and go to Sandra’s." You shout back, finding your voice.

Who did he think he was? My dad? He drives up out of nowhere, scares the crap out of me, and then he starts yelling at me for no good reason.

"Sandra?" He looks taken aback.

And then whatever shred of self-control you have crumbles.

Tears pour from your eyes like a flood as you curl further into yourself. "I don't understand why you're so mad at me. If this is about what I said in the car, I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you I just-" Another sob chokes your next words. “Please just forget it happened so we can just go back to being friends. I don't want to go back to the way things were before you started giving me a ride. I like talking to you and riding with you and I don't understand what I did to make you hate me so much in the beginning, but please-"

Hopper closes the distance between you so quickly that you don't have time to move away in surprise. His hands go around your waist lifting you up in his arms so he doesn't have to bend down to kiss you. His lips moving furiously against yours, wet from the rain but just as soft as you imagined, mustache tickling your upper lip in a maddening dance that makes you sigh into his mouth.

Your hands gently catch the sides of his face looking into his wide eyes. He's looking at you like he can't believe what he just did.

He looks afraid.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that.” He begins to lean away, hands lowering you to the ground.

You pull him against you and kiss him as deeply as you can, trying to tell him that you want this too, that you want him. "Please don't push me away again." Your words are exhaled in one breath, tears still falling from your eyes.

"I just-" Jim's eyes are wide, but he presses his forehead against yours with a sigh. "I don't want to do this to you, (y/n). I can't-"

"What are you talking about?" Your thumbs rub against his cheekbones, feeling the scratch of his stubble against your soft fingertips.

"I tried to stay away from you because you're so different than me.” He grumbles lowly. “That’s why I didn’t talk to you when you first started workin' at the department.” Hopper looks ashamed of himself, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you. "I didn't want to like you like that."

“We’re not that different.”

“We are. You're like the sun (y/n). You brighten a room just by walking in it, hell, just by saying your name.” His eyebrows furrow together and he sighs again. “And I'm just an old grump. I don't want to ruin you or make you-"

You kiss him as softly as you can and he kisses you back confirming that he really doesn't want to push you away. "Jim, you're not going to ruin me. And yes you're grumpy but I think it's cute."

"I've heard." Hopper smiles, but then he frowns when he remembers what happened earlier. "I'm so sorry about today. When you said that in the car the only thing I thought about was how it couldn’t work  and it made me think about you and Callahan. And then he was standing there with your coffee-“

“Jim, there is no me and Callahan. The only thing I want is you and me.” Your forehead leans against his. “You might see yourself as some giant grumpy grizzly bear, but you’re my giant grumpy grizzly bear.”

He snorts, but this time leans towards you to capture his lips against yours, wiping away the cold chill of the rain to set your body ablaze.

An odd look crosses his face as he remembers what you said moments ago. "Please don't be jealous of Sandra. I know she's a lot sometimes. And yes we've spent some time together in the past-" Hopper clears his throat, ashamed. "But the only reason why I kept seeing her was because I was trying to get you out of my head, because I didn't think that you would ever-"

"Jim." You whisper. "You don't have to explain anything-"

"No I do. Flo told me what she said to you in the bathroom."

"What? How did she-" Your cheeks flush, suddenly embarrassed that he had to hear any of the horrible things that Sandra said about him.

"I told Sandra to leave you alone, but I don’t think she listened to me. She's oddly possessive, but we haven't spent half as much time together as she led you to believe-"

"Jim-"

He brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, looking deeply into your eyes. "I promise that the way I feel about her is only a fraction of what I feel about you. And I know that my reputation in town is-" Hopper clears his throat again with red cheeks. "But I don't just want one night with you (y/n), I want more. I haven't wanted more for a long time and that scared me at first, but if you'll be patient with me I'd like to make this work. And I'm sorry that I made you believe that I hated you, when it's the complete opposite."

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t think so lowly of yourself. What Sandra said about you, it's not true. You're more that what she thinks, Jim. She only sees what she wants to, but I know you. You're kind, generous, strong, and you care so much for everyone that I wonder how you give so much of yourself without asking for anything in return.” You move your hands gently around to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, placing a kiss against his cheeks, nose, and mouth for each attribute listed. “I was so happy when you stayed the other day. And when you left all I wanted was for you to come back.”

“I wanted to stay longer, but I was scared that you didn’t want me there."

“I always want you with me. You have no idea how much.” You kiss him again. "I love that you drive me every day, and every morning when you come to pick me up I get excited to see you. I also find myself wanting for work to end so I can see you again."

Hopper smiles softly at you, hands tightening around your waist that sends a thrill up your spine. Everything about this feels right, more perfect than it has felt with anyone else.

"It's difficult to stay in my office, not when I know you're out there. Sometimes I can't get work done until I see you smile." He traces a finger over your lips as if trying to draw your smile across them.

"Jim-"

Hopper kisses you again. "I like it when you say my name." He whispers against your lips, pulling you even tighter against his broad chest.

"I like saying it." You whisper back.

The rain has continued to fall on both of you, by now soaking through Hopper's jacket, but neither of you feel cold.

"Come on. Lets get you home." Hopper breathes beginning to move you towards his car.

"Hmm." You sigh as he lets go to open the door. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He stands there holding the door for a minute, the rain continuing to soak into his uniform as he gazes at where you sit in the front seat.

“What?”

Hopper leans forward and kisses you again, pulling you tightly into his large chest with a groan, as you tangle your fingertips in the front of his rain-soaked clothing, before he pulls back to press his forehead against yours out of breath.

“What was that for?” You ask leaning back on your elbows across the front seat of his car.

Hopper smiles down at you with red cheeks. “I really liked the lemon square.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“As long as I’m a dork that gets to kiss you, I think it’ll be okay.”

"I'm sure we can work something out." You whisper before pulling him down for another searing kiss and allowing the world to melt away into shades of gray and the soft patter of rain against the roof of the car.

******************************************************

Thank you so much for reading!

[otaku553]

Hello! I saw your recent art of sabo, and in the tags you mentioned the big 3 of Shounen. I know it’s One piece and Naruto, but what’s the third? How come you like the character? Lovely artwork, it’s candy for the soul!! Thank you •u•

Ah thank you!!! The big three of shonen (for I guess the previous generation?) are Naruto, One Piece, and Bleach. Naruto and Bleach have already ended but it seems like One Piece is still going quite strong, despite the new generation of shonen anime (including Hero Aca, Demon Slayer, and the third spot is still debated! Probably JJK is my guess though that falls into its own sub genre of shonen dark fantasy I suppose)

Here are my favs! I’ll put the reasons why I like them in the read more because it’s quite long :)

Despite watching Naruto first I could never actually finish it because it was so long so I kind of just osmosed the later parts of shippuden through fanfics and other such media ^^; I think it’s pretty difficult to pick a definitive fav for Naruto because I feel like it tends to fumble a bit of its character writing? I think if I had to pick one maybe young Kakashi but still kind of eh. Maybe I just didn’t watch far enough to get attached

As for Bleach, I picked it up years ago around middle school and then dropped it after the first hundred episodes or so because filler got boring for younger me but then I picked it up again in high school and managed to at least get past aizen! And then I dropped it there because I wasn’t interested in any continuation after what seemed like an already pretty strong ending.

Toshiro is my favorite because he falls into all niches of character tropes that I enjoy including but not limited to: child genius who acts responsible but is still somewhat immature, cold personality along with ice powers but fierce loyalty to close relationships. I especially enjoy child genius characters for the contradictory dichotomy of what is expected of them in terms of maturity and knowledge and the amount of pressure these kinds of characters face and how they handle it! That said, I enjoy him more for the tropes that he falls into and my personal interpretation of him rather than canon writing for him. I think that though canon is an alright base, he doesn’t get much time to shine (character-wise instead of combat-wise).

And Sabo. Oh my goodness I am brainrotting so hard over Sabo right now. The ASL siblings in general have a vice grip on my heart and really are not letting go. There is so much tragedy in the way that they are written, that works because there are three of them. Ace and Luffy spend so much effort trying to save the only brother they have left in the world not realizing that if they go they’ll be the first to go actually because Sabo is still alive, and Sabo could have done so much and changed so much if only he had regained his memories sooner. Why didn’t he remember sooner? I can only assume it’s because he didn’t want to remember, because he grew out his hair to cover a scar he wasn’t proud of, because he was running away from his origins when he lost his memories and maybe that stuck with him. I don’t even remember when Sabo was introduced as a character because I don’t think he was mentioned during Marineford? But he’s such a compelling character because he does so much to save the world and yet is unable to save his own brother! And he’s written to fit with Ace and Luffy incredibly well, being the voice of reason where they can’t be.

[voxofthevoid]

Alright, I was not prepared for Yuuji fisting Sukuna's chest wound right there in full view of me and god and then for it to be followed by a Gojou jumpscare, but I had to go work soon after the leaks ended, so there wasn't any time to process shit.

I'm free and calm now though, so let's comb through this slowly:

Tōdō

I'm delighted in every possible sense by his return, from the reworked technique to his general Tōdōness. I definitely need the proper translations to make better sense of Vibraslap (not over the name), specifically the binding vows, but overall, I love the energy he's brought to this fight. It's also great to see how in sync he and Yuuji are despite minimal communication and no planning. It's reminiscent of their fight against Mahito in a good way, both in terms of the general vibe and how it showcases the greater strength of the combatants.

Yuuji and Sukuna

I am fed. I am feasting. I am kissing Gege on the mouth (only for this, however). The initial rush itself was delicious, but then it got so much better. The Black Flash and the actual fucking claws in Sukuna's chest. That entire scene with Sukuna spitting out blood, Yuuji looking like a goddamn demon, and the close-up of the fist in Sukuna's chest—it's porn to me. I've been saying for ages that Yuuji tearing Sukuna apart with his bare hands is my ideal for these two, but I didn't think we'd get so close to it. The violence between them has been great from the start of this fight, but this is visceral and beautiful.

Gojou

I am...unsure of what's happening. The logistics aren't the issue. Whether Gojou could survive his injuries was never in question; it's the narrative around it that made his death feel very permanent. And as much as I hate how that was executed, I also can't see why or how his return now would serve the plot. Maki is still alive, and Yuuta will also likely return. Tōdō is there, and Yuuji's dishing out Black Flashes left and right. Sukuna himself has been worn down an immense amount, and while I'm sure he's not yet done, he's also not the insurmountable obstacle he was. The logical course would be to pair Sukuna's last stand with the protagonists, especially Yuuji, countering him . So if that spectre is actually Gojou resurrected—why now? And what can he contribute to the plot in a way that doesn't cheapen the plot progression after his death?

What we just saw not being Gojou is an even worse scenario for me. If it's a hallucination, alright—dubious decision but nothing unforgivable. But if it's someone else in his body—not Kenjaku like people are theorizing, just something to do with the now canonical body swap going around—I will be right pissed.

I'm reserving judgement until there's clarity in the next chapter, but I'm more wary than excited. The ways this could go wrong, regardless of whether Gojou's back or it's something else, outnumber the alternative.

I love this guy, and his death was extremely disappointing—not because he died but because of how it was handled. A disappointing resurrection or a puppet body would be salt on the wound.

[simons-temple-of-eros]

【WIP】vampire!ford x reader short

【A/N: yes i combined bloodsucc kink and teacher x student kink into one cringe ass story. wrote this up in a night and will try to finish at some point. for now enjoy the almost finished draft.

reader is reffered to with he/they pronouns and male terms. also tw for blood (obviously) and also some mild horniness but no actual smut.】

• ♱ ♱ ♱ •

for most student and facility that morning waking up and making their way to their classes, the rays of the rising sun were a beautiful sight to behold.

for stanford pines, though, the bright light only felt like the universe mocking him as it seemed to intensify his pounding headache. and with the pain killers he had downed earlier already waring off the best he could do was shut all the blinds.

to anyone who asked him, he simply explained the headache and circles under his eyes as a hangover. the truth of the matter was simply far more... difficult to explain.

and he himself could almost pretend that was all it was. at least he could if it weren't for the deep, aching hunger. a hunger that he knew wouldn't be cured by eggs and toast.

normally ford had a decent supply of blood via a 'friend' working at the blood bank, however there had been a bit of a dry spell that week leaving him short of his usual amount. and despite the better part of his mind telling him to take a sick day, his stubbornness refused to allow him to lose to his literal bloodlust. a choice he was quickly regretting.

but he managed. he forced himself to go through the days lectures and aside from being distracted for a moment by a student getting a papercut, the class went without issue.

eventually the class was over and he was left alone to go through papers. yet the words on the pages seemed to fade into each other. he could barely focus on anything through the haze of hunger. he thanked the stars that the school day was almost done.

between the hunger and pain he almost missed the sound of the door opening.

"professor pines? are you feeling alright?" he recognized the sound of █████'s voice immediately. he hated to play favorites, but █████ was admittedly his favorite student. the younger male would listen to his lessons with rapt attention, usually the one to ask questions the most and him and ford had formed something of a friendship. of course if anyone would worry over his state it would be him.

"it's just a headache, i'll be fine." he replied distractedly. any other day he would happily invite █████'s presence but in the state he was in he only hoped his friend would leave him to his solitude.

so naturally █████ had instead came up to his desk. looking up, ford was met with a look of concern on the younger man's pretty face. huh? did he just describe his student as being pretty?

"are you sure? you seem feverish." they had commented and placed a hand on ford's head. on one hand, the close proximity made the professor more aware of how attractive his student was. more importantly and concerningly was that he was hit with the scent of the younger male's blood. he quickly pulled away, biting on his lower lip as his bloodlust was ignited.

"ford...?" he could hear the concern in the male's voice. a part of him wanted to tell █████ to leave and another wanted to pull him in and sink his teeth into his neck.

"please..." was all he managed. between his fear of hurting you and his intense bloodlust, he felt like his mind was being torn apart.

"like hell it's just a headache. i'm going to get a nurse...-" no! he needed you to stay with him! without thinking about it, stanford had grabbed your arm.

"stay... please..." he practically growled out. rather than the fear he had expected at this action, you only looked at him with more worry. worry and another emotion ford couldn't name.

"tell me what you need." your face was so, so close to his now. stars, it would be so easy to just lean over...

"i... i can't..." he tried to turn away but your gently hand at his cheek stopped him.

"i see the way you look at me, professor." █████ says with a smile, and ford feels his face flush in shame. was he this obvious about it?

"you're... stars, you're beautiful. but i'm... i'm practically twice your age." the other male giggles and ford tries to ignore the way his heart flutters at the sound.

"that's not really what i meant." you reply simply. ford blinked owlishly for a moment so you specify. "did you think i wouldn't know that my teacher was a vampire?"

"wait, how did... when did...?" he sputtered out.

"the way you react whenever a papercut happens, the fact that your classes always have all the windows covered, the fact that you never eat... i just put two and two together." came the casual reply.

"then you should know how dangerous someone like me is."

"i know, and i don't care. besides..." you took the opportunity to take a seat... right on ford's lap. "...i know you'd never put me in danger." caught off guard by this, ford's hands instinctively landed on either side of your hips, and his otherwise pale complexion became rosy red.

"█████..." your name flows off ford's tongue in a breathy gasp. "we can't..." his mind screamed at him that this was a bad idea. he was your professor. you were his student. any moment someone could walk in and see the lewd position the two of you were in.

"take me, stanford." but stars he was so, so hungry. with as much gentleness as he can give, he pulls away the helm of your shirt to reveal your bare neck and slowly sinks his teeth in, ilicting a soft groan from you.

the moment he tastes you, however, any thoughts in his brain are gone. years of drinking cold blood from plastic bags and your blood hit his tongue like the nectar of the heavens. he drinks the warm liquid like a man in a dry desert, tonguing at your veins as the other male moans.

[livelaughghoul]

Carlos Sainz - Career Tarot Reading

Disclaimer: This is for entertainment purposes only, nothing observed or taken away from this should be considered fact. As a reminder, I know fuck all about Formula 1, I just like fast cars and have a dumb amount of knowledge of astrology and tarot. 

An anonymous had a question regarding Carlos’s career and what it may potentially look like since there is a lot of unknown about it. While I can’t tell where he is going, or what his plans are, I can at least try to get a general feeling of what is happening and what some thoughts may be. I didn’t have any specific questions in terms of career for this, I just pulled two cards to give me some general feelings on what may be going on. In a majority of the readings I do, I tend to not go in with specific questions, just a theme of the reading. 

I took a look at his birth chart as well for this because I think that there are a lot of career indicators in someone's birth chart. His time of birth isn’t available, so it's being calculated using UTC, which isn’t as accurate but gives us a pretty good idea of what his actual chart will look like! 

Tarot aspect of the reading: Justice reversed and Five of Wands 

Justice reversed: 

This tells me that Carlos knows what he is going to do, he is just keeping it close to his chest and letting the speculation run wild because it is almost justice in its own way. I think with this intentional withholding of his plan, it’s very much going to be a surprise in terms of where he ends up going. I get the sense that it was an easy decision too, it was something that didn’t require a lot of debate or waffling, it was an easy choice that made sense to him, and where he feels he is at in terms of his career. With it being in its reversed position, I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that he has not shared his decision with anyone other than those who were involved in the contract process. 

Five of Wands: 

This pairing is crazy to me because it just solidifies in my mind that he knows exactly what he is going to do, and knows what the reaction is going to be. It also tells me that he is not done with Formula 1 at all, if anything he is feeling a renewed sense of competition and challenge. He has a lot of passion left and is incredibly driven to continue setting records, breaking records, and outdoing himself. I get the feeling that there is a lot of impatience in his current position, and when he makes the change there is going to be a huge change in his actions, behaviors, and demeanors. There is going to be a weight that is taken off, and he is going to feel like he actually has a place and valued. 

Astrology aspect: 

Second house (house of money and material possessions): Jupiter, Pluto.

Jupiter is a great placement here because it’s the planet of luck and expansion, so this tells me that he is going somewhere that is really going to bring him a lot of benefits (likely financial and careerwise). I get the sense that he is going somewhere that he already has a connection to, like either he is following someone or it’s somewhere that he has previously been (no idea if this is possible, all I know about this man is that he apparently burst his appendix?). Pluto brings in a lot of obsession, so I think that wherever he does go, he is being promised a sense of more control like he is going to bring a lot of influence and new ideas! 

Sixth house (house of service, day-to-day influence): Saturn.

WE LOVE A STRONG SATURN PLACEMENT, SAY IT WITH ME. Saturn in the sixth is definitely hardworking, there is a strong sense of responsibility, what needs to be done, and what the expectations of the self are. I definitely get the idea that there is a habit of being too involved in work, like that sense of control we see from the second house can sometimes get in the way of things and cause some conflict. I think that is going to be a really important factor for where he goes. 

Tenth house (house of career): Mars, Moon.

I love that the Moon is in the tenth house because it provides nothing but success and promise in a public career. The only downside is grappling with that loss of privacy, it can bring a lot of challenges in trying to find that balance, but with the Moons’ emotional nature, I think there is a wonderful balance between the public career and privacy here. Mars brings a lot of domination to the career and tells us that there is a lot of aggression to be seen. With the career as it is, I think that we are going to see a lot more aggressive driving, and strategies start to come out! With this placement though and it’s aggressive nature, I think that there is a lot of conflict to be had too, this is something that will need to be worked on. 

[electrikworm]

5 times Wrecker protected his siblings and 5 times they protected him: Chapter 7

Early into their active duty, Wrecker is badly injured on a mission. Tech is left to try and get his vod out of danger, all whilst blaming himself for Wrecker being hurt in the first place.

--

Content warning: Blood and injury, eye injury

Very hastily edited chapter! Probably lots of mistakes in it

Hunter's physically 20 in this, Tech 19 and Wrecker and Crosshair are about late 17.

Read on Ao3

“Hurry up Wrecker.“ Tech hisses into his comm, taking out two B1's marching through the narrow door only using one of his blasters. There's a few seconds of silence, no more droids advancing on his immediate position, and that's all Tech needs to get the door closed. He'll have some semblance of peace to extract the data they need.

If Wrecker gets the generator running again.

“I could hurry if your directions were better.” Wrecker answers. Tech sighs.

“How kriffing hard is it to follow 'two lefts, then a right'? It's one corridor away from the one I'm in.” Tech has no idea how Wrecker is taking so long. Luckily the data they need has to be deleted manually, and Tech can prevent anyone from doing that himself. But if the generator is destroyed before Wrecker gets there, the mission will be a write off either way.

“Yeah, yeah.” Wrecker says, blaster fire heard in the background. “Think I found it.” Tech doesn't comment on the amount of time it took him to do so again.

“Get it running. Remember what I told you?” Tech says.

“Yeah, I know. A switch or something.” Those are not the exact words Tech used, but correcting Wrecker would be a pointless waste of time. “I see it.”

Finally. For a moment, the terminal in front of Tech powers up, but just as he moves to extract the data, it goes dark again. “Wrecker, what did you do?” Tech snaps. This mission has been dragging on for far too long, required too much effort, to fail now. It's only their fourth mission. It being unsuccessful would reflect very badly on them as a team.

“I didn't do anything! The kriffing switch won't stay flipped!” Wrecker responds far too loud.

“Then hold it down.” Tech says. The door won't keep the droids out forever. He won't be able to fend them off and extract the data.

Tech hears blaster fire over the comm, then Wrecker groaning in annoyance. “Fine. But if I get shot, I'm blaming you.” Tech doesn't acknowledge Wreckers comment.

The power comes on, permanently this time, and Tech gets to work. It's not a hard job. No wonder they were fighting so hard to destroy the terminal, the thing has so little going for it in terms of security, Tech's confident any member of Clone Force 99 could have took his place.

“How you getting on Tech?” Hunters says through the comm channel, sounding strained.

“Almost done, just a few more seconds.” As he speaks, the transfer of the data, locations of new droid factories, is complete. “I'm finished. However, the information stored on this terminal has abysmal protection. I could potentially extract more intel.”

Hunter stays quiet for a moment before answering. “Get what ever you can Tech.”

Tech's a few seconds in when he gets interrupted again, this time by Wrecker. “What's taking you so long?” he complains.

“I will be done soon. Be patient.” Tech hopes Wrecker gets the message that he doesn't want to be disturbed again. He doesn't.

“I don't like this...” Wrecker complains further.

“I'm well aware.” Tech says. “As said, I won't take much longer. Just hold the switch and let me work.”

Just as the last word leaves Techs mouth, a deafening noise transmits from Wreckers comlink and something shakes the entire separatist base. Techs ears are left ringing as he desperately tries to regain a feel for his surroundings. How did he end up on the floor? Fighting against the pain in his head, he pulls himself up with the help of the terminal.

The terminal is dead again, and going off of the noises it's making, this time for good.

“Wrecker?” Tech tries to contact his brother. Nothing but static answers him.

Panic threatens to grip Tech as he opens the door and runs out in the direction he sent Wrecker, shooting the droids that had been trying to break in to the room on his way out.

“What happened?” Hunter asks over the comm. “There was a huge surge of electricity.”

“They overloaded the systems to destroy the data. Wrecker's not answering his comm.” Tech says, not halting the sprint in his brother's direction. Tech should have known they'd try something like this. It's his job to know things, to warn his brothers of them. His inability may have just gotten Wrecker killed.

Crosshair swearing is the only response Tech gets.

Tech rounds the last corner leading to the generator and spots the consequences of the overload. Smoke and rubble and twisted pieces of metal, and between it all, the just recognizable glint of white of his brothers helmet.

There are droids swarming this corridor as well, but they've took a hit from the explosion too. In the confusion and low visibility, Tech dispatches of them close to his record speed.

Wrecker isn't buried under any of the debris, and the rise and fall of his chest let Tech know he's alive. He's far from unscathed Tech notes as he crouches next to his brother. Most of the damage is contained to Wreckers left side, armor missing or cracked. Even his helmet is cracked, Tech observes. When he tilts his brothers head to the right gently to get a better look, he's faced with a grim sight.

The left side of Wreckers helmet isn't just cracked, it's almost entirely gone. A bloody mess of electrical burns and torn skin lay where the armor should be, as far down as his arm and chest, all the way up and across his face. Worryingly close to his eye. It's hard to see the extent of the damage under all the blood flowing over his face, clinging to his short hair.

Tech doesn't have time to linger, instead wrapping his arms around his brothers chest and starting to drag him. Wrecker's always so much heavier than Tech remembers. Tech needs to contact Hunter and Crosshair, needs to at least try and stop some of Wreckers bleeding, but not here.

Tech drags Wrecker into another room to the side, one with a functioning door, unlike the room the generator used to be in. Ideally, Tech would just continue getting both of them out of the facility. He can't risk Wrecker dying from blood loss on the way.

Tech updates his conscious brothers as he flicks his torch on. He can see somewhat in the dark through his visor, but he needs more light to asses the situation properly. There isn't much he can do for Wrecker, so the little amount of bacta spray and hastily applied bandages will have to do. As Tech had feared, Wreckers eye doesn't look good.

It's an undeniable fact that Wreckers future is uncertain. The role Tech played in causing this uncertainty isn't lost on him. If the Kaminoans decide to decommission Wrecker, that he isn't worth the effort it would take to fix him, his blood is on Techs hands.

Whilst Wrecker stays unconscious throughout, his body does react when Tech does something that seems to worsens his pain. His disorientated noises of distress worry Tech. The high voltage of the generator overloading may have caused Wrecker permanent brain damage on top of the now certain ocular trauma he's sustained.

An eye can be replaced, damage to the brain is not as easily fixed.

Not that it isn't already. It's soaked into his gloves, splattered onto his breastplate. When Tech resumes dragging Wrecker, his brothers head lolls to the side, coming to rest against Tech's helmet, no doubt staining that red too.

Wrecker's helmet was beyond saving, it's purpose negated by the jagged edges left where it cracked, threatening to dig themselves into Wreckers skin. Tech leaves it on the floor where he placed it.

Hunter and Crosshair know of the situation now, said they'd try and get to Tech and their downed vod if they could. The state Wreckers in, Tech wouldn't risk waiting around for them even if he was certain they'd get to him.

It's a tedious job. Dragging Wreckers full weight is exhausting, strain put on Techs legs and back already painfully clear. The droids don't make it any easier. There are far less of them marching down the halls now then there were when he and Wrecker first made their entrance. Still enough to make Tech have to stop and clear them out ever so often.

Every time he's forced to do so, to let go of his brother, Tech is plagued by a wave of fear. If Tech is even a moment too slow, if just one shot is fired low, the consequences for Wrecker could be fatal.

At some point, a droid hits Tech in the back of his shoulder, but he doesn't have time to think of the pain spreading down his arm. Not when his kih'vod is bleeding out in enemy territory.

When Tech hears Hunter's voice, not over the comm, but behind him, Tech almost collapses in relief.

The rest of the way back to the Marauder is a blur. The pain in Tech's shoulder gets worse, even though he doesn't have to carry Wrecker alone any more. Wrecker's condition seems to only worsen.

By the time they've gotten him on the ship, he's semi conscious. Not that that's a good thing. All he does is writhe as unintelligible strings of words laced with pain fall from his lips. They can't even get him onto the sleeping rack he's squirming so much.

So Crosshair and Tech sit on the floor, desperately trying to keep their brother calm as they treat what they can of his injuries as Hunter flies the ship. Kamino's closest, so that's where they go.

“Can the medical stations even handle 99's?” Crosshair hisses as where to go is brought up. Tech doesn't know. None of them have been injured badly enough in the field to find out.

Kamino may be close, but there are still hours of hyperspace travel between them and the planet. Hours in which they have to keep Wrecker alive with what they have on hand. The painkillers get him to calm down somewhat, but in the end, Tech has to hold Wrecker the whole time Crosshair stills the bleeding.

Wrecker's injuries look even worse in this light. According to the med scanner, it at least seems Wrecker's helmet protected him from any brain damage worse than a nasty concussion. Tech still fears for Wrecker's future.

At some point, even through the no doubt heavy fog of pain and confusion, Wrecker recognises Tech, and begins mumbling his name ever so often. Tech feels like he's going to be sick when tears start freely flowing from Wrecker's undamaged eye.

“Tech...” he practically sobs. Tech has to stop Wrecker from pressing his face into Tech's chest plate, not wanting his vod to hurt himself further. It's worryingly easy to counter Wrecker's strength as Tech holds him away just long enough to get the piece of armor off.

As soon as Tech lets him, Wrecker buries his face in Tech's chest, clinging on to him weakly, movement uncoordinated. Tech's arm and shoulder burn, but he couldn't care less. Hints of pain still make their way into Tech's voice as he tries to speak calmly with Wrecker.

“You'll be fine Wrecker.” Tech says, hoping it won't turn out to be a lie.

Crosshair drapes one of their blankets over Wrecker's legs, than another over the bit of Wrecker's torso not covered by the first. Tech's thankful for Crosshair's astute thinking, Wrecker's skin feeling unnaturally cold to the touch, shivers occasionally shaking the large clone's body. Crosshair swears under his breath about the regulation blankets being ill fitted for Wrecker's size.

Crosshair sits down next to them, taking Wrecker's uninjured hand in his. The hyperspace travel to Kamino is tense. Wrecker bleeds through his bandages at an alarming rate. The large clone's pained whimpers and groans are the only thing breaking the silence in the ship for most of the time.

When they land on Kamino, Tech is quickly forced to let go of his brother. He wants to stay with Wrecker, make sure he's alright. Tipoca City's medical staff can't be trusted to handle Wrecker's unease around medical equipment, Tech's quite certain they are the very reason his little brother despises it so.

If Wrecker panics like he did on the Marauder, they will sedate and tie him down. They never explain anything they do, don't answer question clearly, sometimes even lie.

Tech watches Wrecker be loaded on a stretcher and disappear around a corner. Tech's chest feels constricted, tight knot of dread building in his stomach as he is escorted to medical treatment as well.

If it is deemed that Wrecker is not worth saving, Tech will never see his brother again. If they decide to decommission Wrecker, his vode will not be informed of the decision. It'll likely be done immediately, the information only reaching the rest of the squad when Wrecker's body is long cold.

Tech's barely paying attention as he is told to strip his upper body and the blaster wound is tended to. The pain is the only thing keeping him from completely losing his grip on reality.

Tech has to believe that the Kaminoans won't waste a valuable asset over something like blindness and deafness on one side, has to believe they won't find anything else wrong with him that Tech had missed, has to believe that Wrecker won't be killed because Tech made a mistake.

Tech isn't given a proper answer when he asks about Wrecker's condition. He is just left alone with his thoughts, usually sharp mind clouded somewhat by the pain medication he was given. He's not alone for long, Hunter and Crosshair soon finding him.

They don't know anything more about Wrecker than Tech does.

“We hoped you'd know where he is.” Hunter says. Crosshair places Lula on the bed Tech's on.

“Thought Wrecker might need her...” Crosshair's voice trails off as he speaks. The small tooka doll flops forward, large ears coming to rest against Tech's thigh. He picks it up and holds it in his lap. Lula's fabric is soft from years of use. Tech's chest hurts.

Hunter puts his hand on Tech's shoulder. “Wrecker will be fine. Don't overthink it, kih'vod.” Tech hums in acknowledgment, not sure he believes Hunter's words, but certain he will be overthinking it. He was made to overthink things, to process things fast and consider all options.

Tech spends the majority of the next three hours considering the option that his failure to pay attention may lead to Wrecker being decommissioned. He only stops because Nala Se enters the room. She doesn't acknowledge the three clones greeting her, instead standing at the foot of Tech's bed, eyes trained on a datapad in her hands.

Tech had heard of sentiments akin to jealousy from some regs when it comes to the direct attention Clone Force 99 gets from Kamino's Chief Medical Scientist. He never understood why. Going off the data Tech collected over the years, the negatives the attention brought with it outweighed any positive. For the most part, it just mean more tests, both medical and of their skills.

“Ma'am, may I ask about CT-9903's condition?” Tech speaks up as Nala Se looks like she's about to leave. She turns to him slowly, observing him silently for a moment.

“CT-9903 is currently in a bacta tank.” Nala Se says, then turns away and swiftly exits the medical bay. Tech almost breathes a sigh of relief.

The three brothers quickly agree to look for Wrecker once the lights are dimmed for the night cycle. Hunter and Crosshair are shooed out of the medical bay before that can happen, but a time and place to meet had already been arranged by then.

The stillness of night has fallen over the white halls of Tipoca City when Tech slips out of the room. The arm attached to his injured shoulder rests in a sling, but Tech still needs to steady it with his free hand as he walks, every move sending spikes of pain from the wound down his back.

Meeting with his brothers and getting to the room housing the bacta tanks is easy. It's not like they're actively trying to conceal the location of the room, so Tech has no dificulty gaining that knowledge.

The rows of bacta tanks is a haunting sight. There's a surprising amount of injured troopers in the tanks, some clearly cadets, but quite a few old enough to already be active in the field. They move quietly between the glass cylinders, knowing they'll get in trouble if they're caught sneaking about.

Tech's heart drops when he spots Wrecker. His injuries look awful under the pale blue light. They can see the full extent of them now, torn skin of full display as it lazily leaks blood into the surrounding bacta. Tech can just make out that Wrecker's hair has been shaved off entirely.

Sleeping on the floor will make Tech feel terrible come morning, but there's no way any of them are leaving Wrecker alone. Tech's vode know that arguing with him about sleeping somewhere more comfortable is futile, so they don't even try.

As predicted, they do get in trouble when a member of the medical staff finds them in the morning, though the woman is kinder about it than Tech expected. She tells them off for a good while, but seems to focus more on the fact that it was unwise of Tech to sleep so rough in the state he is in.

She escorts Tech back to the medical bay, whilst his brothers are sent to go about their day normally.

Far too soon, just about a day later, Wrecker is removed from the bacta tank. Tech's alone when he's stationed in the bed next to his. Wrecker's still out cold, bandages covering large portions of his left side. When a medical droid changes them Tech catches a glimpse of still raw looking skin underneath.

When Wrecker wakes, Tech is also alone. It's the middle of the night cycle, and Tech's moved one of the chairs his brothers had sat in during the time they visited him to be closer to Wrecker. He'd also tucked Lula under his little brother's good arm.

Wrecker sits up too fast, face scrunching in discomfort. His good hand flies up to prod at the bandages covering the left side of his face. Tech leaps up to pull Wrecker's arm away before he can mess with the dressing.

“Don't do that Wrecker.” Tech says, keeping his voice soft.

In response, Wrecker flops back down onto the bed, clutches Lula and curls up on his uninjured side. His uncovered eye is unfocused as it watches Tech. It's evident they gave Wrecker rather strong pain medication.

“Everything hurts an' I can't see or hear cause of this stupid thing.” Wrecker complains, gesturing at the covered half of his face.

“The bandages aren't why you can't see or hear, kih'vod.“ Tech says. “You sustained permanent damage to your eye and ear during the explosion.”

“Oh.” A look of confusion crosses Wrecker's face as his pain addled and drugged mind works to comprehend the information presented. Guilt grips Tech stronger than ever. “Okay.”

“For what it's worth, which I am afraid is very little, I am sorry.” Tech is uncertain what to do, so he places his hand over Wrecker's carefully.

“Wha' are you sorry for?” Wrecker says, voice genuine as ever. “Dragged my sorry shebs outta there, didn't you?” So he had been conscious enough to grasp some of what was happening.

“I'm still sorry.” Tech shakes his head.

Wrecker gasps suddenly, sitting up too fast again. Tech's just about to ask what's wrong, already considering a variety of answers, when Wrecker speaks.

“You're hurt! You gotta lay down Tech.” Wrecker's single visible eye is blown wide, and his brow furrowed, an expression that surely can't be comfortable with that injured of a face. The large clone then seems to consider something, before moving aside on the bed somewhat. “You could lay here, if you like.”

Tech's about to protest, argue he doesn't need the rest, that he doesn't want to take away from Wrecker's space, but the thought of laying down is tempting. Tech's shoulder still feels awful, and he's sore all over. It's also cold in the med bay, and Wrecker's warm. With a nod, he climbs onto the bed.

Wrecker sighs shakily as Tech comes to rest at his side. The medical bay beds feel a lot more comfortable this way, Tech finds.

Tech can't say when he fell asleep, but he is woken by the whirring of a medical droid and Wrecker moving. Tech stands up immediately.

Wrecker's moved up the bed, shaking his head vigorously, knees halfway drawn to his chest.

“Hold still, or you will be sedated.” The medical droid chides, steadily moving towards Wrecker, hypo in hand. Wrecker whimpers. By the looks of it, next move that droid makes, it's going to be met with Wrecker's fist. Tech extends his arm between the two.

“May I administer that?” Tech asks. The droid just stares at him. “He will hold still if I'm the one to do so.” The droid stares a little longer, but eventually places the hypo in Tech's hand. Tech checks the label as me moves closer to Wrecker, making sure it is indeed something against the pain like he'd assumed.

Wrecker only looks marginally less distressed, still shaking his head. “No, Tech, please.”

“It's alright Wrecker, it's just painkillers. Look.” Tech holds up the hypo, displaying the label, rubbing his thumb across it to prove it hasn't been used to cover a different inscription on the container. “It will help.”

Wrecker looks apprehensive, but he exposes his neck none the less. With a verbal warning, Tech brings the hypo to his brother's neck. Wrecker hisses, pulling a face, but doesn't complain further.

As the droid starts changing Wrecker's bandages, Tech interrupts the task by holding his arm out again. The droid makes an annoyed noise.

“Allowing me to handle this as well will significantly reduce the stress and frustration experienced by all parties involved.”

The medical droid pauses, observing Tech. “No. Don't interrupt my work again.”

Tech huffs, doesn't say anything further. He stands close to Wrecker though, ready to stop the droid if it does anything either of them don't like. Wrecker seems to understand what Tech is doing, still tense, but relaxing somewhat.

Wrecker's good eye flicks back and forth between watching the droid and looking at Tech. With that nervous expression on his face, it's easy to see how young Wrecker is. None of them should have sustained such a devastating injury this early into their active duty. Tech sighs.

“Can you tell me what my eye looks like?” Wrecker asks when the medical droid starts working on his face.

“The eye is beyond saving Wrecker. It will most likely be removed entirely.” Tech says.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” Wrecker sighs. “It just feel bad, and I wanna hear your option on it.” The droid somehow manages to look offended at Wreckers words.

“Alright.” Tech moves to get a better view of Wrecker's face, making the droid make another annoyed noise at Tech crowding its space. Tech cringes at the sight of Wrecker's injuries. A large portion of his face will be scarred permanently, his hair will likely no longer grow neatly on the left side. When Wrecker opens his eye, Tech inhales sharply.

“That bad?” Wrecker laughs.

“It's already been removed.” Tech states, once again appalled by the medical staffs complete lack of transparency in regards to the procedures they conduct.

“What?” Wrecker tries to touch his face, but Tech and the medical droid stop him.

“CT-9903, refrain from contaminating the wound.” The droid says, tone almost threatening. Wrecker doesn't say another word in the droids presence.

Tech sits down on the bed again once the droid has left, leaning his head lightly against his brother's shoulder. “I'm greatly displeased by the medical staff neglecting to inform you of the surgery performed on your eye.”

Wrecker sighs. “S'not that big a deal. It was gonna come out either way. It'll be replaced by a cybernetic, right?” Wrecker bumps his head against Tech's lightly, grinning. “That'll be cool.”

Tech can't help a smile, though he doubts it'll be as cool as Wrecker imagines it to be. The Kaminoans cut corners where ever they can if it saves them credits. Tech vows to make sure Wrecker's new eye functions well, even if he has to adapt it himself.

“Did they shave my head?” Wrecker's running his hand over his head.

“Yes.” Tech answers, knowing well his brother already figured that out himself.

“Do I look good bald?”

“You do not look any worse than you did before.” That gets Wrecker to laugh loudly.

“Good thing Hunter didn't get caught in that explosion. He'd have killed them!”

Tech shakes his head, laughing quietly. “Yes, he most certainly would have.”

[astranite]

Wip last-Wednesday

Havent done one of these for a bit so here! A sick fic of John and Scott I began writing last time I had a cold, rather fitting now I have The Plague.

---

Scott succumbed to the cold first. 

Through the efforts of Virgil and John himself, their biggest brother was bundled up in his blue weighted blanket on one of the comms room couches with strict instructions not to go anywhere. 

John was lowkey supervising that ready to have enforce it, but true to his word Scott had curled up and begun checking his emails at the same time as playing on his phone. 

After some conferencing, he and Virgil had decided allowing Scott to continue working on his tablet so he would feel like be was being productive and not getting left out was the best method of keeping him still and moderately restful. 

John idly spun their rescue world map around, watching the icons blur together. Tiredness nagged at him despite the fact that he’d gotten a decent amount of sleep last night. He yawned widely, like a cat then shook himself. He should be getting back to work. 

A call came in that required redirection to local authorities. Another, his technical expertise on space and orbital manoeuvres along with a chance to stretch his language skills in the tricky translation of relevant terms. Virgil and Gordon in Thunderbird 2 were sent out. They returned. The day limped on.

He switched the volume of the alarms down as they seemed sharper than usual and it hurt his head. 

In a lull between calls he floated through the central hub with his eyes closed before pinging back online at the sound of a notification. 

-“Heyy J.”

John maximised the video feed from the lounge to see Scott waving up at him, phone in hand. The tablet and pretence of working were abandoned on the floor along with several mugs. 

A message popped up with second ding. 

-“Johnnyyy im bored. And snotty.”

John automatically mouthed, ‘My name’s not Johnny.’

He didn’t get a chance to reply as Scott sent several more messages in quick succession. 

-“Sooo bored.”

-“Why doesn’t anyone send me interesting emails??”

-“Don’t even wanna do maths.”

-“Like when don’t i want to do maths?”

-“i ran out of tissues again.”

-“I think my brain has dribbled out my nose.”

-“Virgil’s trying to poison meeeee”

John raised an eyebrow at the last. That seemed out of character for their medic brother. 

J-“Evidence for your case?” he replied. 

S-“Poison. Its all POISON”

John could see Scott making his icked out face, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows while leaning away every time he took a slurp from his mug. 

S- “I swear that lemon drink stuff used to taste better.”

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 5)

They haven’t spoken so much as ten words to each other in the past four hours. It’s not unusual for their long car rides to be filled with a decent amount of silence. As often as they used to be on the road together, it was unrealistic to expect every moment to be filled with witty banter or riveting discussions of casework.

But this silence hangs like a thick cloud over their heads. She can’t tell if Mulder is too frustrated or too scared to speak. As for her, she doesn’t mind the oppressiveness of their silence. If he forces them to have any type of meaningful conversation, she’s terrified of what will come up inside her. When Mulder pushed her out of his life by calling into question the single most important thing in her world—their relationship—, she was left feeling like a spinning top. No matter where she went or what she bumped into, she always spun right back to him. Thoughts of him, memories of him. And of course, the obsessive examination of the way he discarded her so easily.

When Alan showed up in her life, he served as a distraction—a handsome, intelligent distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. Deep in her subconscious, she knows what role he plays. He is the bridge between a life with Mulder and a life without Mulder. He is the stepping stone that gets her from agonizing despair to satisfactory contentment. She has spent a lot of mental energy focusing on appreciating Alan for what he is worth—his steadiness, stability, and kindness.

But if Mulder forces her to stop and reflect on what her life was like before he pushed her away, that bridge will collapse. The stepping stone will crumble. The new world she has worked tirelessly to create will melt away, and she will be left with an ache, a yearning, a longing for Mulder and only Mulder.

She hates this about herself, hates that she could ever feel this strongly about one single individual. What she does appreciate about herself, however, is her ability to compartmentalize. It’s the quality that has gotten her through the past few months. It’s the reason she was able to say yes to Alan’s proposal so quickly. Her mind has walled off her past, has hidden away memories of Mulder, and has created a small, compact space where Alan and his easiness fit quite nicely.   

Being in close quarters with Mulder, though, is like taking a hammer to those carefully constructed walls. She feels the barriers cracking; she feels the emotions bleeding through. If he forces her to talk about it, they will erode completely.

And so she allows the uncomfortable silence, interrupting it only to give him the bare minimum in terms of directions.

They reach the outskirts of Salt Lake City right as the sun dips down behind the icy white mountains to the east. Scully started pumping the heat about an hour back, but now that they’re climbing north and driving into more mountainous terrain, the chill coming in through the broken back window is too much to bear.

She wraps her arms around herself and glances at the city to her left. “Let’s find a gas station,” she suggests quietly.

“Hm?”

“A gas station.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t question her, just pulls off the next exit and steers them towards a Chevron station. She leaves him to pump gas while she runs into the store and pays cash for dinner, two coffees, and two rolls of duct tape.

Mulder is leaning against the door when she hands him a sandwich and he flashes a grateful smile which she doesn’t return. She tosses her own food into the car, sets the beverages into the cup holders, and then starts yanking at the tape.

When Mulder picks up on what she’s doing, he grabs the second roll of tape from her and starts helping her patch up the back window. By the time they’re done, her car looks cheap and ridiculous, but Scully knows the tape will keep out some of the cold.

She briefly checks Mulder’s injury before insisting that she take over driving again. Although it was nice to have a respite, she knows that if he really does have a concussion, he needs to rest.

“The tape was a good call,” Mulder murmurs once they’re back on the road. The heat flowing from the vents seems to last longer now that it isn’t disappearing through the back, and there’s no longer a chilly breeze blasting them from behind.

She nods.

For a while, it seems like their luck is improving. The car isn’t as cold; they have a full tank of gas; their stomachs are full; and there’s caffeine racing through their veins.

But then the snow starts blowing. At first, it’s just a very light dusting, a few specks of white landing on the windshield. After about five minutes of this, though, the flurries morph into a heavier snowfall, and at twenty minutes in, they’ve driven right into the middle of a full-blown snow squall.

Scully can feel the wind pressing against the car and she braces her hands on the wheel to keep the vehicle steady on the road. Her headlights provide only a few feet of visibility and as the snow starts to gather on the highway, the car starts skidding.

Although she considers herself the superior driver between the two of them, Scully knows Mulder would be better suited for this type of winter weather driving. She simply isn’t used to snow, and when she loses control of the car on a turn, she panics and slams on the brakes.

“Foot off the brake!” Mulder shouts, but the car has already begun a quick slide down the road. No matter how Scully turns the wheel, her car seems determined to go the opposite direction.

“Scully, stop!” he yells as she twists the wheel as far as it will go.

She shoots him a furious look. “Shut up, Mulder!”

“We’re going to crash!”

“I’m doing my best—”

Mulder throws himself over the console and yanks the wheel from her, forcing the car’s tires to turn away from a guardrail. Indignation bursts inside her and she shoves his hands away, trying to regain control.

“Stop it—”

“Get off of me!”

But just as his hands regrip the wheel, they hit a patch of ice and it slings them into a spiral, sending the car twisting around in a circle.

She shrieks as the momentum tosses her into the door. Mulder throws his arms around her shoulders and drags her to his chest as they start spinning faster and faster towards the guardrail. She braces herself against him and they hit the rail with a smack and a screech. The crash jolts them towards the dashboard but Mulder’s body absorbs the majority of the blow.

He pulls away as soon as the car comes to a full stop. Hands shaking with shock, Scully glances around, noticing that they’re now facing the opposite direction on the highway. Snow drifts down on them in thick clouds and she bites her lip roughly.

No, no, no. They cannot get stuck here; they have to keep moving, if not to outrun their pursuers, but mostly so that she can put some necessary distance between her and Mulder. She can’t help but feel like they’re at some kind of extreme team-building seminar—forced into close quarters, commanded to examine their strengths and weaknesses, and required to solve an impossibly long list of outrageous problems. Meanwhile, the last words they spoke to each other were full of vitriol, and one of them has very seriously called into question the trust and respect that used to define their partnership.

“You okay?” Mulder murmurs, and she somehow manages to nod. The shaking in her hands has ratcheted up and her breathing is coming in quick, fast pants.

“You?” she asks tightly.

He shrugs. She really needs to check his head again after that crash, but she can barely regulate her own breathing.

“You did great, Scully,” he says generously, ignorant of the way her body is starting to respond to their circumstances. “So good.” She bristles, hating the way her brain wants to puff up at the praise she doesn’t deserve. Her lack of skill is unquestionably the reason they crashed. He continues. “We should keep moving, though, get out of this storm if we can. Or find a place to crash until morning.” His eyes flicker back to hers, and that’s when she notices the way he’s looking at her. His gaze is full of yearning—not the amorous type of yearning that she once wished she’d see in him, but a conciliatory type of yearning. There’s a very noticeable desperation to please, a desire to make nice, a need to get back on good terms. Jesus, does he really think we’re moving towards some type of resolution here? Is he looking for absolution? Forgiveness? How could he possibly think that all of this chaos could bring us closer?  

Mulder swallows and it looks painful. “You were really good, Scully.”

At his placating tone, a flame erupts in her chest. If he truly wants to be on good terms with her, maybe he shouldn’t have kicked her out of his life. If he really wants them to play nice, maybe he shouldn’t have overridden her autonomy. If he actually wants them to be friends again, maybe he should have respected her.  

She feels the words rising in her throat and she bats them away furiously. Just hours ago, she begged him not to instigate this conversation. She demanded he stop talking about it. And now she’s the one who’s going to break.  

She twists to face him, her cheeks blazing indignantly. “I was good, Mulder? But not good enough to be your partner? Not trustworthy enough?”

He blanches and it feels like a win.

“Scully,” he says cautiously, “you know it was never about that—”

“Oh, I know, Mulder,” she breathes irately. “Skinner knew, I knew. And we both still let you get away with it. Did it feel good when you sent me away? Did you feel a huge relief after I left? Did you feel discharged from your self-imposed duty to protect me?”

His eyes sharpen but he doesn’t reply. But her carefully constructed walls have imploded, and now she’s determined to poke him until he answers for what he did.

“At first, I thought this really was about trust,” she begins. “I believed you when you looked me in the eyes and told me you didn’t trust me anymore. You knew exactly what to say to cause me to doubt my place in your life.” She huffs a dark laugh. “But I know you, Mulder. It was never about the trust between us. This—this crazy fucking journey we’re on together more than proves my point. Whether we want it or not, we survive on the trust between us.” She clenches her jaw. “What you did to me was about respect.”

He isn’t looking at her anymore. He isn’t even reacting. He has gone stone-still, a statue, his hands resting quietly in his lap. He doesn’t even look like himself.

She knows she should stop talking, but the words are pouring out of her without control. “You think you made some noble, sacrificial decision when you banished me from your life. You think you’re a martyr. If I give up Scully, she’ll be safe. But your choice was purely selfish, Mulder. You assumed I wanted or needed a life free from the dangers of our work. You assumed I needed protecting—by you and from you. But your careless decision stripped me of my free will.” She pauses to suck in a breath. Her heart is beating so fast she can barely speak. “You never used to be that person. For years, you—you trusted me and my opinions, you looked to me for advice, you cared about what I thought. What happened to that? Did my cancer make me so weak in your eyes that suddenly I was someone you could just wave off with a magic wand? I have to do this for Scully because she’s not capable of making decisions about her life anymore? Working on the X-Files stripped me of a lot of things. My sister, my bodily autonomy, sometimes even my sanity. But you were always the constant. The one who made me feel like I was in control of my life. And then you ripped it away from me, cruelly and abruptly. I don’t think I’ll ever get over that, Mulder. I don’t think I can ever get past what you did to me.”  

Adrenaline sings through her and she tries to tamp it down. But now that she’s spoken her piece, her body takes up the cause. The trembling in her hands increases. Sweat starts to bead on her forehead. Her foot taps restlessly against the floor. She is a live wire.

But Mulder is motionless. It’s unsettling to see him so still. She wants to reach over and shake him. She wants him to blow up at her, or maybe jump out of the car and run away. Anything but this silence. It feels like a punishment. You stick the truth in my face and I’ll shut down, Scully. I’ll just shut down.

She presses her palms into her eyes and sinks low into the seat. She wants to give up. She wants to sit here on the side of the road forever until the car is covered in piles of snow, until their bodies are found frozen to their seats in the morning.

But she has to keep going. She has to get them off this fucking highway and into some semblance of safety. She glances at Mulder and sees him staring blankly at the snow buildup on the windshield. Good, that’s good. Let him sit and ruminate for a while.

He doesn’t even react when she starts maneuvering the car off the side of the road, nor does he make any suggestions when she continues to slip and slide down the highway. She keeps the car rolling so slowly that they make hardly any progress over the course of an hour.

To her dismay, the storm doesn’t settle, and as they creep along the highway, she starts to worry that they’ll have to hunker down in the car for the night. An image sweeps across her mind of the two of them huddling together in the backseat, his coat flung across their bodies, his arms wrapped around her shoulders for warmth. Her stomach swoops.

In another lifetime, she would have wanted that badly. She remembers the way she used to crave his touch, how she looked forward to seeing him in the morning, how she thought about him at night in the privacy of her bed. Looking back, she is aware of the depth of her feelings. She found a man who matched her passion, intelligence, and determination. She found a partner who treated her like an equal in every respect. It had been so easy to fall in love.  

No. No, she can’t huddle with him for warmth tonight. Being drawn into that kind of intimacy would once have been beautiful and precious. An indication that maybe he loves me too. But love without respect is incomplete. A well without water. And intimacy between them tonight would break her.  

She starts to feel some relief when they finally pass through a town, and although the snowfall is thick, she watches closely for a motel. But as they pass the main drag and leave behind civilization without finding accommodations, she starts to worry. She’s about to cry with exasperation when Mulder raises his arm and points.

She follows the line of his hand and sees a white wooden house just off the road. She glances to Mulder expectantly.

“BNB,” is all he says.

She takes the turn and rolls into the home’s gravel driveway where a few other cars are parked. They don’t speak as they stumble out of her beat-up car and plod through thick mounds of snow to take the front porch stairs.

It’s very late and her stomach churns as she presses the buzzer at the door. How likely is it that they’ll get admitted to a bread-and-breakfast at this hour?

But after only a few minutes, the door to the house opens and an older woman motions for them to follow her inside.

“Goodness gracious,” the woman exclaims as she glances out the window at the accumulating snow. “It’s a good thing you two got off the road.”

Scully attempts a small smile, but beside her, Mulder continues to stare blankly ahead.

“Do you have any rooms available?” she asks politely.

The woman smiles benevolently. “I do, I do. My largest room is open, up on the third floor. King bed and en suite bathroom.”

Scully breathes a sigh of relief. “Do you, uh, do you happen to have two rooms?”

The woman’s face falls slightly and Scully notices the way her eyes dart down to take in Scully’s engagement ring. She resists the urge to stuff her hand in her pocket.

“I don’t,” the woman finally says, her expression a mixture of confusion and regret.

Scully nods tightly. “We’ll take the king bed.”

She pays in cash and the woman offers to wake her husband to help with their bags. Scully shakes her head. “We don’t have any bags,” she explains. “We got stuck coming home from a—a conference.”

“Ahh,” the woman replies, but Scully can sense her suspicion.

The stairs leading to their room are steep and creaky, and Scully wonders how many other guests they’re disturbing as they plod up to the third floor. There’s only one room on the top floor and Scully opens the door as quietly as possible.

The room is small, its space almost completely monopolized by a very large bed. Scully doesn’t even bother scoping out the sleeping arrangements; she heads straight to the bathroom and starts up the shower. Even though the provided toiletries aren’t hers, they feel like heaven on her hair, skin, and teeth. Freshly showered, she is reluctant to put on her dirty clothes again, but she’s got no choice. If she were alone, she would consider sleeping in the nude. But because of Mulder, she pulls her work clothes back onto her body and hopes they don’t reek.

When she comes out of the bathroom, Mulder is sitting in a rocking chair but he immediately gets up and heads to the shower. She spends a few moments drawing the curtains and clicking off the lamps before she sinks into the bed.

Her body welcomes the softness of the mattress and the warmth of the sheets, and she starts to drift asleep quickly. She barely notices when Mulder reenters the room, but after a few moments, a rhythmic creaking noise rouses her. She pushes up on her elbows and squints into the dark. A few feet away, Mulder has taken up residence on the rocking chair once again. She sighs irritably. Trust Mulder to banish himself to the most uncomfortable seat in the house.

“I need you to be alert tomorrow in case you have to drive,” she calls out sensibly. “Come to bed.”

“I’m fine here.”

Enough with the self-punishment already. She throws the covers off and pads over to him. In the dark, she can just barely make out the surprise on his face as she curls her fingers around his bicep and tugs him to standing.

She drags him to the bed in some hideous parody of how she always hoped a sexual encounter between them might begin. He settles sullenly beside her, as far away as he can get, and she shuts her eyes and tells herself to sleep.

Mulder is so, so quiet for so long that she wonders if he’s fallen asleep or if he’s just stuck in a cycle of self-castigation.

But suddenly there’s a shift in the mattress and she feels him come closer. Her body stiffens.

“Scully,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

She doesn’t turn to face him but she doesn’t turn away either. She doesn’t know what he’s going to say, nor does she know what she wants him to say.

There’s a long pause and she starts to wonder if he’s expecting her to speak. And then she hears the wet slide of his mouth parting.

She holds her breath. What’s it going to be? An explanation? An excuse? An apology? Or God . . . maybe even a declaration? Something crazy and outrageous and impulsive. Foolishly, her heart jumps. Jesus, it that what she really wants from him?

She waits, heart thumping loudly. When he stays silent, she almost prompts him, but thinks better of it and keeps her mouth closed.

And she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

But nothing comes. Eventually she hears him shift onto his back, then onto his side facing away from her.

Tears prick unexpectedly at her eyes. Her silly little heart, thinking he’d try to smooth things over, thinking he’d try to communicate. But when have they ever gotten this part right?

She turns away. The wind howls at the window. Mulder’s breathing evens out. And she doesn’t sleep.

[wishamongtheflowers]

Bright future goes on

Sobbing echoed off each podium with red shinning out to light the room.

"Why them," A boy wept, "I don't understand."

The screens had his icon crossed out. Those that remained where killed all from a mistake. He knew so! He shouldn't have lived! He was the one who fell into despair!

"You should've executed me instead!"

His scream fell with gravity, into the void.

"Agh, geez." Off and on the past month Amari delt with these random headaches. All he could do was wait them out for a short time till the pain wavers.

Out off all the times he couldn't afford wasting time it just had to be on maintaining the school's gardens and lawns. We all can't win time from time. It wasn't like much was going to stop him from his usual jobs; all was all either or not.

"Almost done here. Just a few more flowers to plant."

"Hey little bro!" The gardener turned his head to see a fellow reserved course student walking up with his hand in the air.

He's one of his close friends from childhood. Wasn't the best time but, it worked out for them.

"Hey there pal. You need anything?" Amari asked.

"Just wondering if you're going to be available this evening? I need some help." He already knew just by his voice what it was.

"What's with that look?"

"Let me guess; you didn't study again Nakano?"

Nakano sighs, "Please help me."

"Alright, wait at our usual spot; there's only two more flowers left to plant."

Nakano bolted off to the school's gate leaving Amari alone. Alas, much to his intuition, he wasn't alone per se. A girl watched him from above. Dead navy eyes who knew yet never knew the gardener completely.

Amari kept his attention on his flowers. Nothing too impressive or new to watch from her protective. She left from her spot going on to handle something Mistress had commanded of her.

"Last one." A blue poppy flower was put into its new home. Gently patting down to fill the small gaps left behind, "There we go."

He took off his personal gardening gloves, putting them in his back pocket. Amari went to the school gates with a pair of eyes watching them.

"Let's mosey on."

Nakano looked over at a tree to find no one in view. He surly saw some girl peeking out. Oh well-

"Nakano!"

"Sorry sorry!" He left in a hurry.

A strange giggled came from behind said tree, "Master is here. Just like Mistress told."

All she had to do was keep track till the day arrives. Distance and out of sight, out of mind will help her in the short term.

'!' The girl stepped on a pair of gardening gloves, 'He dropped these. Luck is turning up!' She tucked them away in her small purse.

She halted her previous mission for now. Now she was wondering amongst living strangers living their own worlds. Each one an ant going to anthills in her disconnected world.

No amount of luck would shield her looks, smell, and constant force playing her strings.

'To the apartment and ready up for another day.' Kido stood at her usual train stop.

Her phone buzzed to life only to quiet once answered, " 8 5 12 12 15!"

"1 8, 1 12 12 9 19 7 15 1 14 7 7 15 15 4. 7 15 20 13 1 19 20 5 18' 19 7 12 15 22 5 19."

Kido giggled then hung up, "Looks like the plan has changed. Got to get some other things done first."

Her crooked lips formed more of a smirk than a smile.

Just what was being said? You had no clue. All you could tell was it looked sinister.

Approach her or not is up to you; your fate is sealed by death no matter your option.

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@y0u-f4il3d-m3 @fugitive-detective @human-monokuma @mikado-sannoji and anyone else.