#aligning with cops is never the answer!

[kyoshialone]

i really would like the main argument about gun safety to Not become “gun control makes cops’ jobs easier/safer” because i do not fucking care about cops beyond getting rid of them! if their jobs get easier/safer then it will make it easier for them to target+do violence against Black people, other people of color, poor people, and otherwise marginalized people. i want their jobs to stop existing not get easier or safer or more adaptable via reforms thank you and goodnight

[habitual-creatures]

Stuff we found outside!! (Don't tell the cops)

- 💜 anon and 🩵 anon!!!

NICE! AND I WOULD NEVER! 🤫 THAT SECRET'S SAFE WITH ME...

BUT WHO THE FUCK LEFT A COPY OF MALL COP JUST OUT THERE???

[ REGARDS, HABIT ]

[grapejuicestyless]

Stupid F-ing Tattoo

JJ Maybank x Fem!reader

Summery: Y/n and JJ both had a few things in common. One, love didn’t exist. And two, they both wanted her dead.

She wasn’t dead, but sometimes, he wished she was.

It was honestly fucked up, there was no silver lining. She hadn’t wronged him, or cheated, or lied. She was as guilty as a fish, and he was the shark. But he still wished she was dead.

Sometimes, JJ wondered if she wished the same thing. If some nights, if she ever were to by chance hear his laughter in a passing moment, maybe with his head hung out the back window of the Twinkie like she used to do, or in a lazy jog away from the cops, he wondered if she wished he would also, drop off the face of the earth to give her some peace.

Then he would remember that even though it didn’t feel like it, he had won. Because she had no peace, and he was certain she never would. While he was up all night wishing her to be gone, she was up all night praying for the same thing.

She often told him that the only things keeping her going were him and her dog, but mostly her dog. An old white dog, a stray she’d taken in when she was merely seven. He was as crusty as they get, and while he and his friends often joked about how gross the old thing was, she happily scratched behind his ears and reminded him of how good he was always.

But the dog was getting old, and JJ had long been extracted from her life. Sometimes he wondered if his prayers meant something, and then he would get on his knees and take them all back in a guilty sob. Because JJ didn’t want her to die, he just hated the fact that he had fallen in love with someone who couldn’t fathom love more than he ever doubted it.

JJ felt like an asshole. What kind of person prays for another persons death? Especially someone like her?

He figured he liked her so much because they were so alike. Like the seasons, they were the coolest winters and the sweltering summer all at once. They were so close, yet so far. Like January and December. Born with the same love and loyalty, but destined to fall apart, prophets forced to be divided.

His finger hovered over her contact every night, but every time he thought of how she would answer, and his tongue would go dry. She would probably only say hello, and he would say it back, and the line would go quiet for a few minutes, just breathing in each others inhales, aligning his breath to hers, and then she would ask him why he was calling. He would say he didn’t know, but he hoped she was well, and she would wish the same for him because she always did, and she always meant it more because she never wished that he was dead. Then, she would ask if it was okay to let him go, and he would ramble about something and how it was all dumb to begin with. She would listen and then the line would go dead. Dead like how he sometimes wanted her.

He couldn’t bear the idea of letting her go again, even if he didn’t realize he had the first time.

They had just gotten matching tattoos. “P4L” poked into their ankles until the skin swelled red and even air burned. They were fucked, and it was a dumb idea.

JJ said it was the stupidest fucking tattoo he’d ever gotten. She had laughed, playfully pushing his arm away and setting the needle down.

“You don’t have any other tattoos.” She reminded him softly, eyes shining in the moonlight. The twinkles reminded him of the north star, and he felt that he too found home in the same way.

“Not yet.” He promised her, his fingers slotting between hers. “I’m gonna get your name tattooed right across my palm so I can hold you eternity.” JJ smiled, proud at his use of larger words. He’d felt like a poet then, smiling from ear to ear at himself, a dork by textbook definition.

“Well, then I’m going to get your name tattooed on my lips, so I have every reason to talk about you.” She promised him, and JJ remembered the look in her eyes, he knew it from the way John B looked at Sarah and the way Pope’s dad looked at his mom. He knew it was love.

He should never have confessed it.

He knew better than anyone that her mothers neglect had beaten her heart black and blue, and her cousins hatred towards her and her friends who had bullied her, he knew that much like him, love was a construct of some sort of fantasy, a promise of forever that could never be fulfilled, because eventually, someone has to leave.

She laughed, and then she cried. She promised JJ that she also loved him, loved him like a dog loved its owner, unwavering and loyal. But there was no way in hell she could ever love him the ways he wanted, and that hurt JJ because he had spent weeks working up the courage to even come to terms with his very real feelings.

“I can’t love you, JJ. I do, but I can’t because I can’t even promise myself that forever. I’ll break my own heart and I’ll blame you.” She had explained with tears streaming down her face. He regretted the way he yelled at her.

They never spoke again. His best friend, and the love of his life, her voice became a concept in his mind, and he swore that he had forgotten the sweetness of her smell. He hated that because that meant he was just like everyone else. Just another person who would miss her when she went.

So, he started wishing death on her. More for himself, until it became a prayer for her. She never laughed anymore, never smiled. When he saw her from afar, he’d noticed that she’d gone back to her friends she hated because suffering is better than loneliness when all you can think about is the quickest way to go.

He saw a girl floating in the ocean the a few days into the summer, her hair resembled Y/n’s and her eyes did too. It was only when he saw the way she seemed to fold herself into the water he knew it was her because only she would have the drive to try and let the ocean swallow her whole.

JJ ran as fast as he could out, wading through the crashing waves until he could wrap his arms around her. She was wet, cold, and limp. A hollow version of the woman she once was. It reminded JJ that she was just a girl, the same age as him, and he once again, felt guilty for ever wishing death on her.

When he laid her in the sand, he knew two things.

One, on her skin, she had another small tattoo scribbled down to memorize her love forever. His name, just two little letters, the same one, poked into her shoulder in the same font as their matching tattoo.

“Stupid fucking tattoo.” He cried, gritting his teeth together, his hands searching her body for any warmth he could cling to, a sign that maybe he hadn’t seen her too late.

The second thing he knew, through his salty tears and guilty heart, was something he prayed he would never have to witness, but something he had always wished for.

His prayers had been answered.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Two of Them

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: When Hondo asks you to help catch a car thief, you meet Jim Street. As you get to know one another, you learn that you have a lot in common, but balance each other out perfectly.

Warnings: r loves cars/owns an auto shop & is sarcastic and makes jokes (very similar to Street), mentions of robbery and murder, fluff, softie Street

Word Count: 4.7k+ words

A/N: There's so many things I love about this request and a ton of (personal) references! I hope you all enjoy!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Someone wolf whistles as the garage door opens, and you walk faster to see what is worthy of such attention. When you step into the garage if your auto restoration shop, your jaw drops.

“Is that a ’59 Impala?” you ask breathlessly.

“Sure is,” Joel, your righthand man and drivetrain expert, answers. “She’s here for a tune-up. I know you’re busy, boss, so I can handle this one.”

“Yeah, right!” you exclaim. “All of my childhood dreams are under that hood.”

“You dreamt about reconstructed motors as a kid?”

“Do you talk to your wife like this, Joel? Because she’s never going to let you buy a C-10 with that attitude.”

He chuckles before he waves toward the office. “Impala owner is in there. Wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks, Joel. Don’t start without me!” you call over your shoulder.

As you enter the lobby, you put on your best customer service smile and straighten your shirt.

“Good afternoon,” you greet. “You must be the owner of that beautiful Impala.”

“Yes, ma’am. My friend Rick Castle told me that you were the person to see. I had the car restored by a guy in Texas, a ground-up rebuild, but it’s not riding as smoothly as it was before. The passenger side – sorry, I’m not very good at explaining these things – it almost feels like it’s bouncing while I drive,” he explains.

“Okay, that’s really helpful. It sounds like it’s probably an alignment issue. We can look at it today and give you a call when we find the issue,” you suggest.

“That would be great. Thank you.”

You review the paperwork he completed with Joel quickly before telling him bye. After putting his contact information into your computer system, you rush back to the garage.

“Let’s find out what’s causing the involuntary hydraulics,” you tell Joel.

“Hondo, get 20 squad in here!” Hicks calls.

As they gather in the situation room, Lieutenant Lynch queues a video pulled from a security camera. Street recognizes the location as the building they raided a few days earlier but remains quiet as she begins speaking.

“This is, of course, the building you raided. If you’ll recall, we hoped to locate an unidentified subject tied to several car robberies, assaults, and more recently, carjacking with deadly force. He killed a driver during a carjacking gone wrong and has continued to get more violent with each crime. We still haven’t identified the perp, courtesy of his never-ending vehicle supply and seeming knowledge of traffic cams. He didn’t seem to think about the security camera across the street from the parking garage before the raid, however.”

She presses a button on the tablet in her hand, and the video begins to play. Several cars come and go, but there’s nothing unusual. Hicks raises his hand to point to the time stamp, and the guys watch, waiting for some smoking gun or clear picture of the guy running from the cops. All that happens, though, is a man leaving in a convertible. Lynch pauses the video again and looks up expectantly.

“Was that a Triumph?” Luca asks excitedly. “Those are still rare in the states, even decades after they stopped manufacturing them.”

“It’s not stock,” Street adds with a shake of his head. “That’s not standard suspension, and the paint is too new to be original. Whoever brought that over had a lot of work done to it.”

“Which is great, makes it easier to find,” Hicks agrees. “Except there’s no plates, no registration, and no one has reported it missing. There’s not even a T3 in that color registered to anyone through the California DMV. We have something to look for, but no more information on who we’re looking for.”

“I know someone who can help,” Hondo says. “Classic cars, new paint, rebuilds…”

“You have a car guy?” Deacon asks. “Why?”

“Of course, I have a car guy,” Hondo scoffs. “My dad may have introduced me.”

“That makes more sense,” Luca says, nodding with Deacon.

“Hold on, guys,” Lynch calls. “The tech team thinks they may have found another lead. Consensus is this video is the same driver.”

She plays a new video, this one taken from a gas station camera. Another newer sports car pulls in, but no one exits the car. It sits for nearly three minutes, then pulls out.

“I’m not as versed as these guys, but that looks like a Lamborghini,” Tan comments. “Can’t be too hard to trace those in Los Angeles.”

“It is when they don’t have the original drivetrain. The back tires spun out way too far in that turn. It’s been modified, too,” Luca points out.

“He’s either got a thing for modified sports cars or he’s someone who’s flipping them to be completely different cars after he steals them,” Street hypothesizes.

“Your car guy gonna be able to help with that?” Hicks asks Hondo.

“Oh, yeah,” he answers. “This case’ll be closed in a week.”

“Then get out of here. You’ve got a rare car to track down.”

“One more thing,” Lynch says. “Really, I promise this is the last thing. None of those cars have been seen again. Seems like he drives them once and then ditches them.”

“He has to have his own garage, then,” Street says. “One that I wish I had.”

“Then it’s a bigger target,” Hondo declares. “Let’s roll.”

The chime connected to the front door of your shop rings loudly and you tell Joel to go check on the customer. You are under a 1977 Chevrolet Nova and elbow-deep in the engine bay. Even if you’d wanted to be the first face they saw, given that it is your business, you wouldn’t be able to get out from under the car before they assumed no one was here.

“Ah ha,” you murmur.

You pull the broken mounting bracket down past the ballast. It falls to the floor with a loud ting before you roll out from under the car. As you sit up and wipe your grease-covered hands on your coveralls, you see Hondo looking at you with his brows raised.

“Hello,” you greet.

“You got a little something right… everywhere,” he jokes.

“Funny,” you reply as you stand. “If your eyesight is that good, it’s no wonder you made SWAT.”

Someone laughs behind him, and you lean to the side. His entire squad waits in the lobby, and you wave before returning your attention to Hondo.

“I take it you’re not here about your dad’s car then,” you muse.

“Not today. We need some help with a case, if you have the time,” he explains.

“Sure. I’ll have Joel take you to my office. Let me clean up and I’ll meet you – all of you, I guess – in there in a minute.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me an entire car at this point, Hondo,” you call as you walk out of the garage.

Once you’re out of your stained overalls and have washed all of the grease and car-related grime off of your skin, you return to your office. Hondo and three other men wait beside your desk, and you invite them to sit. Hondo introduces you to Tan, Luca, and Street, and you shake each of their hands before you sit across from them. Hondo rolls his eyes when you smile at Street, but you’re not sure why.

“So, what exactly does Metro SWAT need from an auto shop?” you ask.

“Long story short, there’s a guy stealing sports cars; classics, fresh off the floor, and everything in between. Then he’s customizing them, driving them once, and ditching them for a new illegally obtained ride,” Hondo answers.

You nod as you think, then lean on your elbows on your desk. “Why customize them?”

“To make them untraceable, we think,” Luca answers. “You can’t report a car missing if it doesn’t exist anymore.”

“That tracks,” you agree. “But then the question becomes, how do you ditch them? You can’t leave something like that at a chop shop, the parts would bring more issues.”

“Private garage,” Street says. “Or maybe he’s selling them out of the county. Lots of possibilities.”

“It takes an incredibly rich, incredibly dumb person to treat cars like that,” you comment.

“We deal with criminals,” Hondo interrupts. “Rich and dumb is kind of our thing.”

“No, Hondo, cars aren’t like people. They fight back, they don’t just disappear without a trace.”

“She’s right,” Street adds. “These cars are more than property to be stolen.”

“What are you saying?” Hondo asks.

“Ever read Christine?” you joke.

“Or heard of Decepticons?” Street adds.

You smile at him again, and he nods before he winks quickly.

“So, can you help us or not?” Hondo inquires.

“Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”

“We’ve got some security cam footage of the cars he’s altered. We need to know where he’s getting the work done, or info on where a private garage big enough for a collection like this would be.”

“I’d be happy to look. I can’t promise anything, though. My clientele is more of the rebuild this classic or fix this issue not the I want to make a rare sports car even more unique off the books.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Hondo looks at his phone quickly and huffs. “Uh, Street, you stay and go over the videos with her. Deac said he and Chris need backup.”

“You got it,” Street answers.

Hondo thanks you quickly before he, Luca, and Tan leave. You’re left alone in your office with Street and aren’t sure how to start a conversation after joking together while Hondo filled you in on the case.

“Uh, here’s the videos. There’s only a few on this, but it should be enough to get an idea of what he’s doing,” Street says as he passes you a memory stick.

You take it from him and insert it into your computer. As the videos begin playing, you rewind it, pause it, and take a few notes. The cars in it don’t have anything in common, other than the fact that they’re stolen and modified.

“Well, I can say for sure that my guys didn’t do this work. Nobody I work with did, either. I’ll ask around and see what I can find,” you tell Street.

“I appreciate that,” he replies. “You know, when Hondo said he had a car guy, I was expecting…”

“A guy?” you guess.

“I mean, yeah. Middle-aged, beer belly, his name on the sign. The usual.”

“Sounds like my shapewear is doing its job if you don’t see a beer belly,” you joke.

“Please, you know how pretty you are,” Street replies.

“Seems like you think so.”

You lean forward and smile as you return the video drive to Street. He returns your smile and opens his mouth, likely to make another joke, before Joel knocks on the door.

“We’ve got another customer, boss. With a ’73 Corolla,” he informs.

“Excellent timing,” you mumble.

Street stands as you do and says, “Call Hondo, or me, whoever, if you find anything. Thanks for helping.”

“I will. Thanks, Street.”

He leaves through the lobby, and you take a deep breath. Joel smiles as he watches you, but you tell him to get back to work before he can comment.

“On what?” he yells behind you.

“Hondo, we’re not even doing anything,” Street groans in HQ the following morning. “Just let me go make sure she doesn’t need help or anything!”

“She knows more about cars than you do,” Hondo answers.

“That’s not what I mean. C’mon, man, she has an auto shop. Are you really going to make me sit here when I could be solving a case in my dream garage?”

“Hondo!” Deacon calls. “We’ve got another video. New car this time, but it doesn’t look modified.”

Street looks toward Hondo expectantly, and nearly cheers when Hondo sighs and tells him to go. He accepts the video and rushes to his motorcycle. Work will be more fun with you, he thinks.

“You’re back,” you say when Street walks into the garage.

“And you’re working on a 1960s Mustang,” he says dreamily.

“1964,” you tell him. “Want to take a look?”

“I’m supposed to be working. We have a new video with a different car.”

“Surely it can wait a few seconds, so you can look at the new 289 sitting pretty under the hood.”

“Yeah, we can wait,” Street agrees as he follows you to the hood of the car.

After Street takes a few minutes to admire the work you’ve done on the Mustang, you lead him to your office and bring up the new video.

“I haven’t seen it, but the people in the lab didn’t think it had been modified,” Street explains.

“Okay. Let’s see,” you say, turning the screen toward him.

Your shoulder presses against his arm as you watch, but you’re both too interested in the sports car on the screen to notice that you’re in shared space.

“I don’t see anything,” Street says.

You drag the video slowly and pause it when the wheels turn.

“That car shouldn’t be all-wheel drive. It’s a minor conversion compared to the other work you’ve shown me.”

“Who makes a Datsun 240z all-wheel drive?” Street murmurs.

“Who steals a Datsun 240z?” you counter. “They stopped making them for a reason. Short of a complete overhaul, they weren’t worth their weight in metal.”

“As right as you are, that doesn’t bring us any closer to finding this guy.”

“No,” you agree. “And none of my friends have heard anything. We’re getting the word out, though, so as soon as it reaches the right person, I’ll have more information for you. It’d be great if he decided to switch garages and was my next customer.”

“It would be easier.” Street leans back in the seat and looks at the pictures on your wall. “Best and worst customer to date, go,” he asks.

“Ooh, okay,” you say excitedly. “Best? A writer who lives up in the hills has brought me over 20 different rare classics to restore from the ground up. The worst was last week. Kid came in with a brand new, stock Lambo Huracan and wanted the double-clutch tranny switched out for a 4-speed automatic.”

“In a Huracan?” Street repeats incredulously. “I… I feel like I just aged twenty years.”

“Tell me about it. I asked him if he could drive it the way it was and never got an answer.”

“Did you do it?”

“Are you kidding? No! I’m in this business for the cars, and that’s just sacrilegious.”

Hondo knocks on your open door, and he’s leaning against it with his brows raised when you look up.

“There’s two of them!” he exclaims dramatically as he looks back at the rest of the guys. “I thought you and Street were bad enough separately, but this isn’t fair.”

“Can I help you Hondo?” you ask, ignoring his comment. Although, you don’t hate him viewing this as you and Street, together, as one.

“I just came to see if anything came of that video,” Hondo says.

“Nothing inherently helpful. Your smoking gun is still lost.”

“Keep looking,” Hondo requests, tapping his knuckles against the doorframe before he leads 20 squad away.

Street watches him leave, shakes his head, and turns back to you to ask, “How’d you get into cars?”

“My, uh, my home life wasn’t great growing up. Cars were my escape. From the time I was old enough to realize that walking out into the driveway to mess with the cars got me away from the fighting, I was out there constantly. Then it became a love for cars and everything they mean to people. This isn’t just my job, it’s my passion.”

“I lived in foster homes for too long,” Street says. “When I met my brother, Noah, he got me into motorcycles, which led to cars. We dreamed about getting a Ducati someday.”

“See? Cars mean something, they’re more than electronics and gas to get you from A to B. They’re life itself for some of us.”

“And you treat them like that. When I get that Ducati, I’ll bring it to you.”

“For what? Those are perfect as is.”

“Maybe it’ll just be an excuse to see you.”

You smile and shake your head, but you know that you’d welcome him in, anytime, with or without a Ducati.

“… And then after the toe, caster, and camber are matched up on both sides, we can move on to complete the diagnostics,” you finish.

“Okay,” the young girl says. “I need to call my dad really fast. Can I come back in and let you know after that?”

“Of course. Take your time.”

As she walks out, you notice Street standing in the doorway to the garage.

“That happen often?” he asks, gesturing toward the girl standing outside.

“Occasionally. Mostly with younger customers,” you answer. “Must be nice to have a parental relationship like that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So, what can I do for you, Officer Street?”

“Are you ever going to call me Jim?” he asks.

“I like cars, so Street is more fun,” you reply with a shrug.

“I actually came to give you a break. Hondo said you’ve been sending him updates day and night. You have to step back from it all before you burn out,” Street explains.

“I can’t. I have cars to finish, and some of my contacts have leads that seem promising, but they have to go through a chain of different garages, and…”

Street steps to you and lays his hands on your shoulders. He waits until you look into his eyes and relax to say, “You need a break. Trust me.”

“I need to finish with her,” you whisper. “Five minutes?”

“Five minutes,” he agrees. “And then I’m dragging you out of here if you won’t go willingly.”

Five minutes later, you follow Street into the small customer parking area outside the lobby. He walks to a motorcycle, and you eye it in admiration.

“This is your bike? It’s gorgeous, Street,” you say, running your fingers over the smooth metal body.

“It’s fast too,” he replies.

You accept a helmet and put it on as he climbs onto the bike. The Cardo logo on the side of the helmet catches your attention, but as you sit behind him and wrap your arms around him, you’re more than happy to ride in silence and decompress.

When you get back to the garage, you climb off the bike and hug Street before he can swing his leg over.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I did need that.”

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” he jokes as he returns your hug.

“Neither am I. And you shift into fourth too soon. That’s why it revs harder.”

“I knew coming to see you would embarrass me eventually,” Street laments. “But at least you’re pretty and really close to me.”

“I can move,” you say against his shoulder.

“No, thanks. Not until I have to go back to work.”

His phone rings in his pocket and you laugh as he grumbles, “Hondo always has to ruin the moment.”

The phone on your desk rings again as you lower the new L1 engine into a C-10. You roll your eyes at the sound but refuse to answer it.

“Somebody else answer the phone!” you call. “I can’t answer another stupid question today!”

Joel salutes you as he walks through your open door. He returns a moment later with the cordless phone in his hand and smiles.

“It’s Street. Would you like me to pass along your message?”

You extend your cleaner hand and tuck the phone between your ear and shoulder to say, “Hey, Street.”

“Can you remove the hemi from my Charger?” he asks. “It’s too loud when I drive.”

“I will hang up on you,” you threaten.

The line beeps and you pull the phone from your ear with pinched brows.

“Not if I hang up on you first,” Street says from the doorway. “Which is rude, by the way.”

“Have more videos for me to watch?” you ask loudly as you lean into the engine bay of the truck.

“No, just wanted to drop by. Nice body… the truck, I mean.”

“Sure, you did.”

You grunt as you stand and pass a screwdriver to Street.

“I don’t work here.”

“Yet you’re here every day,” Joel says from inside the cab of the truck.

“Not my fault your boss freelances for my boss,” Street replies.

“I told Hondo this morning that I hadn’t heard anything,” you interrupt as you wipe your hands on a rag.

“I know. I just wanted to drop by. I got off early, so, here I am.”

“Hmm. I was hoping you’d say you were undercover or something.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to believe this is how you dress when you’re not in uniform,” you joke.

“You’re covered in-“

“I’m at work,” you defend. “Hazards of the job. And don’t bring up the fact that my laundry room smells like motor oil because you can’t prove that.”

Your phone buzzes on the workbench behind you, and you apologize as you walk past Street to get it. He watches your eyes widen as you press the screen a few times.

“Call Hondo,” you demand.

“But-“

“I know who your car thief is. He’s on his way here right now with the Triumph T3.”

“How? Why?” Street questions.

“The guy he hired to do the work thought they were really his cars. Apparently, my name came up and with the message about him going through the automotive grapevine, his former mechanic recommended me for a modification tune-up,” you explain quickly.

Hondo arrives less than ten minutes later with the rest of 20 Squad. He asks what is so urgent as he looks between you and Street, though there isn’t much room between you.

“He isn’t ditching the cars. He’s still driving the cars because the Triumph slid last night and now he’s bringing it here to be repaired,” you tell Hondo.

“Okay, it slid and he’s bringing in one stolen car. What does that mean for me? And no automotive speak,” Hondo replies.

“Could I interest you in the Cybertronian translation?”

“Tell me what my bad guy did.”

“If I can convince him to list every car he may want me to work on in the future, could you get a warrant? I’ll try to get an address and a name for him, though they may not be legitimate.”

“We can certainly try,” Deacon agrees. “But he doesn’t seem like the type that will answer questions.”

“I have a way of getting people to talk. Especially car people. Guys like him like to brag, so if I one him up, he won’t have a choice but to tell me what you need to know.”

“Just be careful,” Street says. “Don’t let him get so cocky he thinks he has to prove himself in any way except talking about cars.”

“I won’t. But you guys need to get out of sight. He’ll want to see the garage and get a feel for the security.”

“We can pretend to be security,” Street argues.

“Nah, you got a cop face, man,” Joel says from inside the truck.

“Joel, I’m going to marry your boss and ask her to fire you,” Street shoots back.

“I want to hear more about that later,” you interrupt. “But seriously, get out of sight.”

A few minutes later, a Triumph T3 stops outside of the lobby entrance. The man who enters looks like the driver in the security videos, but you have to get more information before anything else can happen.

“Hi,” you greet. “You must be the gentleman Josh told me about. He said you had a classic, but I was not expecting a ‘50s Triumph. That’s a gorgeous car, sir.”

“I appreciate it. She’s my baby, but the steering is a bit off since I hit a wet patch last night and the back end slid.”

“That sounds like a simple enough fix. If you can just fill out some information-“

“Josh said you’d do this off the books for me, like he has. Cash upfront.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you agree. “Go ahead and pull her into the garage.”

He nods and exits the front door. You sigh and move into the garage, planning how to get him to talk about the other cars he has stolen and where he keeps them.

“Nice facility,” he compliments as he enters your garage. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a couple incredibly rare classics that I work on often, and those customers deserve the best.”

“Rarer than a 1953 Triumph T3?” the man asks, defensive and growing insulted.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had a Model T in here, several European cars, including a T2, plus modern sports cars.”

“I’ve got a garage full of classics that make those seem like Hot Wheels.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur as you lift the hood of the Triumph. “I’ve had my hands in a 1931 Bugatti Type 41. I don’t think it gets much better.”

“My collection is worth a dozen of those outdated bugs!” he exclaims. “The Triumph, a Lamborghini Aventador with custom drivetrains, and I’d bet this car that you haven’t seen a Datsun 240z in mint condition with all-wheel drive. If your little dump of a garage could handle even that! My 25,000 square foot garage has cars you’ve never even heard of.”

“LAPD SWAT!” Hondo calls as he and his team enter the garage. “You’re under arrest for grand theft auto, carjacking, assault and battery, murder, and about fifteen more charges that I don’t have the patience to list. Now, when an arrest warrant goes through without a name, you know that’s a bad person.”

“Do not push him up against this car!” you demand as Hondo grabs his shoulder. “Toolbox, wall, anything other than a pristine T3.”

“Thanks for the help,” Hondo calls over his shoulder as he leads the thief out of the garage.

“It’s a shame such a pretty car has to go into evidence before it returns to its owner,” you tell Street.

“Yeah. Listen-“

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” you ask.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks.

You smile as you answer, “I’d love to.”

“Trust me, you’re gonna love this place,” you promise as you take Street’s hand. “All of the food is served in trays that look like classic cars.”

Street laughs as you bounce excitedly and uses your joined hands to pull you close.

“If you could buy one classic car, what would it be?” he asks.

You answer without hesitation before asking him the same question.

“Car? Probably an Aston Martin or a ‘60s Impala. Something sleek, classic, dangerously fast,” he answers. “Motorcycle is still a Ducati.”

“You’d suit an Aston Martin or an Impala,” you agree. “Or you can just ride shotgun in mine.”

“I was born to drive,” Street says dramatically.

You laugh at him as you slide into a booth in the restaurant. Street follows, setting the tray of food before you as he sits beside you.

“Are all of our dates going to be car-themed?” Street asks.

“You’re the one who already planned our wedding, and I’ll go ahead and tell you now that I’m not firing Joel, so you tell me.”

“I don’t care what we do as long as you’re there,” Street decides.

You smile as you turn toward him, and when you raise your chin, Street kisses you quickly. You momentarily forget about the car-themed trays holding your food, too distracted by his affection to care about which model you got. But then he tells you he got the better one and you push him away from you to check. Street laughs as he pulls you close again, and you’ve never been happier to have so much in common with one person. Maybe there are two of you, but the balance and love Street brings is perfect.

[allbark-no-bite]

the night shift.

jake seresin x bradley bradshaw (wc: 3k)

summary: jake’s a cop working the night shift and pulls over a mildly drunk (and very interested) firefighter. chaos ensues.

warnings: mature, *driving while under the influence of alcohol, some sexual references

*if this bothers you, just don’t read, simple as that. you don’t have to come into my inbox to tell me that it bothers you <3

author’s note: i’ve never written anything faster in my entire like. this was so much fun! i came across this post again and couldn’t let it go. all credit to @squiddosss for their amazing artwork

————————————————————————

It's slow nights like these that make Jake question why he prefers the night shift.

The gravel of the lonely backroad crunches beneath the tires of his cruiser as he makes the curve and slowly pulls to a stop. The sirens on his cruiser give one last whoop before he shuts them off. The back of the beat up vintage blue Bronco gleams in the shine of his headlights. He sighs and shifts the car into park before he tips his radio towards his mouth and mumbles his whereabouts, informing Javy that he's making a traffic stop.

"10-4. Keep me updated."

He climbs out of the cruiser and makes his way towards the vehicle, keeping one thumb tucked into the front of his belt, fingers ready to reach for his gun in an instant. The diver hadn't given him any trouble thus far other than what he had pulled him over for— swerving all over the road, but Jake had been trained to err on the side of caution. He runs his finger tips over the tail light as he passes it by, a habit he had picked up from working alone.

For being such an old model, the car is in pretty decent shape. It has what appears to be brand new tires and the powder blue paint job has been restored to perfection. It was obviously well cared for. He wonders briefly the story behind it being as he doubts you could buy such a car these days. This was the kind of car that you handed down.

The window rolls down just as Jake approaches it.

"How's it goin' Officer?"

Jake blinks.

The driver is a younger guy, probably close to his own age— Jake likes to think that thirty-one is still plenty young— with shoulders so broad that it's a wonder he even fits in the front seat. His skin is a dark olive, which is pretty typical for someone who lives around here, but what catches Jake's attention the most is the perfectly groomed mustache the guy is sporting on his upper lip. It's thick and matches the caramel color of his otherwise brunette head of hair.

"Is there something wrong?"

The guy smiles and his dusty rose lips frame his perfectly aligned white teeth.

Jake tells himself it's his job to notice these kinds of things.

Jake clears his throat and leans in to peer into the cab of the truck, doing his best to avoid the lingering stare of the guy's warm hazel eyes. When he's satisfied that there's nothing worthy of his immediate attention in the car, Jake focuses back on him.

"Can I get your license and registration?"

It takes him a moment of fumbling around in his glove box and then his pocket, but he hands both documents over. The guy watches him so intently while Jake reads over them that it almost makes him uncomfortable, and he's glad for the excuse to look away.

"You had much to drink tonight, Bradley?" Jake asks as his eyes skim over the name. Bradley Peter Bradshaw. He almost laughs. If Jake didn't know better, he'd think it was a fake.

Jake knows the answer before he asks it but he figures he'll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. He doesn't necessarily reek of alcohol but Jake can defiantly pick up the fermented smell of yeast on his breath. If the guy hadn't been staring at him so intently and Jake could look at him for longer than two seconds, he's sure his pupils would be dilated as well.

"Just a little, Officer. I'm sobered up now."

Jake has to hold back his disbelieving snort. If he had a dime for every time he heard that, he'd be rich. "Well, Bradley. I find that a little hard to believe. You were all over this back road here. You know you're only supposed to drive on the right side, right?"

Bradley's mouth twitches, as if he found Jake's comment more amusing rather than condescending. "I didn't, but I'll sure take your word for it."

Jake, on the other hand, doesn't share his humor. "You seem like a funny guy, Bradley. But unfortunately, I don't find drunk driving to be very funny."

And then his eyes land on the emblem on Bradley's navy blue t-shirt—N.I.F.D. —the one his swollen biceps are nearly bursting out of.

"You work for North Island Fire Department?"

Jake watches as Bradley's slightly drunk grin widens. "I sure do."

Jake hands him back his license and the rest of his paperwork. "I've got a couple friends down at the station. You know Trace, Fitch?"

If his pupils weren't already blown wide, Jake would say they lit up in recognition. "Yeah, actually. Natasha is the one who got me the job there. I just finished a deployment out in the Pacific."

It's then that Jake notices the dog tags looped around his thick neck and hidden beneath his shirt. "You're enlisted," Jake says aloud, and then to conceal his surprise follows with, "I was too."

That's the kind of thing that you do when you're eighteen and more scared of not living than dying. If anything it was exciting. Anything that meant getting the hell out of Texas was exciting. He misses it now, but at the time when he was standing alone in that recruiters office, he didn't think for a moment that he would. He felt like a man.

The navy made him a man, is what his daddy said. It was probably one of the only times the old bastard ever told him he was proud of him, and the only time he didn't feel bad for making his mama cry.

The reason he got out was for the reason most do. You realize you don't stay twenty forever and life doesn't wait around until you figure that out. He didn't want to retire one day and have nothing to come home to but an empty apartment. San Diego seemed as good of a place to settle down as any.

Javy's voice crackles through on the radio strapped to his chest, breaking up their conversation.

"Unit-16. Checking in on your traffic stop. You need back-up?"

He hadn't realized they'd been talking so long. Jake mentally reprimands himself for getting distracted and picks up the radio while pressing it to his mouth. "This is Unit-16. No back-up necessary. Over."

"10-4. Over."

Jake releases the radio and looks back up to Bradley. Get back on task, Jake. Bradley smiles coyly at him. Jesus, focus, Jake.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to step out the vehicle."

The hopeful look in Bradley's big hazel eyes falters.

"Look, Officer uh— " The Bradley leans towards his open window so that he can squint at the gold engraved name plate on Jake's uniform. "—Seresin." Jake watches as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he cocks his head a little to the side and smiles, looking up at Jake. "You look good."

Oh. Oh.

That's what this is all about.

It's then that Jake realizes that this guy has been flirting him the entire time. He'll admit it's not the first time someone's hit on him while on the clock. Jake is aware he's an attractive guy, it's just that this is the first time he's been tasked with turning down at very handsome, drunk stranger. But drunk or not, the compliment makes his cheeks burn. Jake prays that the red and blue lights of his cruiser are enough to conceal the way his face flushes.

Ignoring him, Jake grabs the door handle of the Bronco and tugs it open. "C'mon, pal. Outta the car."

A little begrudgingly, Bradley slowly steps out of the car. Jake doesn't miss the way he grabs onto the door to steady himself.

Now that he's out of the car and in the beam of his headlights, Jake gets a good look at him. Bradley is over six feet of lean tan muscle. His long legs are encased in blue jeans that fit a bit too snug around his narrow waist, but from there he only gets wider all the way up to his shoulders. He's got some height on Jake and if he weren't in shape himself, Jake would probably be a little intimidated.

Jake steps up to him. "Go ahead and turn around for me. Put your hands flat on the hood."

For a moment Jake thinks he isn't going to listen, but then Bradley smirks a little and does as he's told. "Normally I'd ask you to buy me dinner first, but whatever you say, Officer."

This time Jake is glad that he's turned around. He steps forward and uses one of his feet to knock Bradley's legs a little further apart so that he can pat him down. He's not surprised to find that there's nothing on him, but he always has to check.

"Are you always this forward, Bradley? Or just when you're drunk?"

"No, sir," Bradley promises him, refusing to flinch even as Jake's hands come dangerously close to his crotch. "Just when the officer is nice to look at."

Jake pulls away as Bradley turns around. He specifically remembers telling him to keep his hands flat on the cruiser but Jake is getting the impression that Bradley doing something that could hurt either one of them isn't something he needs to worry about so he lets it go. Typically a stupid decision but he trusts his gut.

Bradley leans back just slightly to prop himself up against the car and crosses his arms in front of his chest while giving Jake a smile. His big brown eyes are warm and dopey, his smile impish.

"You gonna cut me some slack?" he asks.

Habitually, Jake curls his fingers through the front of his belt. The familiar weight of his kevlar vest is heavy and comforting and somehow he finds that it settles his fluttering heart in his chest.

"You know it's considered an offense to flirt with an officer?" Jake tells him, trying to remain professional and stand his ground. If his eyes drop to observe the way the other man's pecks fill out his t-shirt, that's his business.

Bradley smiles, ducking his head a little abashedly. Jake doesn't miss the way his teeth release the pout of his bottom lip. "Does that apply to when you're off duty as well?"

Jake pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek to keep from smiling. It's not funny, and he shouldn't be flattered by the advances of a drunk stranger but he is. And maybe he does have some sympathy for the guy. He knows what it's like coming back to the states and trying to adjust back to civilian life. But that doesn't mean that he's above the law.

"Bradley," he begins, his voice firm but sympathetic. "You know you can't be driving around like this. As much as I'd like to, I can't let you go."

As far as he's concerned, Bradley doesn't seem to be hearing him at all.

"Y'know, of all the places I imagined myself being handcuffed, none of them were in the back of a cop car."

"Jesus Christ," Jake mutters, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Really, he has no words. "Okay, that's enough," he announces, giving up on getting Bradley to actually take this seriously. "Turn around for me."

Smiling as if feeling a little too pleased with himself, Bradley obediently shuffles around so that Jake can then walk up behind him and clasp his wrists together. He uses his other hand to retrieve his cuffs from his belt and clips them on.

They're a little tight but that's only because Bradley's broad shoulders prevent his wrists from fully meeting, his shoulder blades seemingly obstructed by the wide expanse of his back.

Jake is definitely not staring. 

If the cuffs are uncomfortable, Bradley doesn't say anything, and Jake walks him by one of his elbows to the cruiser.

"Watch your head," Jake instructs him as he opens the door for Bradley to step in. It's a tight fit but somehow he manages, scooting over the seat until he's sat in the middle, his long legs spread to either side in order to accommodate them. The denim of his jeans strain at the awkwardness of the angle and gives Jake a front row view of the bugle of his crotch.

Jake clears his throat, looking away. If it were for the fact that he was drunk, Jake would say he's doing it on purpose.

Before Jake can shut the door and leave with what little is left of his self preservation, Bradley's voice stops him.

"Wait, what about my car?"

When Jake leans down to poke his head into the backseat of the cruiser, the look on Bradley's face is actually concerned. That's a first, Jake thinks. "I'll call someone to tow it. It'll be impounded until you can come and pick it up from the station." When the worry on Bradley's face only increases, his mustache emphasizing the action, he follows with, "They'll take good care of it for you, I promise."

Bradley's eyes flicker to the old Bronco anxiously. "It's just that it's my dad's car. He, um, he died when I was a kid. So, y'know..." he explains, trailing off.

Of fucking course it is.

Jake sighs, hangs his head in defeat for a second, and then looks back into the car at Bradley. "Look, I'll make a deal with you. Promise me we won't meet like this again and I won't have them tow your car. You can just come get it in the morning."

Bradley grins. "Well I'd certainly like to meet you under different circumstances."

Jake slams the door shut.

The drive back into town is quiet. When he glances at the clock on his dashboard, he realizes he only has about an hour left to his shift. As he pulls into the little suburban neighborhood, having memorized the address on Bradley's license, he glances into the backseat through his rear view mirror.

At first he thinks that Bradley's knocked out in the backseat, head lulled back as he breathes slow and steady, but then he sees the whites of his hazel eyes illuminated by the occasional red and blue flash of his overhead lights. Their gazes meet through the mirror and the corner of Bradleys mouth lifts up in a half drunk smile. Jake shifts his gaze away to instead peer at the numbers on the houses. Finally he finds the address he's looking for and slows the cruiser as he pulls into the driveway.

He brings the car to a stop and slides out of the driver's seat, walking around the car to open up the side door. Bradley stares at him quizzically from the backseat.

"C'mon, hop out before I change my mind," Jake prompts, gesturing with his head for Bradley to get a move on. The tall brunette climbs out with as much ease as one can muster in a pair of handcuffs before he's once again standing face to face with Jake.

He's on the downside of his drunken stupor, more sleepy than buzzed if his drooping eyelids are anything to go by. His mustache lifts as he smiles down at Jake. It's still ridiculous looking but it makes more sense now that Jake knows his occupation. It's the only type of facial hair that's considered to be within regs.

Jake clears his throat. "You want me to take those off?" he asks, motioning towards the cuffs holding Bradley's hands behind his back.

"I might do something stupid if you do."

Jake freezes. "What?"

Before he knows it Bradley's kissing him. He connects their mouths with surprising ease. It's so smooth and he moves relatively quickly for someone who's mildly intoxicated that Jake doesn't even see it coming. Between Jake's surprise and Bradley's lack of hands, they're a bit top heavy and Jake has to fist the front of Bradley's t-shirt, his back hitting the side of the cruiser, to keep them from toppling over.

Bradley's mouth is warm, his lips pliant and soft, but he's firm in the kiss, unrelenting in the way that Jake couldn't have pulled away even if he wanted to.

He doesn't want to— he does— but he doesn't want to.

When he comes to his senses, Jake flattens a palm against Bradley's chest and shoves him away. Immediately his chest aches at the distance. He stands there, still half shocked, with his palm holding Bradley away at arm's length.

Really, he's not too sure what to do in this situation.

Bradley’s hazel eyes shine in amusement. He doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

Again Jake clears his throat. "Ahem— um, glad you got that out of your system," he says with a pat to Bradley's chest. And before anything else can occur, he swiftly steps around the other man and uncuffs his wrists.

Bradley groans in relief, bringing his hands in front of him to rub at his sore wrists. “I think your bondage play needs some work. Not that I’m complaining—”

“Go inside. Get some sleep, Bradley.”

Taking the not so subtle hint, Bradley straightens and fixes Jake with a mocking salute before he turns and makes him way to the front porch. He watches as Bradley unlocks the front door and turns to give him one last look before he steps inside.

“Until next time, Officer Seresin.”

Jake just shakes his head in disapproval, but he can’t disguise his smile. “There better not be a next time,” he calls up the driveway.

He doesn’t pull out the driveway until Bradley’s shut the door and he sees the porch lights flicker off.

Maybe he does like the night shift.

[adviceformefromme]

What is being called in this month vs whats being left behind:

Not only is it a new month, but also a change in seasons, the perfect opportunity to reflect and realign. 

What’s going out: 

Social Media: Just imagine how liberating it feels to finally be done with checking your phone? To no longer loose precious hours of your life, scrolling. Deleting the apps and not being part of the crowd feels so freeing and exclusive, like you just went to pilates, received a gorgeous bunch of flowers, and copped a new dress for your Thailand trip…and it’s all for you. Life feels so much more personal. No one else in your business. No fronting, no taking 20 shots to get the perfect one to post. No comparing your life to others. There is no extra energy being directed at you because you no longer partaking in the circus. 

Rushing & Stressing: It might seem unimportant to highlight this fact, but the stress on your body from constantly rushing and panicking can actually cause sickness. The stress hormones in your body go into overdrive, and overtime this can cause serious harm. Besides that who wants to be that rushed, stressed out woman? Is she who you aspire to be? If not, what shifts do you need to make so your day is better organised? This new season is replacing stress with peace.

Subscribing to a life that is not in alignment: You know in your heart what you love, the environments that nurtures you, the weekends that fill your heart. But somehow...you choose to live a life that rejects your hearts desires. You settle. Why waste your life, going to pubs and drinking when you really want to be sipping herbal teas and hiking mountains on the weekend? Why subscribe to an office job because everyone else is when you really want to be volunteering for a charity in Nepal? The power is in your choice. The change may not happen overnight. But the change needs to happen, to be in motion. Saying no to what doesn’t feel right in your life, will create new space for what truly sets your soul on fire. 

What’s coming in:

Nourishment on a whole new level: It’s always sickness that causes us to really value health. But, why wait. Investing in your health to ensure you feel at your very best will benefit you in ways you can only dream of. You sleep better, your skin is brighter, your levels of respect for yourself are so much higher because you are FULLY invested in your wellbeing. You make smarter food shopping choices, you educate yourself about what nourishes you. You carve out time to listen to your body. What does it need? What needs to be healed? Boys, drama, gossip? No time for that, you are too busy reading up on Ayurvedic medicine and at your yoga class. You deeply love yourself, and it shows through your levels of self-nourishment.

Strong boundaries with the people in your life: That emotionally unstable friend that dumps all her traumas, worries, stress on you to the point that it's effecting your energy. Create a boundary. The guy you went on a date with that keeps yo-yoing in and out of your life. Create a boundary. The other friend that keeps cancelling last minute, create a boundary. The difficult thing about boundaries, is that often we have never been taught how to make them. What does it even look like to tell someone they are SEVERELY affecting your day, your mood, your entire life without raging or hiding in a corner? Learning what your needs are is a good starting point. What do I need from this person? You have all the answers within. Learn better boundaries, so people around you don’t get the better of you.  

Carving out time for soul passions: Life will be life, the day will be filled with the usual, work, study, cleaning, eating, washing, seeing people. But what about you? What about that little fire inside you that needs some kindling? It might need you to start writing, to maybe wake up a little earlier so you can carve out an hour to pour into your passions. The more you do this, the more the fire inside you will grow, you are feeding your soul, you’ll feel better, and the guilt of not listening to your inner voice will no longer haunt you. There’s no more sleeping on yourself, this season is for the soul. 

[transingthoseformers]

Soundwave had never trusted him and very much thought he was behind it. It was kind of a suicide mission he went on with the newly recruited Deadlock who was determined to go with him. They run into Jazz, who is also breaking in because Orion is missing, which leads them to working together (SW lied through his teeth about hisnintentions and was definitely going to kill Orion and maybe die after if the guards caught him as he isn't handling this well).

Then he finds him, and it is very clear he's not there willingly.

They break him out and hide out with an old friend named Ratchet, who shoves them all in a backroom and lies to the cops before using his connections to get them out.

Soundwave doesn't expect to come back with all of them because Ratchet's lie is going to get found out, Jazz isn't leaving Orion alone anytime soon, and Orion Pax has changed and Soundwave is reluctantly treating him like Megatronus's widow and somewhat succesor as much as it pains him, which Orion would be considered in their cultural as legal marriages were difficult to achieve. Feelings matter.

I figure in this Starscream without Megatron as a charismatic young opposition stays as one of the figureheads for the Council, which is absolutely destroying and speaking against Orion and Soundwave in the news. Trying to dig up every bit of dirt on them both. Ultra Magnus is his co-leader.

Soundwave is deeply uncomfortable as leader and figurehead, but he cannot bring himself to trust Orion to lead. Which does lead to him trying to manipulate information or gaslight Orion to make certain decisions, but Orion is an archivist and just as skilled and calls him out on it. Challenging Soundwave's on preconceptions even as Orion works on unpacking his own. He also pettily starts dragging Soundwave to stand beside him as a visible leader and speaker and tells him tough luck.

Prowl and Ironhide and Praxus get recruited to be firmly Decepticons under their shared leadership. Especially following the murder of Megatronus. It's another matter of contention for the two of them, but the ultimately answer the call for aid and gather a lot of support and high morale when they work to evacuate as many people as possible and get some of their most important officers out of the Council's decision to "make an example" out of them. The city is lost, but they get a lot of citizens out. Who have skills their fledgling revolution definitely needs and it further acts as a counter to the propaganda about them. Though the Council tries to spin it.

Soundwave spends half their time together wanting to punt him through a wall and they are both exceptionally petty at times whi h Soundwave wears as a badge of honor to get Orion yelling back or a few times actually biting him.

Jazz thinks it's hilarious when the "brawl like protoforms" while Prowl despairs at them not having "the sense Primus gave a cyberpigeon" (I love that cowboy/southern Prowl is in Aligned which means Praxus is southern and I love that). Onslaught despairs at the fact his leaders have no dignitt. Ratchet thinks they are all being ridiculous, but Makeshift, Ironhide, Scrapper, and Deadlock are taking bets on who wins. Shockwave is mostly uninterested.

Orion has a surprising amount as he is very slippery and somewhat shameless when he gets to the biting stage. Soundwave reluctantly respects that, and Orion is a little more prone to being snippy with him, which Soundwave considers it more honest than his polite, carefully maintained face he's learned to keep.

Jazz is the one who makes comments about Soundwave and Orion's potential feelings.

Starscream is officially declared Prime and Orion and Soundwave are determined to find the Matrix first to keep it from him.

(Alpha Trion has been desperately trying to track Orion down because this was very much not as planned.)

So our line up is pretty different, and Soundwave's learning on the fly here

Iicr, before the war, Starscream was a pretty high ranking neutral general (and was for a decent chunk of it too) so this makes sense

Yep, Soundwave still doesn't trust Orion and it leads to consequences

Interesting how the fall of Praxus is similar but dissimilar to some canons

Sggshd Sounders and Ori having petty fights as well as the serious ones, and Prowl, Onslaught, and Ratchet being disappointed in them is hilarious. Like. Oh. Ohh you two. I think Jazz is right

Starscream is officially declared Prime

Prime!Starscream has to be fascinating, especially considering what I know of pre series aligned Starscream and other versions of him, and how his personality slightly differs thanks to the council in this

His decisions will be fun (for us) (not everyone else)

[urhoneycombwitch]

like a fern

foreword: this feels super vulnerable to post but maybe that’s the point!!! pls check cw before reading. obviously, non-binary+genderqueer folks existed in the 80’s, but I’m writing from the POV of a reader who does not have the language to describe their dysphoric feelings. proceed with gentleness and take care of yourself. this one’s for the queers <3

cw: AFAB reader with breasts (non-sexual mention), reader is non-binary but doesn’t have the words to self-describe as such, discussions of gender and sexuality, Eddie is also queer, love and understanding from an also-queer partner <3

wc: 1.4k

Indiana summer is in full swing, record-breaking temperatures keeping everyone indoors and away from the punishing sun.

Eddie and you are sprawled on the trailer’s twin mattress, well-used to making the small space fit you both.

He’s flopped on his back, rambling about the woes of trying to align ten different busy schedules for a night of D&D while you half-listen. An ancient box fan leans against his dresser nearby, pointed at the foot of the bed and doing its best to circulate the muggy air.

You’re stretched out on your stomach, arms curled in, hands tucked into the hollows of your shoulders. In order to maximize air flow over warm skin, you’ve stripped down to just a sports bra and cut-off denims, Eddie in similar fashion with just a pair of cotton boxers slung low on his pale hips.

He’s currently cursing capitalism and the jobs that keep his friends too busy for play, a familiar rant that’s less fiery this time around as his voice is muted with heat-sleepiness; dark curls spill around his face and shoulders, fanned out against the pillow behind his head, long lashes sweeping with each blink.

You’ve never known a boy so pretty in all your life. Didn’t even know that boys could be pretty, until you met Eddie.

As he talks, you let your eyes drop from his face to his bare chest, something like envy unfurling as you note the smoothness there, the near-concavity of the space above his ribs.

Not for the first time, you wish you were matching.

There’s a deep pit of yearning that quickly spirals into longing, whenever you think about how Eddie fits into tank tops or goes shirtless with ease- something that has recently taken shape into something less about wanting to be similar to the love of your life, and more like self-applied jealousy.

As if in psychosomatic answer, your breasts begin to squish uncomfortably from lying on your front; when you shift to change the pressure, bare arm unsticking tackily from Eddie’s, he stops mid-ramble to look down the slope of his nose at you.

“Everything okay?” He stretches a ringed pointer finger to coast over the skin of your neck, lightly and soothing. “Sorry it’s like a goddamn oven in here. If I was rich I’d build you an ice house just for sitting in.”

Your eyes flutter at his touch, smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Nah. S’okay. It’s not the heat.”

“Then what?” Curiosity piqued, Eddie props himself up on his elbows. The silver chain around his neck slides over his pec; he catches you staring, then gives you a wolfish grin, misinterpreting your look. “Ah. Right. Of course. Feelin’ a little hot and bothered?”

“Only because it’s hot and you’re bothering me,” you snip, squirming uncomfortably again when the band of your sports bra digs in. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. What were you saying about burning the workforce to the ground?”

Eddie’s not so easily dissuaded from the source of your discomfort. Childishly, he pokes at your cheek, emphasizing each demand- “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me or I swear to god I’ll start screaming my head off until you spill your guts and Mrs. Trainer will call the cops again and it’ll be a whole thing-”

“Christ, Eddie.” You swat his hand away, and he recedes, triumphant, boring a hole into the side of your head with expectant watching. “Ugh. Fine. It’s-”

Words tangle in a confusing jumble at the forefront of your mind, twisting and warping around each other. Your throat feels dry so you clear it, burrowing the side of your face into the pillow for comfort, brows pinching together as the simplest words of the lot spill from your tongue like a midnight confession.

“I don’t think I’m a girl.”

Your pained expression is obscured by the pillow, so Eddie’s still playful, mattress jiggling as he flops backwards again. “Not a girl, huh? So what are you… man, mollusk, or mammal?”

He quiets when he realizes you’re not laughing. “Hey...”

Since your eyes are still obscured, your sense of hearing and touch fill in the gaps- Eddie looping an arm around your waist, ends of his hair tickling your upper back as he leans in to nose at your ear- “Talk to me. Tell me again, I won’t poke fun. What’s up?”

The tightness in your chest eases some as the steady weight of his arm works as a grounding force, enough to coax part of your face and mouth out from the confines of the pillow to repeat, “I don't think I’m a girl.”

“Okay,” Eddie responds, immediate and caring, thumb stroking soft against your spine. “A boy, then?”

“No.” You mirror Eddie’s earlier movements, propping up to your own elbows, grateful when he doesn’t move his hand from you but still keeping your eyes fixed on the faded floral pattern of the pillowcase. “Not a boy. Something… in between? Or maybe neither…? I dunno yet.”

The more you try to give a name to the feeling, the faster it runs like water through a fist. You’re just about to make another bid to drop the issue when Eddie uses his free hand to snap his fingers, dark brows nearly touching his fringe in an expression of a lightbulb moment.

“Adiantum pedatum.”

This time when you frown, it’s from bewilderment. “…what?”

“Adiantum pedatum,” he says again, fingers trailing mindlessly up the length of your back while he explains. “Well, that’s the scientific name, at least- the five-fingered fern. It’s native to our region, was reading about it in one of Dustin’s nerdy plant books. They reproduce asexually, can’t be labeled as male or female ‘cuz they’re in their own category. Rad, right?”

He’s sparkling with the idea, chocolate eyes lit up the same way you’ve seen after a successful campaign or a band session that ran long with an abundance of artistic flow.

“Kinda like you,” Eddie says, softly, smiling easily up at you. “In your own category. Can’t be contained, sometimes.”

“But-” There’s still a sticky, confusing feeling attached to the idea, one that you’re trying to parse out as your fingers dig into fabric. “What if it wasn’t just some times? What if I felt like this all the time?”

“That’s cool, too,” Eddie affirms. His hand tracks a path from your lower back up to your neck, rings cool against your skin as he swipes a thumb against the apple of your cheek. “Sounds lonely to carry all by yourself, though. I’m glad you told me.”

There hasn’t been any room in your complicated introspection for excitement or joy, thus far, but the way Eddie’s talking about it causes a wave of tension release, of gratefulness, overwhelm in the form of tears pricking at your eyes. “And you don’t think it’s… weird? Like, it doesn’t freak you out knowing I feel this way?”

“Psh.” He rolls his eyes, dismissive, humor leaking back in. “Freak me out? Me? Did you get heatstroke and forget who you’re talkin’ to? I wear your underwear for fun. You call me beautiful and it turns me on. I’m no stranger to the Weird and Devious.”

“Fair point,” you muse, forehead dropping like a magnet to press into Eddie’s shoulder. He wraps you in a brief, sweaty squeeze of a hug before dropping it to let the fan air breeze over the both of you once more.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like one of my girly nicknames for you, right?’ Eddie asks, contemplative but already returning to that faded, sleepy tone. “Angel and princess and sweetie. That kind of stuff. I’ll have to get more creative but it’s worth it for you.”

“Don’t ever stop calling me angel,” you whisper, breath hushing warm against the curve of his shoulder as you settle into the solid security of his body. “Think I might wilt like a five-fingered plant.”

The width of his palm spans the back of your head as he pets you with the last bit of pre-nap energy he can muster.

“You’re hot like a fern,” he murmurs, with tender finality. “Pretty like the forest.”

[starflungwaddledee]

Hi Starstruck! 🪄💥🦋🥀 for Starstruck Dee? :)

🪄 (Magic Wand) - Are they capable of wielding magic? Is it a learned skill, or is it innate? What sorts of spells can they cast? Do they possess any magical items or artifacts? [e.g. the Dimensional Mantle]

yes she is, yes, yes, at least one really good one, and once upon a time.

💥 (Collision) - What’s your OC’s combat style like? Do they adhere to any particular code of honour or ethics in a fight, or are they totally unfettered by that sort of thing?

these days she's not much of a fighter, and she has a very "good" aligned set of morals and ethics; as picked up from those around her! under the care of bandee, kirby, king dedede and meta knight, she's learned only good and noble stuff like mercy, friendship, and patience! she understands sometimes you need to fight Bad Guys to save the world, but she's never personally participated in any of her friends adventures starstruck herself is very much a wet and soggy, incredibly conflict adverse little thing. and she's more likely to apologise to you if you hit her than the other way around. she not even very keen on standing up for herself even if she needs to, and i think if you wanted to actually get any sort of fight out of her, there'd really only be one way to go about it.

🥀 (Wilted Rose) - Do they have a Soul form? What would it look and act like? How much control over themselves do they have? Is it still possible to save them, or are they too far gone?

i am going to cop out on this one for now and instead link to this amazing art by @kamalemons and this amazing art by @moonsharks-ex 😂😂 surely we would just expect her bow to become enormous, right...?? what else could possibly happen... hh.. hahaahah...

🦋 answered here!

[archivalofsins]

Me at Kotoko's third interrogation question-

"Reading comprehension is piss poor."

Q.02 Can you speak any languages other than Japanese?

Kotoko: English. If just a simple conversation level counts, then also Chinese and Korean.

Boy howdy I wonder what she could be using simple conversation level Chinese and Korean for? It defintely can't be for what it says on the fucking tin.

Let's ask,

Q.03 What is the reason you learned Chinese and Korean?

Kotoko: Chinese was simply because a lot of people spoke it. Korean was because I had learned taekwondo prior to that.

Oh at least we know Kazui was right and she does know taekwondo I guess.

20/07/09

Kotoko: Kazui, you do martial arts right. ……what type? Judo? Kazui: Ah, my main is…… judo, and kendo. I also know a little bit of karate. You must have some martial arts experience too, right, Yuzuriha-chan? I can tell by looking. Hmm… probably a combat type…… I’m guessing not karate…… is it taekwondo? Kotoko: ……I’m not telling you. Stop ogling me like that. It’s gross. Kazui: I-isn’t that a bit unfair?

But Gunsli shouldn't you be happy you're the one who brought up the whole Chinese and Korean being languages people training to be cops in Japan learn. Along with Taekwondo being a form of martial arts that could fall under other martial arts that one could learn to become an officer and Kotoko said she learned Taekwondo prior to beginning to study Korean. Which would align with-

Look I just want to know something new not get confirmation for things I could have and did just see with my own eyes. Far before this.

Then to make the situation worse English a language she admits to having a better grasp of than both Chinese and Korean just goes unquestioned. Like oh well knowing English is normal of course she would want to learn English. That's only reasonable. No, it's not. Even though English is taught in some schools within Japan it's about the same as most schools in the US teaching Spanish or schools in the UK teaching French.

Just because it's taught doesn't suddenly mean the populace has a fluent grasp of that language. So, I find it difficult to not be like why were Chinese and Korean singled out? When she knows a whole other ass language that is just as unnecessary in the area in which she resides?

ClassTracks- How Many People Speak English in Japan?

World Population Review 2024

I really want that at any level part of the second image to sink in. Which means out of those estimated to speak English in Japan not all of them would be considered fluent in it or even at the same level Kotoko reports herself being at with Korean and Chinese.

So, why was English excluded from this question? Despite it being the language, she states she knows without any hesitance and better than the other two she's asked about here. Why the fuck were Chinese and Korean singled out exactly? Why did she learn English. Who knows that wasn't in the question so who cares honestly.

Not even going into this Nippon article that explains the English proficiency in Japan is on the decline. From December of 2023.

So, pushing to the side that her answer when she was asked what languages she knew already implied she learned Chinese and Korean to speak to others. Why the fuck does she know English- Why not ask for clarity on all three languages she has stated knowing instead of singling out the other two. This question is so fucking weird. On top of not really telling us anything that we didn't already know or wasn't already heavily implied.

While somehow being incredibly iffy on top of that. Because asking about her learning these other two languages but not English implies that learning English is implicitly normal and should not be questioned. When it isn't and it never has been, especially when it is not the native language of the country one lives in.

Learning a language is expensive, difficult, and time consuming. Especially when it's not one that is actively used within one's environment. Her knowing English should not have gone unquestioned because it's a privilege to learn a language outside of one's native one. It's a privilege to have access to resources that allow you to do that. Especially taking into account literacy in general isn't that good globally.

Like I don't know what's not understood about this but being able to read in itself is a privilege. Being able to read a privilege what no everybody can- Here's the US statistics on that.

On average, 79% of U.S. adults nationwide are literate in 2024. 21% of adults in the US are illiterate in 2024. 54% of adults have a literacy below a 6th-grade level (20% are below 5th-grade level). Low levels of literacy costs the US up to 2.2 trillion per year. 34% of adults lacking literacy proficiency were born outside the US. Massachusetts was the state with the highest rate of child literacy. New Mexico was the state with the lowest child literacy rate. New Hampshire was the state with the highest percentage of adults considered literate. The state with the lowest adult literacy rate was California.

The National Literacy Institute

Illiteracy is a problem everywhere.

NHK World Japan Why linguists are worrying about literacy in Japan (2019)

For a plethora of reasons at that. So, of course I find it odd for one of these languages to just go unquestioned like that. Even as someone who only speaks English, I find that incredibly weird. Plus, as we've shown it's not exactly common to know English fluently in Japan either. It's not really common for people without a certain level of privilege or connections like family to teach them to know more than one language. Especially for a language as difficult and finnicky as English but that went unquestioned.

Like what the hell is up with this question. I can't even find a silver lining to this. This question is just... Well, it's a question that was asked, I guess.

[carlyraejepsans]

So I'm about to ask something that might be personal ? And it deals with some personal baggage that you as someone on the internet might not be interested in hearing about ^^' so you might not want to talk about it as is your right obv !! So uh feel free to tell me to fuck off, but, how did you know you weren't cis?

Ya see, I've been questioning my gender for a while now, and I can't really come up with an answer. I'm a lesbian, that's a pretty big part of my identity, I'm not overly feminine but not masc either, when people refer to me as female I feel super uncomfortable, but I ain't too bothered by some of my body parts, ive daydreamed about switching to they/them pronouns online or masculine pronouns in my native language.... But all of that wouldn't fit with what people might expect of me ? And I'm scared if I actually went through those changes people might think I'm performing a form of queerness I shouldn't be privy to. And the worst part about this is, most of my friends are queer, non binary, trans... Wouldn't they think I'm trying to copy them ? Even though ive had those thoughts long before we met ?

Kinda feel like I'm stuck, and I don't know how to be myself, because myself might not align with how i act or how i seem to be on the outside. idk if you feel the same, but it's especially shitty living in a country with a heavily gendered language you can't escape adjectives forever lmaooo

listen to me. i am holding your face in my hands. nothing and i mean nothing you decide in regards to your gender and/or sexuality will ever be anyone's business but your own. the idea that you can "appropriate" someone else's experience with queerness is a gross bastardization of the discussion on CULTURAL appropriation, which is a false analogy and can devolve into gender essentialism fast.

you have no idea how many trans people (gay people too, but especially trans people) locked themselves in the closet because of that same feeling. of "not beeing privy to those experiences", especially for trans women. i promise, as long as you stop at establishing what a certain label means TO YOU and don't try to decide what it means for other people, then you will never hurt anyone. anyone who says otherwise is a cop.

there are trans men out there who lived as cis lesbians for a very long time, and because that was such a big part of their life, they still think of themselves as such, at least in part. for some it's out of kinship. for some it's out of genuine attachment to the word. same thing with gay men who grew on to become trans women. and trans people in general who still carry their younger selves right by their heart. genderqueers who ended up being cis after all, but who still feel like that period of exploration was crucial in shaping their identity. butch and femme alone, while particularly dear as lesbian identities, encompass all genders and sexualities. wanna know something funny? i throw terms around a lot in english, but if you asked me in italian what my gender identity is, i would say "bisexual". because almost every person in my life who's ever called me bisexual actually meant "nonbinary", or "whatever weird thing those transgendereds got going on lately" (some of them probably meant intersex as well, which just for the record i am not. as far as i know, at least). is it an outdated definition? sure. but unlike the literal italian word for nonbinary, bisexual is actually a neutral noun lol. and after all, my experience with gender does inform my sexuality, just as my sexuality informs my experience with gender. it's not wrong, technically. but if someone somehow assumes I'm a lesbian (which happens a lot lol) i don't usually correct them i just... go with it too, y'know?

anyway, what it sounds like to me is that you're obviously going through a period of questioning your gender and or presentation, which you took notice of, but you also feel some kind of peer pressure or societal expectation from other queer people that is denying you a safe, healthy form of self expression in this new period of your life that you obviously wish for yourself. please, try not to pay it too much mind. try out whatever label or description calls to you. change it without notice if you find something better. and if anyone gives you trouble for it, eat them. good luck buddy.

[officeobject]

im unsure how old you are, but your fixation on that office worker as a concept and the way you talk about them (regardless of if its platonic) is bordering on stalker behaviour, if not already there. its possible to be platonically stalked, i was stalked by a platonic (now ex)friend of mine once.

it seems very, very likely to me that they simply cant see you from their window, and you are making a LOT of assumptions about someone youve only seen while working. how do you know theyre 30, for example? lots of people look slightly older or younger than they actually are.

as it is it doesnt seem to me like theyre actually particularly aware of you, but id be concerned that youre causing them a lot of discomfort and stress - discomfort that could easily lead to them quitting their job and/or moving locations, and potentially even calling the cops on you if you attempt any contact with them.

personally, i would recommend that you find somewhere else to people watch and leave them alone. there will definitely be other people that you can actually speak to who will willingly be your friend...

but i dont think some random person (who i assume is older than you) working and staring vaguely out the window will be that person. also, the way you talk about teenagers reflects a harmful pattern of thought, so i hope you either are a teenager yourself or dont actually interact with any this way in your day to day life (aside from your ghost).

thank you for reading, thinking over and properly considering my words. hope youre doing alright otherwise.

Defending myself:

Life got in the way, “lawyer” didn’t reply, but now “lawyer” DID!

I’m first writing this on a document thing, and I have the things copy-pasted as notes or whatever.

Sorry that it took so long, but regardless, here ya go!

I do have a response my “lawyer” - seriously, shout-out to my “lawyer” - recommended me, but Imma try to debunk this thing, but there is also the alternative answer.

“im unsure how old you are,” same goes for you! I understand being unsure of how old I am, but just fyi, I am still significantly younger than the person we’re about to speak of.

“but your fixation on that office worker as a concept and the way you talk about them (regardless of if its platonic) is bordering on stalker behaviour, if not already there. its possible to be platonically stalked, i was stalked by a platonic (now ex)friend of mine once.” I know that’s possible. I will need elaboration though.

“it seems very, very likely to me that they simply cant see you from their window, and you are making a LOT of assumptions about someone youve only seen while working.” Well, I make theories and ask questions - about them not being able to see me … this week alone, we’ve accidentally aligned our bodies when facing each other, we’ve stared into each other’s eyes - and if the argument was to be made that they just HAPPEN, to sometimes look out at the window at a specific spot that happened to not be “down” enough to be the field, then I also wanna say, that I’ve been on my way to a table a bit further away from where I sit, and ON MY WAY, their eyes were watching - they’ve watched me from other windows, but I’m suuuuuure they just REEEEEAAAALLY like the grass and brown wooden benches outside and whatnot - they’re never looking at the fecking CHERRY TREE either, but I’m sure they just happen to look at the pale building or something. I’ve come in, soaking wet one day from that rain, and they kept making quick glances towards me, soon after - with none of the rage they otherwise had, when it comes to their online meeting. I’ve come in after a windy day, wearing a skirt, bare legs, and they STARED - no matter what I did. In fact, they glance every day - poor dude got jumpscared though, SEVERAL TIMES when I suddenly showed up after being gone for a while (which made them work harder, hire me, offices), and their body-language seem to be mirroring mine at times, such as walking in with their phone in their hand the same way or whatever - and if they have no one to look at, they’d have no reason to put SO much effort into avoiding even the slightest GLANCE out the window during a meeting or something, right? I’ve had them walk in or sit back down or stay, just based on which of these things I was gonna personally do - I’ve had them avoid looking out the window when grabbing something near it, I’ve had them drink soon after I did - and man, they RARELY ever stand up and work anymore, ever since I felt like we had a mutual understanding, that we are both friends now (at some point after summer break, 2024, I believe). I used to sit more in the back of the room, on some low couch, and even back THEN, they looked at me - I just tended to deny or doubt it, or whatever - this person is also more often in their office after summer break, and you know what might be a highlight? One time, before summer, they made some angry “go away”-ish gestures, presumably at me - and, like, soon afterwards, I looked at them less and less, and would dodge, duck, and make a run for it, every time their eyes were on me - I listen to music often, and when I got back up after my song was done, sometimes, they were STILL staring, and within the week, they seemed to be making some happy/apologetic gestures (though I ducked fast, man), but soon, I went back to normal, and their prolonged staring, just stopped. Saying that stuff about stalking, is of course insulting to ME, but even more to the victims of stalking, and also to my little office buddy, who you then claim these things about - and I actually took a day - September, I think it was, 2024 - and I just stopped looking as much, but when I did, I could see their gaze - especially when I half-looked/avoided it, and it was an unusual amount … well that didn’t last long, but still - and have they taken their jacket off in front of the window with their back turned, all in my flamboyant usual way? Yes. And have they brought their desk down right after being done talking to their co-worker? Also yes.

“it seems very, very likely to me that they simply cant see you from their window,” Yeah, I too, rest my head on hand, staring at the grass in all seasons, weather, time of day, and mood.

“ and you are making a LOT of assumptions about someone youve only seen while working. how do you know theyre 30, for example? lots of people look slightly older or younger than they actually are.” I don’t know their specific age, they just happen to “look” or “act” it, but it doesn’t really matter - they seem significantly older than me, along with some of their co-workers, and I feel like they see me as such - hey, I myself act different ages, look younger than I am, so Lord knows what they assume - well, actually, it feels like they see me as a kid … which I believe I AM, compared to them.

“as it is it doesnt seem to me like theyre actually particularly aware of you, “ which post/posts did you read?

“but id be concerned that youre causing them a lot of discomfort and stress” yes, as proven by their most often relaxed or calculated way of working, most of the time, and the fact that they seem more stressed with co-workers, AND the fact that they can glance out the window and then stretch their body for several seconds, or take a sip of their drink, or sit in the same position longer than with a co-worker.

“- discomfort that could easily lead to them quitting their job and/or moving locations, “ August 2024, we didn’t have much time together, before they had to move temporarily, and came back around 2 weeks and a half later, which seems random, and feck if I knew. 1 day before, and they kept staring and glancing, and all those things, so much - like, I wondered how they wouldn’t get fired - they seemed to look at me over half the time! Day 2, they were in the big window, closer to me, full-body window, mug in hand, just STARING out, and it seemed to be at ME … had to go, came back later, and as they were helping with moving the last things, they never looked out the window, but seemed sad, hesitant, angry, and whatever else … and when they came back, it was a lot of quick stares before the calm … they are always near the window, work in the place they do, and even with their sass and anger and other emotions, they’re still being tolerated at worst. They go to lunch with their co-workers and can have a nice time with them, and can relax on their chair when talking about stuff with them, etc. I think they’re fine, are they not?

“and potentially even calling the cops on you if you attempt any contact with them.” Well, I used to be in the same room as them when they used to come in much earlier, and that was still rare, and I wouldn’t talk, I’d stare … and sometimes it was as if they never noticed me, sometimes I’d end up getting stressed, and angry, and sassy, and a little loud, and Lord knew if they heard me, but they probably DID - one time I had to be close because they were as close as can be, to the place where one puts one’s plates, and I ended up talking English with they-wouldn’t-know-who, and they didn’t talk to anyone, nor react, at the time - and one time I stood in a doorway, plate and lots of other stuff in hand, bag on my back, and got deadpan-stared at by the people passing by, who would soon just return to getting in line … this office worker though, walked past a bit, suddenly STARED - like, just a sudden STARE, maybe more confused or deadpan than the others, but certainly for longer … before of course, standing in line again. This was a long time ago I guess. A week before summer break though, and a week, or more, or two, since we looked at each other (a tent thing was in the way for that time), they sat down to eat with their co-workers … and smiled, in my direction - I was alone, behind me one could just see cars or people walking by, if anything, and that’s due to the glass, and Lord knows if anything else that surrounded me, could’ve justified the thing I’ve almost never seen from them: such a happy smile … they smile and are casual and get along with co-workers and all - I’ve heard their voice and name, but with me, they’re always deadpan - even on PHONE CALLS they can get all excited … but with me, they may not have an expressive face, but it’s like I can SENSE their emotions or something, and I’ve watched that person, in that window, just rest their head on their hand, watching me as I go and sit, as if they’re calm, and happy, and just enjoying my existence … 

“personally, i would recommend that you find somewhere else to people watch and leave them alone.” I tried a few times to leave them alone … I don’t think they like that, LOL. 

“there will definitely be other people that you can actually speak to who will willingly be your friend…” typically not in my “creepy” way though, but sure, I guess the void must stay …

“but i dont think some random person (who i assume is older than you)” yeah, they are.

“ working and staring vaguely out the window will be that person.” well they stare at a specific spot, but …

“also, the way you talk about teenagers reflects a harmful pattern of thought,” you mean, the jokes I make that I label as jokes, or the self-reflective psychology/analyzing I do about what I admit my big fear is? Or the ones where I end up info-dumping about how my bad experiences, or the ones liked by teenagers, especially teenage boys, who I more specifically complain about, at times? Nevermind about the likes, that could’ve been one of my 3+ teenage fans, they’re biased.

“so i hope you either are a teenager yourself or dont actually interact with any this way in your day to day life” Maybe I’m a teen, no guranteens though, LOL! Anyways, not sure how I interact with teens.

“(aside from your ghost).” How and why is it socially acceptable for me to treat him the way I do? And, like - like seriously, what makes him different? Am I treating him okay? Why can I just go around and be friends with him? Why are you not concerned?

“thank you for reading, thinking over and properly considering my words. hope youre doing alright otherwise.” than you, even though you basically insulted me. This was fun to debunk now that I CAN, and I don’t wanna come off as aggressive nor anything, I’m just confused, curious, and autistic as well. My friend actually has seen me quickly write things down after seeing them, SO many times, and this week I had someone looking at them - WHO WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT OBVIOUS - and they saw, and nothing changed. Like, I UNDERSTAND concern, but this is my office worker, and I’m their nepo baby …

Alternatively: "Thank you for your concern. As someone with Autism, my communication skills are not my best skill. It's difficult for me to recognize common social norms and body language. I don't mean to appear like a stalker. When someone or something catches my interest, my brain dedicates 100% of my focus to that. I have no control over what my brain finds interesting. I don't mean this person harm. Any social interaction is a huge struggle for me, so if my actions/thoughts appear harmful, it's not coming from a place rooted in malice. If the office worker or a coworker said something to me, I would act differently. I hope this helps you understand where I am coming from!"

[fluentmoviequoter]

Want to Be a Prince

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: You play the part of a princess at Lila Kay's party and meet the prince you've been dreaming of.

Warnings: fluff, Street gets nervous and flustered

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“You have got to be the best parents in the world,” you tell your newest clients, Deacon and Annie Kay. “If my parents had done stuff like this, I never would have moved out.”

Deacon chuckles as Annie asks, “Then how would you have become royalty?”

“Can’t deny the call of a tiara,” you reply. “But, seriously, thank you for hiring me and Lila is going to love this. All the kids will.”

“Thanks to you,” Deacon points out. “Lila’s had a rough year this is quite literally the least we could do.”

“No, Mr. Kay, it isn’t. Most parents wouldn’t even consider going to lengths like this just to make their kids feel better. Lila won the parental lottery.”

“When you’re done feeding our egos,” Annie teases, “your castle is ready, and the makeover team is here.”

“Thank you.”

Deacon checks his phone, then says, “Street’s dropping off the bakery order. He just left work, so he should be by in an hour or so.”

“Did you get him that cupcake he wanted to try?” Annie asks.

“He’s a grown man, he can buy his own cupcake.”

“That sounded like a yes to me,” you murmur.

Deacon sighs and nods. “I did.”

“Good friends, too,” you muse as you rearrange the princess dresses beside you.

“Okay, can I run through everything one more time?” Annie asks.

Deacon smiles and gestures for her to go ahead. She’s got the party planned out wonderfully, but she wants everything to be perfect for her daughter, and you admire that. Watching how she and Deacon interact, their words and actions filled with love for each other and their family, makes you smile. You want that. But if your better half wanted to arrive a little faster, you wouldn’t argue.

“The girls will get dropped off at 3 after school, they’ll come into this magical wonderland and meet the makeover team, pick dresses, get their hair and makeup done, and then head outside for a royal dinner. They’ll see the castle, be welcomed by a real princess… I think we’ve got everything,” Annie lists.

“You did a great job, Annie,” Deacon tells her before kissing her forehead. He checks his watch, then asks, “Do you need to get ready?”

You lean back and check the clock on their wall, partially blocked by pink streamers, then nod to yourself. “I do. Need me to do anything else?”

“You’ve already done more than enough.”

“Why didn’t you stay at Disney?” Annie inquires.

As you stand, you smile and answer, “I felt like I didn’t have enough time. I loved it, but kids were in and out so fast, getting rushed by the staff, that the magic was gone. That’s why I do this, so it didn’t make sense to me to stay there.”

Annie nods and muses, “Worked out for us.”

“I hope so.”

You leave them to finish setting up and find your items arranged neatly in their master bathroom. Changing out of your clothes, you put on the items you wear under the pink princess gown you chose for tonight’s party. Then, you do your hair and makeup, focusing intently on the mirror to ensure your look is precise and aligns with your outfit. After rubbing body-glitter-infused lotion over your collarbones and down your arms, you step into your dress to slide it over your hips before placing your arms into the off-the-shoulder sleeves. With your shoes on and everything packed away, you take a deep breath and exit the Kays’ bathroom.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” a voice you don’t recognize says.

As you return to the living room, Annie whispers, “Whoa. You look amazing.”

Deacon turns toward you, and you see bakery boxes on the table and Deacon's friend Street. You remembered his name after Deacon said it, and now you understand why. You assumed he was a cop, too, but you weren’t expecting him to be so cute. Or to stare at you like he just walked into Narnia and you’re a mythical creature.

“Hello,” you greet softly.

“Oh, hi,” he replies, blinking quickly. “You’re a princess.”

You nod. “Sometimes.”

He keeps his eyes on you and says, “I dressed up for Sam’s last party. My costume wasn’t as good.”

“You didn’t work at Disneyland before you started freelancing,” Deacon points out.

“I bet you were great,” you tell him.

Street clears his throat and looks at Deacon, recoiling slightly at Deacon’s knowing look. “Do you need help with anything else?” he asks, hoping that Deacon says yes and he has an excuse to stay close to you for longer.

“Actually,” Deacon begins.

“I’ll do it,” Street interrupts.

You laugh under your breath, and Street feels like a kid at Disney for the first time. He doesn’t even know if you perform well as a princess, but you look like one, and Street can’t seem to look away from you.

“We need to set up the dinner table,” Deacon says. “Which is outside,” he adds when Street doesn’t move away from you.

“Maybe I should be a prince for Halloween,” Street muses as he follows Deacon.

“You should,” you agree.

Street smiles at you before he closes the door, and Annie looks at you with the same knowing look as Deacon gave Street.

“What?” you inquire.

“Nothing,” she says lightly. “You want his number?”

You consider acting shocked for a moment, then look down at your dress and answer, “I’ll ask him.”

With fifteen minutes left, you walk outside to find your place in the castle Deacon had built in his backyard. Street looks up from the princess-themed table and smiles at you. You realize you haven’t introduced yourself and walk to the table before offering your name. Street shakes your hand, and everything feels different when you pull away from him.

Glancing at Deacon, you’re glad to see him occupied with chairs before you ask, “Could I… could I get your number?”

“Yes,” Street answers. It comes too quick, but he doesn’t even care enough to be embarrassed as you smile and push your perfectly curled hair over your shoulder, exposing your glittery collarbone.

“I don’t have my phone,” you tell Street.

He looks at your face as he pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to you. Once your name and number have been saved, you return it to him and relish in feeling his fingers brushing over yours.

“I’m so glad I picked up those cakes,” Street murmurs.

“Does that mean you’ll reimburse me for the cupcake?” Deacon interjects. He waves his hand and adds, “I’ll ask at the wedding.”

“I have to go be a princess,” you tell Street.

“I have to find an excuse to stay.”

“It’s Lila’s party, Street,” Deacon points out.

Street nods, his eyes on you.

“Fine, you can stay, but I’m putting you to work as a waiter.”

“Whatever you say, Deac.”

“Wow!” Lila exclaims, exiting her house dressed in a blue and purple gown with sparkly eyeshadow and her hair braided delicately. “A castle!”

The girls behind her awe at the castle, wide-eyed as they look around.

“Hello, my fellow princesses!” you call, waving from the castle tower. You move your hand to your necklace and widen your eyes to compliment, “Your gowns are beautiful, true beauties, just as their wearers.”

As the kids rush toward the castle, eager to meet the princess, Street watches from Deacon’s side as you smile, lower gently, and accept hugs with a grace he’s never experienced. He knows it’s an act, but it has to be an extension of you. It makes him desperate to learn more about you. To learn everything about you.

“Can you talk to animals?” Lila asks.

You smile and whisper, “We can all talk to animals, the key is learning to be quiet and patient enough to listen for them to reply.”

“Deac, when you said wedding earlier,” Street begins, leaning toward Deacon.

“Don’t,” Deacon interrupts. “You two figure that out later.”

“Gladly,” Street replies before straightening.

You walk with the princesses to the tables Deacon and Street set up, whispering with them and complimenting their bows as they reach the table. When you meet Street’s eyes, you smile and curtsey before sitting beside Lila.

“Where’s your prince?” she asks.

“He’s saving good people,” you answer. “I see him often, but dinner with princesses is always a treat.”

Deacon and Street serve macarons and chocolate pastries around the table before dinner. When Street reaches you, he whispers, “Princess.”

You smile widely, then quickly replace it with your practiced princess expression.

“I’ve never wanted to be a prince before today, Deac,” Street says.

“The right woman will do that to you.”

“You’re so pretty,” Street blurts out.

You laugh and look down at your t-shirt and leggings. “Thank you.”

“I mean, you were beautiful in the dress, but… it’s just you, you’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re a prince.”

Street hesitates, and you take his hand, smiling your genuine smile as you ask, “Are you going to ask me out or do I have to do it?”

“Where do you want to go? Give me something to work with.”

You brush your thumb over his knuckles and murmur, “You’ve got it.”

Street nods. “Will you go out with me? We can get dinner and then try the best cupcake in the world.”

“That sounds perfect,” you reply. “I’d love to.”

Street sighs, and you bump your shoulder against him as he walks you out of Deacon and Annie’s house. “I wasn’t going to say no, why are you acting relieved?”

“I’m so nervous,” he confesses.

You turn toward him and place your hand on his cheek. As you kiss Street, he feels like he could be a prince. As long as you’re his princess, Street knows who and what he is. And what he's going to be for Halloween.

Bonus:

“I guess the cupcake paid off,” Deacon says as Annie watches you and Street out the window.

“Only you would take credit for what just happened, David,” Annie replies, smiling.

“I knew he’d have a crush on her. Like I told him, the right woman turns you into a prince.”

[storiednhappy]

Miller's Creek Police (Nerd -> Cop, Fertility, Domination)

NOW INCLUDES CHAPTERS 8-11 and more interesting language.

**Chapter 1: The Escape**

Jason Meyer had always been the odd one out in his small rural hometown of Miller's Creek. Thin, nerdy, and introverted, he spent most of his time buried in books or tinkering with his computer. The other kids at school teased him relentlessly, calling him "Twiggy" and "Geek Boy," and his only solace was his dream of escaping to a place where he could truly belong.

The day he received his acceptance letter to a prestigious university in the city, Jason felt like he had won the lottery. It was his ticket out, his chance to reinvent himself. He packed his bags and left Miller's Creek without looking back, eager to shed his small-town skin and embrace the possibilities of a brighter future.

City life was everything he had hoped for. Jason thrived in his new environment, immersing himself in his studies and enjoying the freedom to be himself without judgment. He made friends with people who shared his interests and discovered a world of opportunities that he never knew existed.

But life has a way of taking unexpected turns. One evening, while Jason was attending a lecture on cyber security, he met a man named Richard. Richard was charismatic, confident, and seemed to have all the answers. He was part of a private security firm and was recruiting for a special program that promised to teach participants valuable skills in self-defense, discipline, and leadership.

Intrigued by the idea of becoming more assertive and confident, Jason signed up for the program. The training was intense, far beyond anything he had experienced before. Early morning runs, grueling workouts, and strict dietary regimens became his new routine. Jason struggled at first, his body aching from the unfamiliar exertion, but Richard was always there, pushing him to go further, to be better.

As the weeks turned into months, Jason noticed changes in himself. He was gaining muscle, and his once pale skin was now tanned from hours spent outdoors. The nerdy, bookish persona was fading, replaced by someone who was stronger, more confident, and more disciplined. Richard became a mentor and a friend, guiding Jason through the transformation with unwavering support.

What Jason didn't realize was that the program was more than just physical training. It was designed to reshape his mind as well. Subtle messages about patriotism, duty, and obedience were woven into every aspect of the training. Lectures on history and politics emphasized a particular worldview, one that aligned with Richard's beliefs. Jason, eager to belong and please his mentor, absorbed these lessons without question.

By the time the training program ended, Jason was a changed man. He had bulked up significantly, his body now muscular and strong. His shoulders had broadened significantly, giving him a more imposing presence, and his chest was thick and solid, a testament to the countless push-ups and bench presses he had endured. His arms, once spindly, were now thick with muscle, veins prominent beneath the skin. His legs, too, had transformed, becoming powerful and sturdy, capable of enduring long runs and heavy lifting. Along with the muscle, a layer of fat had developed, giving him a softer, more robust appearance. His belly, no longer flat, had a noticeable roundness, adding to his overall bulk. His genitals had also grown; his penis had thickened and lengthened slightly, but it was his balls that had seen the most significant change. They had become larger and heavier, a fact that he noted with a mix of pride and curiosity.  His confidence had grown, and he found himself agreeing with the principles and values that Richard had instilled in him. He no longer felt like the awkward outsider he once was; he had found his place in a brotherhood of like-minded individuals.

When Richard offered Jason a position at his security firm, Jason accepted without hesitation. He trained further, specializing in firearms and tactical operations, and soon became one of the firm's top operatives. The once passive, skinny nerd had been transformed into a disciplined, patriotic, and obedient officer, ready to serve and protect.

His new conservative ideals were deeply ingrained, shaped by the intense training and indoctrination he had undergone. He believed strongly in the importance of law and order, convinced that a strict adherence to rules and regulations was essential for a stable society. He held a fierce patriotism, viewing any criticism of his country as a personal affront. Jay now saw traditional gender roles as not just preferable but necessary, believing that men should be strong providers and protectors while women should focus on home and family. Privately, he harbored a sense of superiority over those who did not share his beliefs, viewing them as weak or misguided. He felt that those who didn't conform to his ideals should be corrected or, if necessary, marginalized to maintain societal order. These were thoughts he would never voice openly, knowing that they would be controversial, but they guided his actions and decisions nonetheless.

As the years passed, Jason found himself missing the simplicity of small-town life. He had changed, but the memories of Miller's Creek still lingered. One day, after much contemplation, he decided to move back to his hometown. This time, he was returning not as the awkward outsider, but as someone who had found his purpose and place in the world.

Miller's Creek had not changed much, but Jason had. He was no longer the skinny nerd who had left years ago. He was now Officer Meyer, a confident, disciplined, and patriotic man, ready to protect and serve his community. And as he settled back into the familiar surroundings of his childhood, he realized that he finally fit in perfectly.

**Chapter 1A: The Transformation**

Jason Meyer signed up for Richard’s special program with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The promise of becoming more assertive and confident was alluring, but the path to get there seemed daunting. The program began with an intensive orientation that laid out the rigorous schedule ahead. Early mornings, strict diets, and demanding physical training were the core components, but the underlying psychological aspect was more subtle.

The first week was a shock to Jason’s system. Accustomed to a sedentary lifestyle, his body struggled to keep up with the early morning runs and intense workouts. The instructors, all former military personnel, were relentless, pushing him and the other recruits to their limits. Each day began with a 5 a.m. wake-up call, followed by a series of exercises designed to build strength, endurance, and discipline.

In addition to physical training, the program included lectures on various subjects. History, politics, and philosophy were taught from a specific perspective, emphasizing patriotism, duty, and obedience. These sessions were designed to reshape the recruits' minds as well as their bodies. Richard himself led many of these lectures, his charismatic presence and authoritative tone captivating his audience. He spoke passionately about the importance of protecting one's country, the value of discipline, and the honor in serving a greater cause.

Nutrition was another critical component of the program. The recruits were placed on a strict diet designed to maximize muscle gain and overall health. Jason found himself consuming vast quantities of protein-rich foods, along with supplements that promised to enhance his physical performance. However, the diet was also high in calories, and as Jason’s muscles grew, so did his overall size. He began to put on weight, not just muscle, but a noticeable layer of fat as well.

The physical changes were dramatic. Jason’s once thin frame filled out, his arms and legs bulking up with muscle while his belly grew softer and rounder. His face, once gaunt, now had a fuller, healthier look. His body, which had always been a source of insecurity, was transforming into something strong and imposing. Yet, with this new mass came a newfound sense of power and confidence.

As the months passed, Jason adapted to the program's demands. He pushed through the pain and exhaustion, motivated by Richard’s constant encouragement and the camaraderie he found with his fellow recruits. They bonded over shared struggles and triumphs, forming a brotherhood that reinforced the values being instilled in them. Each small victory—running a faster mile, lifting heavier weights, mastering a tactical maneuver—boosted Jason’s confidence and reinforced his commitment to the program.

The psychological aspect of the training was equally effective. The lectures and discussions subtly shifted Jason’s worldview. The constant reinforcement of certain ideals—patriotism, obedience, and the importance of discipline—began to take root in his mind. He started to see the world through the lens Richard provided, adopting the firm’s values as his own.

The training wasn’t without its challenges. There were moments of doubt and frustration, times when Jason wondered if he could keep up or if he was truly cut out for this new life. But Richard was always there, a steady presence who believed in Jason even when he doubted himself. Richard’s unwavering support and the sense of purpose the program provided kept Jason going, pushing him to surpass his limits and embrace the transformation.

By the end of the program, Jason was barely recognizable as the skinny, nerdy kid who had arrived months earlier. He had become a powerful, confident, and disciplined man, his body muscular yet soft with a layer of fat that added to his imposing presence. His mind, once filled with doubts and insecurities, was now focused and resolute. He was ready to take on the challenges ahead, fully embracing his new identity and the values instilled in him.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, Jason saw not just the physical changes but the complete transformation of who he was. The program had reshaped him in every way possible, preparing him for a future that, just months ago, he couldn’t have imagined. He was ready to step into his new role with pride and confidence, knowing he had the strength and determination to succeed.

**Chapter 2: Returning Home**

Jason Meyer’s return to Miller’s Creek was nothing short of transformative. The man who stepped off the bus bore little resemblance to the skinny, nerdy kid who had left years ago. Clad in his crisp, navy-blue uniform, he stood tall and broad, exuding an aura of confidence and authority. His once angular face was now round and firm, with a jawline softened by the extra weight he carried. His body had filled out significantly, combining the bulk of hard-earned muscle with a substantial layer of fat that added to his imposing figure.

As he walked through the familiar streets of his hometown, heads turned. Some recognized him immediately, their eyes widening in surprise at the dramatic change. Others did a double-take, unsure if this was the same Jason they had once known. The whispers and glances didn’t bother him; he welcomed them. It was a stark contrast to the indifference or ridicule he had faced growing up.

Jason’s first stop was the local diner, a place that held many memories from his youth. The bell above the door jingled as he entered, and the familiar scent of fried food and coffee filled the air. The chatter of patrons fell silent as all eyes turned to him. Behind the counter, old Mrs. Harper squinted, her expression shifting from confusion to recognition.

“Jason Meyer? Is that really you?” she asked, her voice a mix of astonishment and warmth.

Jason smiled and nodded. “It’s me, Mrs. Harper. Good to see you.”

“Well, I’ll be,” she said, her eyes scanning his transformed physique. “You’ve certainly changed. What brings you back to Miller’s Creek?”

Jason took a seat at the counter, the vinyl stool creaking under his weight. “I’ve come back to serve the community,” he replied. “Joined the police force.”

Mrs. Harper’s eyes lit up with approval. “Well, we’re lucky to have you. This town could use someone like you.”

As he sat there, enjoying a hearty meal, Jason reflected on how far he had come. The training program had not only reshaped his body but had also instilled in him a deep sense of duty and belonging. He felt a connection to Miller’s Creek that he hadn’t before, a desire to protect and serve the community that had once seemed so alien to him.

Settling into his new role as a police officer, Jason quickly became a familiar and respected figure in Miller’s Creek. His discipline and dedication earned him the admiration of his colleagues and the trust of the townspeople. The once passive and introverted boy was now a man of action, ready to step in and make a difference whenever needed.

Despite his newfound acceptance, Jason found particular pleasure in asserting his dominance in more subtle ways. One of his favorite places to do this was the town gym. He loved the feeling of walking through the locker room, naked and unashamed, his massive frame on full display. He didn’t bother with the privacy of a shower stall; instead, he chose to shower in the open, relishing the way his body attracted attention.

Jay’s genitals were a sight to behold. His massively long penis smacked off each of his thighs as he walked, a clear demonstration of his physical prowess. When he washed his testicles, it looked like he was holding plums in his large, powerful hands. The other men in the locker room couldn’t help but glance his way, their expressions a mix of envy and awe.

As Jay moved between the shower and his locker, he took his time, not just to clean himself but to display his dominance. He stood tall and confident, his every movement deliberate. The locker room, once a place of vulnerability, was now his domain. His presence was commanding, a silent assertion of his superiority over the other men.

One day, as Jay was finishing his shower, a group of younger men entered the locker room. They froze for a moment, their eyes widening at the sight of Jay’s imposing figure. He turned slowly, giving them a full view of his body, and then continued washing, unbothered by their presence. The younger men quickly looked away, their conversations hushed, a clear sign of the respect and intimidation Jay commanded.

These moments in the locker room were more than just a display of physical dominance; they were a way for Jay to reinforce his place in the community. He was no longer the skinny, nerdy outsider; he was Officer Jay, a man of strength and authority. His body, now thick and powerful, was a testament to his journey and transformation. And in the quiet, steam-filled space of the gym locker room, he reveled in the respect and recognition he had earned.

Jay’s assertion of dominance extended beyond the locker room. He carried himself with a confidence that permeated every aspect of his life. His conservative ideals, deeply ingrained through his training, guided his actions and interactions. He believed in traditional values, the importance of law and order, and the necessity of maintaining societal hierarchies. These beliefs were not always spoken aloud, but they were evident in the way he conducted himself and the decisions he made.

Jay’s return to Miller’s Creek was a testament to his transformation, both physically and ideologically. He had become a figure of strength and stability, a protector of the community. And in every stride, every gesture, he reaffirmed his place, no longer feeling like an outsider but as a central and respected figure in the town he once sought to escape.

**Chapter 3: The Neighborhood Watch**

Officer Jay, as Jason Meyer was now known, quickly became a popular figure in Miller’s Creek. His regular patrols took him through the winding streets of the town, where he greeted residents with a friendly nod or a warm smile. Among those who appreciated his presence the most were the housewives of Miller’s Creek. Many of them, like Jay, carried the extra weight that came with the comforts of small-town living, and they found a sense of camaraderie in his company.

Jay’s reputation for being helpful and approachable made him a favorite among these women. He was always ready to lend a hand, whether it was helping with groceries, offering a reassuring word, or, more often, checking on concerns about possible intruders. The housewives would often call him, their voices tinged with a mix of fear and excitement, asking him to come over and ensure their homes were safe.

One afternoon, as Jay was finishing his patrol, he received a call from Mrs. Thompson, a plump and cheerful woman in her late twenties. She sounded genuinely concerned, mentioning noises she had heard upstairs in her bedroom.

“Officer Jay, could you come by and check it out? I’m home alone, and it’s making me nervous,” she said.

Jay assured her he’d be right over and made his way to her house. Upon arriving, he was greeted with a warm smile and a plate of freshly baked cookies. Mrs. Thompson led him inside, her soft frame moving with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. As they walked upstairs, Jay listened carefully, his senses alert for any sign of trouble.

Entering the bedroom, Jay took his time to inspect every corner, checking the windows and closets with professional thoroughness. Mrs. Thompson hovered nearby, watching him with a mix of admiration and gratitude. When he was satisfied that there was no intruder, he turned to her with a reassuring smile.

“Everything looks fine, Mrs. Thompson. You’re safe,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

Mrs. Thompson sighed with relief. “Thank you, Officer Jay. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Jay stayed for a few more minutes, chatting and making sure she felt secure before leaving. As he resumed his patrol, he couldn’t help but smile. These interactions, while part of his duty, also brought him a sense of connection and satisfaction. He enjoyed being someone the community could rely on, especially when it came to making them feel safe in their own homes.

Word of Jay’s helpfulness spread, and soon he found himself regularly invited into the homes of other housewives, each with their own concerns and requests. They appreciated his presence and the attention he paid to their worries. His polite demeanor and willingness to assist endeared him to many, and they often found reasons to call on him, whether real or imagined.

One evening, as Jay was getting ready to end his shift, he received another call, this time from Mrs. Patterson. She was a large, jovial young woman who had always been kind to him. She mentioned hearing strange noises coming from her attic and asked if he could come by to check it out.

Jay arrived at her home to find Mrs. Patterson waiting for him at the door. She led him inside, her ample frame jiggling slightly as she moved. They climbed up to the attic, where Jay once again conducted a thorough search. As he reassured Mrs. Patterson that there was no danger, she expressed her gratitude with a warm hug, her soft body pressing against his.

These encounters became a regular part of Jay’s routine. He knew some of the calls were simply excuses to see him, but he didn’t mind. He enjoyed the company and the chance to make these women feel safe and valued. Each visit reinforced his connection to the community and strengthened his sense of belonging.

Over time, Jay’s popularity grew, and he became a cherished figure in Miller’s Creek. The housewives appreciated his presence, and he relished the opportunity to be a source of comfort and protection. In their eyes, he wasn’t just an officer; he was a friend and a guardian, always ready to help and ensure their peace of mind.

As he patrolled the streets, Jay felt a deep sense of fulfillment. He had found his place in Miller’s Creek, and the respect and admiration he received from the community were more than he could have ever hoped for. The once passive, skinny nerd had truly transformed into a figure of strength and security, beloved by those he served.

**Chapter 4: Secret Duties**

Officer Jay's popularity in Miller's Creek continued to grow, but it wasn't just his role as a protector that endeared him to the housewives of the town. Beneath the surface of his regular duties lay a secret purpose, one that he had been subtly trained for by Coach Dick during his transformative program. This purpose was known only to a select few and involved a clandestine mission: to help increase the town's population.

Jay’s rigorous training had instilled in him a sense of duty and obedience, and this extended to his reproductive role. Coach Dick had emphasized the importance of this mission, explaining how vital it was for the community's future. The training included not just physical conditioning but also psychological reinforcement, ensuring that Jay embraced this responsibility with pride and dedication.

The housewives, many of whom had become close to Jay, were aware of this hidden purpose. Their requests for his presence often went beyond mere safety checks. These women, whose husbands were often unable or unwilling to have more children, saw in Jay a chance to fulfill their desires and continue their families. Jay, in turn, took his role seriously, understanding that his actions were for the greater good of Miller’s Creek.

One evening, as Jay was finishing his patrol, he received a call from Mrs. Thompson. She had become one of the most vocal about her appreciation for Jay's presence and had hinted several times about her deeper wishes. This time, her voice carried a different tone, a mix of urgency and anticipation.

“Officer Jay, could you come by? I think there might be an intruder,” she said, her voice soft yet insistent.

Jay arrived at her house promptly. Mrs. Thompson greeted him at the door, her eyes conveying more than just concern about a potential break-in. She led him upstairs, her hand lingering on his arm as they walked. Once in the bedroom, Jay began his usual inspection, but it was clear from Mrs. Thompson’s body language that this was about more than security.

“Officer Jay,” she said softly, “I know why you’re really here. I need your help… in a way that only you can provide.”

Jay turned to face her, understanding fully what she meant. His training had prepared him for this moment, and he felt a deep sense of duty and pride. Mrs. Thompson’s eyes were filled with a mixture of hope and desire, and Jay nodded, ready to fulfill his secret purpose.

They moved to her bed with a sense of abandon, their bodies entwined in a fervent dance of need and fulfillment. Jay's movements were driven by a powerful urge, each thrust deliberate and strong. Mrs. Thompson responded with equal fervor, her voice rising in uncontrolled gasps and moans. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she surrendered to the intensity of the moment.

When Jay finally finished, Mrs. Thompson was left dripping with his seed, the evidence of their union far too copious to remain contained within her. It flowed out of her, soaking the sheets and her thighs. Her body quivered with the aftershocks of their encounter, her breath coming in ragged gasps. As she lay there, her voice spilled out in almost uncontrollable praise.

“Oh, Jay,” she murmured, her words tumbling over each other. “This was so much better than anything my husband could have ever done. You make me feel alive, needed.”

Jay listened, his chest swelling with a mixture of pride and fulfillment. This was more than just a duty; it was a profound connection that validated his role. He knew this would not be the only time he would visit Mrs. Thompson, and the thought filled him with a deep sense of purpose.

Their encounters became a regular part of Jay’s secret duties. Each visit was a reaffirmation of his mission, a chance to bring new life and joy into the homes of Miller’s Creek. The housewives welcomed him with open arms, their gratitude and desire palpable. Jay’s role was not just to protect but to nurture, ensuring that the community he served continued to thrive and grow.

The sense of abandon with which they bred in her bed was mirrored in his visits to other homes. Each encounter was unique, yet all shared the same intensity and purpose. Jay’s presence brought comfort and hope, his actions leaving a lasting impact on the women and the community as a whole. As the town’s population grew, so did the appreciation for Officer Jay, whose secret duties were the foundation of Miller’s Creek’s renewal.

**Chapter 5: Tales of Secret Duties**

Officer Jay’s secret duties took on a rhythm of their own, woven seamlessly into his daily routine. Each encounter was unique, yet they all shared a common thread: a deep, unspoken understanding between Jay and the housewives who sought his help. These stories of his secret duties became a series of intimate chapters in the quiet life of Miller’s Creek.

One such story began on a warm summer evening. Jay received a call from Mrs. Reynolds, a widow who had always been kind and welcoming to him. Her voice on the phone was filled with nervous excitement as she spoke about strange noises in her attic. Jay arrived promptly, his presence immediately calming her nerves.

As they climbed the narrow stairs to the attic, Mrs. Reynolds stayed close to Jay, her hand lightly touching his arm. Once they reached the top, Jay began his usual inspection. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. When he turned to reassure her that everything was fine, she stepped closer, her intentions clear.

“Officer Jay,” she said softly, “I know why you’re really here. I need your help… in a way that only you can provide.”

Jay nodded, understanding her need for companionship and the continuation of her family’s legacy. He began to undress methodically, each piece of clothing carefully placed to the side as Mrs. Reynolds watched, her breath hitching with anticipation. Once he was fully undressed, he approached her with a sense of purpose, his hands gently but firmly guiding her as they lay down together on the attic floor. Their encounter was tender and meaningful, filled with a sense of purpose. Mrs. Reynolds’s gratitude was immense, and as Jay left her home, he felt a deep satisfaction knowing he had fulfilled his duty.

Another memorable encounter involved Mrs. Garcia, a lively woman with a warm smile and a kind heart. She had called Jay to her home late one night, claiming to hear strange sounds coming from her basement. Jay arrived to find her waiting at the door, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

As they descended into the basement, Mrs. Garcia stayed close, her nervousness evident. Jay conducted his search thoroughly, but it was clear that Mrs. Garcia’s real concern lay elsewhere. When he turned to reassure her, she reached out, her hand gently touching his.

“Officer Jay, I need your help,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “My husband and I have been trying to have another child, but it hasn’t been easy. I need you.”

Jay felt a surge of purpose as he responded to her need. He quickly began to undress, his movements confident and assured, each article of clothing falling to the basement floor. Mrs. Garcia’s eyes followed his every move, her anticipation growing. He approached her with determination, lifting her onto a workbench and positioning himself between her legs. Their time together was filled with a deep connection, both understanding the importance of their actions. Mrs. Garcia’s appreciation was evident, and as Jay left, he knew he had brought hope into her home.

Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Reynolds, Mrs. Garcia—each woman had her own story, her own reason for seeking Jay’s help. They all shared a common desire: the hope of bringing new life into the world when their husbands couldn’t. Jay’s role in these encounters was not just physical but deeply emotional, offering comfort, hope, and the promise of a future.

One afternoon, Jay received a call from Mrs. Patel, a reserved woman who rarely sought help from anyone. Her voice on the phone was filled with anxiety as she spoke about noises in her backyard. Jay arrived to find her standing on her porch, her eyes wide with worry.

As they walked through the yard, Mrs. Patel stayed close, her unease palpable. Jay conducted his search with his usual thoroughness, but it became clear that her fears were more about loneliness and the desire for another child. When he turned to reassure her, she looked at him with a mix of hope and desperation.

“Officer Jay,” she said quietly, “I’ve been feeling so alone. My husband and I have been trying to have another child, but it hasn’t been working. Can you help me?”

Jay nodded, understanding her need. He began to undress slowly, each piece of clothing carefully removed and placed aside. Mrs. Patel watched, her eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and gratitude. Once he was fully undressed, he led her gently to the ground, their bodies coming together with a sense of shared purpose. Their encounter was filled with a sense of purpose, both knowing the importance of their actions. Mrs. Patel’s gratitude was profound, and as Jay left, he felt a deep sense of fulfillment.

These encounters, each unique and meaningful, became a regular part of Jay’s life. He embraced his secret duties with pride, knowing that he was making a significant impact on the community. The housewives’ gratitude and the new lives he helped bring into the world were a testament to his dedication and the success of his mission.

Jay’s secret duties were not just about fulfilling his role but about forming deep connections and bringing hope to those who needed it most. Each story was a chapter in the larger narrative of Miller’s Creek, a town that flourished under his watchful eye and caring presence.

Chapter 6: The Baby Boom

Miller’s Creek was experiencing a renaissance, a baby boom that had not been seen in decades. The signs of new life were everywhere: expectant mothers with widening hips, the sound of children’s laughter in the streets, and the bustling activity of families growing and thriving. At the heart of this transformation was Officer Jay, whose secret duties had played a pivotal role in this remarkable change.

As the town flourished, the bars and bowling leagues became the go-to places for the men of Miller’s Creek. Husbands, proud and content, gathered to share stories and enjoy each other’s company, their spirits lifted by the joy and fulfillment their families were experiencing. The camaraderie among them was palpable, each man knowing that their wives were happy and their homes were secure, thanks in no small part to Officer Jay.

Jay himself was a constant presence in the community, his duties extending far beyond his secret visits. He ensured that the town remained safe, patrolling the streets with vigilance and care. The respect and admiration he received from the townspeople were well-earned, as his dedication and hard work were evident in every interaction.

But Jay was not alone in his mission. He had a partner now, another young conservative cop who had been trained by Coach Dick. Officer Brian was as dedicated and disciplined as Jay, having undergone the same rigorous training program. The two men worked seamlessly together, their shared values and purpose creating a formidable team.

Officer Brian, like Jay, had embraced the dual role of protector and secret benefactor. His presence in the community brought a new level of security and reassurance. The housewives, already grateful for Jay’s help, welcomed Brian with open arms, knowing that the town’s future was in capable hands.

One evening, as Jay and Brian were finishing their patrol, they stopped by the local bar. The place was filled with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses, a testament to the happiness and prosperity that had taken root in Miller’s Creek. The men at the bar greeted them with hearty handshakes and pats on the back, their gratitude evident.

“Officer Jay, Officer Brian, good to see you both!” called out Mr. Jenkins, a local farmer whose wife was expecting their third child. “You two are doing a great job keeping this town safe.”

Jay and Brian exchanged smiles, their pride evident. Just the night before, they had been at the Jenkins’ home, fulfilling their secret duties. Mrs. Jenkins, a stunning woman with curves that had only grown softer and more enticing with each passing month, had welcomed them eagerly. Her once firm body had transformed, her hips widening and her ass becoming plumper and more inviting. Jay and Brian had commented on how much bigger and softer she had become since their last visit, their hands roaming over her lush curves as they prepared to breed her once more.

Mrs. Jenkins was a vision, her body ripe with fertility. Her skin glowed, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and desire. She had a beauty that was undeniable, and her husband, busy with his work and social engagements, was completely oblivious to the passion and life that she radiated. Jay and Brian, however, were acutely aware, and they took their time appreciating every inch of her.

They had taken turns and then switched back and forth effortlessly, their movements synchronized as they spit-roasted her, filling her with the promise of new life. Mrs. Jenkins responded to their touch with fervor, her moans filling the room as she reveled in the attention and care she received from the two officers. It was a scene of pure, unadulterated passion, her body yielding to their ministrations as they ensured that their mission was fulfilled.

Jay marveled at how gorgeous Mrs. Jenkins was, her soft curves a testament to the life they were helping to create. Brian, equally captivated, whispered praises into her ear, their words blending with the sounds of their efforts. They admired how her ass had become a perfect cushion of softness, their hands gripping her ample flesh as they moved in tandem. The contrast between her husband’s neglect and their own attentive care was stark, and it fueled their determination to give her everything she needed.

As they sat at the bar, these memories were fresh in their minds. They knew that their work was having a profound impact on the town, and the gratitude they received was a testament to that. Jay and Brian’s partnership was more than just a professional alliance; it was a shared mission to ensure that Miller’s Creek remained a place where families could grow and flourish.

Their work was never done, but the rewards were immense. With every new life brought into the world, every smile and word of thanks, they knew they were making a lasting difference. The baby boom had brought renewed life and joy to the community, and at the center of it all were two young officers whose secret duties had changed the course of their town.

**Chapter 7: Reflections at the Bar**

Officer Jay and his partner, Officer Brian, sat at the bar, enjoying the lively atmosphere that had become a staple of their evenings. The bar was a hub of activity, filled with the laughter and camaraderie of the town's men who gathered after long days of work. It was a place where they could unwind, share stories, and enjoy each other's company.

As Jay took a sip of his drink, he looked around the room. The men were in high spirits, oblivious to the secret life that had transformed their town. Each face told a story—of hard work, of community, of a simple, contented existence. Yet, beneath the surface of their jovial conversations and hearty laughter, there was an unspoken truth that only Jay and Brian knew.

The irony was palpable. Many of these men, who laughed and toasted to their good fortunes, were unaware that the children their wives were expecting had not come from their own loins. As they bowled strikes and shared drinks, Jay and Brian had been fulfilling their hidden roles, ensuring the future growth of Miller’s Creek in a way that none of the men could have imagined.

Jay’s eyes scanned the room, lingering on the familiar faces. Mr. Jenkins, his broad smile, doughy body, and flushed cheeks, celebrated the news of his wife’s pregnancy with a group of friends. Mr. Reynolds, deep in beer-soaked conversation with his bowling buddies, had no idea that Jay’s visits had ensured his family’s expansion. And then there was Mr. Lewis, who raised his glass in a toast, blissfully unaware of the role Jay had played only moments ago in his wife’s newfound happiness.

Brian, sitting next to Jay, nudged him and grinned. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the din of the bar.

Jay nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. “It sure is. If only they knew.”

The two men shared a moment of silent understanding. Their secret duties, performed with dedication and care, had brought about a profound change in Miller’s Creek. The baby boom was evident, with expectant mothers everywhere, their hips widening and their homes filled with the promise of new life. The bars and bowling alleys thrived, their husbands blissfully unaware of the true source of their joy.

As Jay and Brian continued to sip their drinks, they reflected on the journey that had brought them here. The rigorous training under Coach Dick had prepared them for this dual role, instilling in them a deep sense of duty and purpose. They had embraced their mission with pride, knowing that they were making a lasting impact on the community.

Jay’s thoughts drifted to the many nights spent in the company of Miller’s Creek’s housewives. Each encounter had been different, yet all had shared a common thread of hope and gratitude. The women had welcomed Jay and Brian into their homes, seeking the companionship and reassurance that their husbands, often preoccupied with work and leisure, could not provide. In return, Jay and Brian had given them the gift of new life, ensuring the town’s future and fulfilling their secret mission.

Looking around the bar, Jay felt a mix of emotions. There was satisfaction in knowing that he had played a vital role in the town’s renewal, but also a sense of humility. The men around him, laughing and toasting, were blissfully unaware of the truth. Their happiness and contentment were built on the quiet, unspoken efforts of Jay and Brian, who had taken on the responsibility of ensuring the town’s future.

Brian clinked his glass against Jay’s. “Here’s to Miller’s Creek,” he said, his voice filled with quiet pride.

Jay raised his glass in response. “To Miller’s Creek,” he echoed. “And to the future.”

As they finished their drinks, Jay and Brian knew that their work was far from over. The town continued to grow and thrive, and their roles as protectors and secret benefactors remained as vital as ever. They would continue to fulfill their duties with the same dedication and care, ensuring that Miller’s Creek remained a place of hope and renewal for generations to come.

The bar full of drunken, impotent men was a testament to their success. Jay and Brian’s secret mission had brought about a baby boom, filled homes with the sound of children’s laughter, and ensured the future of their beloved town. And as they looked around at the contented faces, they knew that they had made a lasting impact, one that would be remembered in the hearts and minds of the people of Miller’s Creek.

Chapter 8: The Continued Mission

As Miller’s Creek continued to flourish, Officer Jay and his partner, Officer Brian, maintained their dual roles with unwavering dedication. The town’s baby boom was in full swing, and the demand for their secret services only grew. The housewives, eager to expand their families, frequently called upon the officers to fulfill their hidden desires. Each encounter was a testament to the deep connections and trust they had built within the community.

One evening, Jay received a call from Mrs. Anderson, a charming woman in her early forties with an infectious laugh and warm, welcoming demeanor. She mentioned hearing strange noises in her home while her husband was away on a business trip. Jay arrived promptly, his presence immediately putting her at ease.

As they walked through the dimly lit hallway, Mrs. Anderson stayed close to Jay, her hand brushing against his arm. Once they reached the bedroom, it became clear that her request was about more than just ensuring her safety. Jay began to undress, each piece of clothing falling to the floor with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Officer Jay,” she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. “I need you… in a way only you can understand.”

Jay approached her with purpose, his hands exploring her body with practiced ease. Their encounter was filled with passion and urgency, Mrs. Anderson’s moans of pleasure echoing through the room. When they were finished, she lay there, breathless and dripping with his seed, unable to contain her gratitude and admiration.

“This was incredible,” she gasped, her eyes shining with tears of joy. “So much better than anything my husband could ever give me.”

Jay’s chest swelled with pride as he watched her, knowing he had fulfilled his duty once again. He gently kissed her forehead before leaving, promising to return whenever she needed him.

The next night, Jay and Brian received a call from Mrs. Collins, a strikingly beautiful woman known for her elegance and grace. She had recently moved to Miller’s Creek and was eager to start a family. The officers arrived at her doorstep, their presence commanding and reassuring.

As they entered her home, Mrs. Collins led them to the master bedroom, her steps slow and deliberate. Jay and Brian undressed together, their movements synchronized and confident. Mrs. Collins watched with wide eyes, her anticipation growing with each passing second.

When they began, it was with a shared sense of purpose and determination. Jay and Brian took turns, their efforts seamless and coordinated. Mrs. Collins responded to their touch with fervor, her voice rising in uncontrollable gasps and cries of pleasure. The bed creaked under their combined weight, a testament to the intensity of their encounter.

As they finished, Mrs. Collins lay there, her body trembling and soaked with their seed. She looked up at them, her eyes filled with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

“You’ve given me what I’ve always dreamed of,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Thank you.”

Jay and Brian exchanged a satisfied glance before dressing and leaving her home, knowing they had once again fulfilled their mission.

The spree continued, each night bringing a new encounter, a new housewife eager to expand her family. Jay and Brian moved through the town with a sense of purpose, their actions driven by the desire to ensure Miller’s Creek’s future. They had become more than just protectors; they were the foundation of the community’s renewal.

One afternoon, Jay received a call from Mrs. Mitchell, a petite woman with a shy smile and kind eyes. She had heard about the officers’ secret duties from her friends and was nervous but hopeful. Jay arrived at her home, his presence immediately putting her at ease.

As they moved to the bedroom, Jay undressed slowly, his eyes locking with hers. Mrs. Mitchell’s breath quickened as she watched him, her anticipation palpable. When they came together, it was with a mixture of tenderness and urgency. Jay’s hands roamed her body, his touch firm yet gentle. Mrs. Mitchell responded with soft moans, her body trembling under his ministrations.

When they finished, Mrs. Mitchell lay there, her body glistening with sweat and dripping with Jay’s seed. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and relief.

“This means so much to me,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving me hope.”

Jay smiled, his heart swelling with pride. He kissed her gently before leaving, knowing he had once again fulfilled his duty.

The spree through the housewives’ beds continued, each encounter unique and meaningful. Jay and Brian embraced their roles with pride, knowing that their actions were ensuring the town’s future. The housewives welcomed them with open arms, their gratitude and desire a testament to the deep connections they had built.

As Miller’s Creek thrived, the officers’ secret mission remained at the heart of the community’s renewal. Jay and Brian moved through the town with confidence and purpose, their presence a constant source of security and hope. Each encounter was a chapter in the larger narrative of Miller’s Creek, a town that flourished under their watchful eye and caring presence.

Chapter 9: The Growing Legacy

As the baby boom in Miller’s Creek continued to flourish, Officer Jay and Officer Brian’s influence grew more profound. Their roles as protectors and secret benefactors had solidified their positions in the community, making them central figures in the town’s ongoing transformation. The respect and admiration they received were mirrored in the grateful eyes of the housewives they visited and the laughter of children playing in the streets.

One evening, Jay received a call from Mrs. Hamilton, a spirited woman in her late thirties known for her vibrant personality and warm heart. She had been trying to conceive for years without success and had heard about the officers’ secret abilities. Her voice on the phone was filled with a mix of hope and desperation.

“Officer Jay, could you come by? I need your help,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Jay arrived at her home, his presence immediately calming her nerves. Mrs. Hamilton greeted him at the door, her eyes filled with anticipation and gratitude. She led him to the bedroom, where to Jay’s surprise, her husband, Mr. Hamilton, was already seated in a chair by the bed. Mr. Hamilton, a slight man with a nervous demeanor, looked up at Jay, his eyes filled with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement.

As Mrs. Hamilton and Jay moved to the bed, Mr. Hamilton began to undress, revealing his tiny penis, which he began to stroke slowly. Jay undressed with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving Mrs. Hamilton’s. When he was fully naked, he approached her with a sense of purpose, his hands exploring her body with practiced ease. Their encounter was filled with passion and urgency, Mrs. Hamilton’s moans of pleasure echoing through the room.

Mr. Hamilton watched intently, his hand moving faster as Jay took care of business, his wife writhing in pleasure beneath the officer. Jay glanced at him occasionally, a smirk on his face as he asserted his dominance, thinking of the term “cuck” to himself, knowing how it fit this scenario perfectly. When they finished, Mrs. Hamilton lay there, her body trembling and dripping with Jay’s seed. Her eyes shone with gratitude as she whispered, “Thank you, Jay. This means everything to me.”

Jay kissed her gently before leaving, promising to return whenever she needed him. As he walked away, he felt a deep sense of fulfillment, knowing he had once again fulfilled his duty.

The next day, Jay and Brian received a call from Mrs. Martinez, a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair and a kind smile. She had recently moved to Miller’s Creek and was eager to start a family. The officers arrived at her doorstep, their presence commanding and reassuring.

Mrs. Martinez led them to the master bedroom, where her husband, Mr. Martinez, was already present. Mr. Martinez was massively obese, sitting obediently in a chair near the bed, his eyes fixed on his wife. He wore a chastity cage, a clear symbol of his submission and the dynamic in their relationship.

As Jay and Brian undressed together, their movements synchronized and confident, Mrs. Martinez watched with wide eyes, her anticipation growing with each passing second. When they began, it was with a shared sense of purpose and determination. Jay and Brian took turns, their efforts seamless and coordinated, while Mr. Martinez watched obediently, his breathing heavy with excitement.

Mrs. Martinez responded to their touch with fervor, her voice rising in uncontrollable gasps and cries of pleasure. The bed creaked under their combined weight, a testament to the intensity of their encounter. As they finished, Mrs. Martinez lay there, her body trembling and soaked with their seed. She looked up at them, her eyes filled with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

“You’ve given me what I’ve always dreamed of,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Thank you.”

Jay and Brian exchanged a satisfied glance before dressing and leaving her home, knowing they had once again fulfilled their mission. As they left, Jay couldn’t help but feel a sense of dominance over Mr. Martinez, who obediently accepted his role as a cuck.

The spree continued, each night bringing a new encounter, a new housewife eager to expand her family. Jay and Brian moved through the town with a sense of purpose, their actions driven by the desire to ensure Miller’s Creek’s future. They had become more than just protectors; they were the foundation of the community’s renewal.

One afternoon, Jay received a call from Mrs. Patel, a reserved woman who rarely sought help from anyone. Her voice on the phone was filled with anxiety as she spoke about noises in her backyard. Jay arrived to find her standing on her porch, her eyes wide with worry.

As they walked through the yard, Mrs. Patel stayed close, her unease palpable. Jay conducted his search with his usual thoroughness, but it became clear that her fears were more about loneliness and the desire for another child. When he turned to reassure her, she looked at him with a mix of hope and desperation.

“Officer Jay,” she said quietly, “I’ve been feeling so alone. My husband and I have been trying to have another child, but it hasn’t been working. Can you help me?”

Jay nodded, understanding her need. He called for backup from Officer Brian, knowing that together they could provide the comfort and fulfillment she sought. When Brian arrived, they moved to the middle of the backyard, their presence a symbol of safety and protection.

Jay began to undress slowly, each piece of clothing carefully removed and placed aside. Mrs. Patel watched, her eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and gratitude. Brian followed suit, their movements deliberate and confident. Once they were fully undressed, they led her to the ground, their bodies coming together with a sense of shared purpose.

The encounter was intense and filled with mutual understanding. Jay and Brian took turns, their efforts seamless and coordinated, ensuring that Mrs. Patel felt secure and cherished. The open air added an element of rawness and freedom to their union, her moans of pleasure blending with the sounds of the evening.

When they finished, Mrs. Patel lay there, her body glistening with sweat and dripping with their seed. She looked up at them, her eyes filled with profound gratitude and relief.

“This means so much to me,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving me hope.”

Jay and Brian dressed slowly, their hearts swelling with pride. They kissed her gently before leaving, knowing they had once again fulfilled their duty.

The spree through the housewives’ beds continued, each encounter unique and meaningful. Jay and Brian embraced their roles with pride, knowing that their actions were ensuring the town’s future. The housewives welcomed them with open arms, their gratitude and desire a testament to the deep connections they had built.

As Miller’s Creek thrived, the officers’ secret mission remained at the heart of the community’s renewal. Jay and Brian moved through the town with confidence and purpose, their presence a constant source of security and hope. Each encounter was a chapter in the larger narrative of Miller’s Creek, a town that flourished under their watchful eye and caring presence.

Jay and Brian’s partnership was more than just a professional alliance; it was a shared mission to ensure that Miller’s Creek remained a place where families could grow and flourish. Their work was never done, but the rewards were immense. With every new life brought into the world, every smile and word of thanks, they knew they were making a lasting difference.

Chapter 10: The Changing Dynamics

As Officer Jay and Officer Brian continued their mission in Miller’s Creek, they began to develop a preference for visiting women whose husbands were willing participants in the dynamic of being cucked. This arrangement not only heightened the sense of dominance for Jay and Brian but also reinforced the submissive roles of the husbands. The trend quickly spread through the town, and soon more and more men in Miller’s Creek were sporting strangely larger bulges in their pants—only these bulges weren’t filled with meat, but rather chastity cages that symbolized their submission.

One evening, Jay and Brian received a call from Mrs. Roberts, a lively woman with an infectious laugh and a curvaceous figure. She had recently heard about the officers’ special services from her friends and was eager to experience it for herself. When they arrived at her home, they were greeted by Mrs. Roberts and her husband, Mr. Roberts, who was noticeably nervous but also intrigued by the dynamic.

Mrs. Roberts led them to the bedroom, where Mr. Roberts sat in a chair near the bed, his eyes wide with anticipation. Jay and Brian began to undress slowly, their movements deliberate and confident, while Mrs. Roberts watched with growing excitement. Mr. Roberts, following the established ritual, revealed his chastity cage, the metal glinting in the soft light of the room.

Jay and Brian approached Mrs. Roberts with a sense of purpose, their hands exploring her body with practiced ease. The encounter was intense, filled with passion and urgency, Mrs. Roberts’s moans of pleasure echoing through the room. Mr. Roberts watched intently, his eyes locked on his wife and the officers, his own excitement evident despite the confines of his cage.

When they finished, Mrs. Roberts lay there, her body trembling and dripping with their seed. She looked up at her husband and the officers, her eyes filled with satisfaction and gratitude.

“Thank you, Jay. Thank you, Brian. This means everything to us,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Jay and Brian dressed slowly, their hearts swelling with pride. They exchanged a knowing glance with Mr. Roberts, who nodded in appreciation, understanding his role in the dynamic.

The trend continued, each night bringing new encounters with housewives eager to expand their families and husbands willing to embrace their submissive roles. Jay and Brian moved through the town with a sense of purpose, their actions driven by the desire to ensure Miller’s Creek’s future. They had become more than just protectors; they were the architects of a new social order within the community.

One afternoon, Jay and Brian received a call from Mrs. Green, a stunning woman with a bright smile and a confident demeanor. She had heard about the officers’ services and was eager to partake. When they arrived, they found Mr. Green waiting as well, his demeanor a mix of nervousness and excitement.

Mrs. Green led them to the living room, where Mr. Green sat in a chair, his hands fidgeting with his belt. Jay and Brian undressed together, their movements synchronized and confident, while Mrs. Green watched with growing anticipation. Mr. Green, following the ritual, revealed his chastity cage, the metal a stark contrast to his skin.

As Jay and Brian began, the encounter was filled with a sense of shared purpose and intensity. Mrs. Green responded to their touch with fervor, her voice rising in uncontrollable gasps and cries of pleasure. The room filled with the sounds of their passion, a testament to the dynamic that had taken hold in Miller’s Creek.

When they finished, Mrs. Green lay there, her body glistening with sweat and dripping with their seed. She looked up at her husband and the officers, her eyes filled with satisfaction and gratitude.

“Thank you, Jay. Thank you, Brian. This means so much to us,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Jay and Brian dressed slowly, their hearts swelling with pride. They exchanged a knowing glance with Mr. Green, who nodded in appreciation, understanding his role in the dynamic.

As Miller’s Creek continued to thrive, the officers’ secret mission remained at the heart of the community’s renewal. Jay and Brian moved through the town with confidence and purpose, their presence a constant source of security and hope. Each encounter was a chapter in the larger narrative of Miller’s Creek, a town that flourished under their watchful eye and caring presence.

Jay and Brian’s partnership was more than just a professional alliance; it was a shared mission to ensure that Miller’s Creek remained a place where families could grow and flourish. Their work was never done, but the rewards were immense. With every new life brought into the world, every smile and word of thanks, they knew they were making a lasting difference.

As the dynamic of cuckolding spread through Miller’s Creek, the town’s social fabric changed. Husbands embraced their roles with a mix of excitement and submission, their chastity cages a symbol of their acceptance. The women, empowered by the officers’ presence, found new levels of satisfaction and fulfillment. Jay and Brian’s influence was undeniable, their actions reshaping the community in profound and lasting ways.

Chapter 11: Miller’s Cuck

Miller’s Creek had transformed beyond recognition. What was once a quiet, modest town had become something entirely different, a place where traditional roles were upended, and a new social order had taken hold. Jay and Brian’s influence was undeniable, and their mission had been executed with remarkable success.

The officers privately referred to their town as “Miller’s Cuck,” a fitting name given the profound changes they had orchestrated. Every adult woman in town under the age of 40 was pregnant, their bodies visibly bearing the fruits of Jay and Brian’s secret services. The sight of expectant mothers was common, a testament to the officers’ dedication to their cause.

In stark contrast, every married man in town now wore a chastity cage. These men, once the symbols of traditional masculinity, had willingly accepted their roles as submissive partners in this new order. The cages were not just physical restraints but symbols of their submission and the power dynamics that now ruled Miller’s Creek. The only exceptions were Jay and Brian, whose dominance was undisputed.

One evening, as Jay and Brian finished their patrol, they returned to their shared home, a place that was both their sanctuary and a symbol of their unique partnership. Inside, they shed their uniforms, the symbols of their public roles, and embraced a different kind of intimacy. The town might see them as figures of unmatched masculinity and dominance, but in their private moments, Jay and Brian found comfort and connection in each other.

The joke on everyone was that once they were home, Jay and Brian shared a bed. Their bond went beyond their public roles, and they found solace in each other’s company. The intensity of their days gave way to tender moments at night, where they could let their guards down and simply be themselves.

As they lay together in bed, Jay looked over at Brian, a smile playing on his lips. “Can you believe how far we’ve come?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of pride and disbelief.

Brian chuckled softly, nodding. “Miller’s Creek is truly Miller’s Cuck now. We’ve done something incredible here.”

Jay sighed contentedly, his hand resting on Brian’s chest. “Every woman under 40 is pregnant, and every married man’s penis is locked in a cage. We’ve changed this town completely.”

Brian leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Jay’s lips. “And the best part is, we get to come home to each other every night.”

Their relationship was a well-kept secret, known only to them. In public, they were the epitome of authority and dominance, but in private, they found strength and comfort in their bond. The duality of their lives added a layer of complexity to their partnership, making it all the more meaningful.

In the quiet of their bedroom, Jay and Brian slipped nimbly into a deep 69, their bodies intertwining with practiced ease. Each took the other’s penis into their mouth, their tongues exploring and caressing with familiar skill. Jay’s thick member snaked down Brian’s throat, while Brian’s equally impressive length filled Jay’s mouth. They moved in perfect sync, their breaths deepening as the intensity of their connection grew. Their muscles flexed and contracted, each movement a testament to their strength and desire. The sensation of having their penises buried deep in each other’s throats brought them closer, the pleasure mounting with each passing second.

As they continued, their hands roamed over each other’s bodies, feeling the hard muscle and soft skin. The intensity of their connection was palpable, a physical manifestation of the bond that had grown between them over time. The world outside their bedroom ceased to exist, and in those moments, they were simply two men who had found a profound and deep connection.

When they finally pulled away, their breaths were ragged, and their eyes locked with a shared understanding of what they had just experienced. But their night was far from over. Reaching for a double-ended dildo, Jay and Brian positioned themselves carefully, their strong bubble butts pressing against each other. They worked the toy between them, the sensation of the firm silicone adding a new layer of pleasure to their intimate connection.

Their movements were slow and deliberate at first, each thrust synchronized as they adjusted to the sensation. The double-ended dildo slid in and out with ease, their strong muscles contracting around it, enhancing the intensity of their experience. Their hands moved to each other’s hips, guiding and steadying their rhythm. The feeling of the toy filling them both simultaneously created a bond that was both physical and emotional, a shared experience that went beyond mere pleasure.

As the intensity of their movements increased, their breaths grew faster, their bodies glistening with sweat. The dildo moved between them with increasing speed, the pleasure mounting with each thrust. Jay and Brian’s moans filled the room, their voices blending in a symphony of shared ecstasy.

The sensation built to a crescendo, the toy hitting just the right spots with each thrust. They could feel the tension building within them, the pleasure reaching an almost unbearable peak. Finally, with a shared cry of release, they both ejaculated hands-free, their bodies trembling with the force of their orgasms. The connection they felt in that moment was profound, a testament to the deep bond they shared.

As they lay together in the aftermath, their bodies still entwined, Jay and Brian felt a deep sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. Their private moments fueled their public personas, providing the strength and connection they needed to face each new day.

The town continued to thrive under their watchful eyes. The baby boom showed no signs of slowing, and the social order they had established remained firmly in place. Husbands accepted their roles with a mix of submission and pride, and the women found new levels of satisfaction and fulfillment. Jay and Brian’s influence was pervasive, shaping every aspect of life in Miller’s Creek.

One afternoon, as Jay and Brian walked through the town, they were greeted by the familiar sight of pregnant women and caged men. The townspeople greeted them with respect and admiration, their gratitude evident in every smile and nod. The officers had become symbols of a new era, their roles cemented in the town’s history.

As they passed by a group of women, heavily pregnant and chatting animatedly, one of them called out, “Thank you, Officers! We couldn’t have done this without you.”

Jay and Brian smiled, nodding in acknowledgment. “Our pleasure,” Jay replied. “We’re here to help.”

The women beamed, their faces glowing with happiness. The officers continued their walk, their presence a constant reminder of the town’s transformation. Every step they took reaffirmed their roles as the architects of Miller’s Cuck, a place where traditional norms had been redefined, and a new social order had taken hold.

Back at home that night, Jay and Brian lay together, their bodies entwined in a familiar embrace. The joke on the town was their secret, but it was also their strength. In each other, they found the balance and support that fueled their public personas.

As they drifted off to sleep, Jay whispered, “We’ve built something incredible here, Brian. Miller’s Cuck is our legacy.”

Brian smiled, his eyes closing in contentment. “And we’ll continue to build it, together.”

In the quiet of their home, the two officers found peace, knowing that their influence had created a lasting impact on Miller’s Creek. Their work was far from over, but they faced each new day with confidence, united in their mission and their bond. The town might have changed, but the essence of their partnership remained constant, a testament to their dedication and love.

[033h]

a lot of thoughts but I’ll just say that anarchism esp in the international revolutionary context deeply shaped my worldview, not as a political system to be put into practice but because without the will to imagine a politics (systems and interpersonal relationships) without hierarchy we will never really be striving to eradicate oppression. even if imagining it is difficult and imperfect and contentious. I would rather defend human dignity and act out of empathy than pretend I have the answer to everything. liberal rhetoric that tries to make resistance and idealism seem immature is becoming less and less viable every day and I hope I never become so jaded and so ignorant to believe it. oppression is a global phenomenon and the connections between cops and militaries also extend beyond all borders and political alignments and regime types! and I think all those categories are just distractions at this point.

[moistvonlipwig]

3, 12, 18, and 19 for teen wolf (no worries if you want to pass on any of them)?

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you’ve seen on tumblr

oh see now this question is impossible because teen wolf fandom is capable of producing bad takes that other fandoms can only dream of. "scott helping align a dog's broken leg in his capacity as an assistant vet tech is animal abuse." "stalia is problematic because malia is 45 in coyote years." "scott violated/raped derek" (re: a scene in which scott is forced under duress to make derek bite gerard, which derek only objected to because he did not know about scott's secret plan). "stiles is the only one who ever respected derek." "scott has been narrating the entire show to make himself look better." "deaton is shady and evil." "scott abused jackson" (a real thing someone sent to my inbox). even jeff davis got in on it with "kira's story didn't have anything left to explore." however despite stiff competition i do think we have to give this award to "scott is a werewolf colonizer" because there is something so special about accusing a mexican boy of colonizing the culture of white people who are living in california. and also because it is so so funny to say.

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

hm. i don't know if i like any characters who are unpopular within the fandom circles i travel in. like certainly scott is unpopular with the fandom at large, we know this, but i don't travel in those circles so. idk. i guess i think victoria argent is interesting? imo after allison she's the most compelling argent. i think killing yourself rather than becoming a werewolf shows a kind of commitment to one's ideology that automatically makes a character interesting. i don't know what the popular opinion on victoria argent is but that's my take.

18. it’s absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on…

see again i could point to fandom at large for this but frankly fandom at large sleeps on anything that isn't sterek or steter so i could say anything and it would be true. so my actual answer is that i think more people should ship theo/mason. i get why sceo is popular but i don't know why thiam is so big when...thason? meo? (personally i am voting for meo as a ship name because it looks like meow. however i am willing to be overruled.)...is right there. one of my actual most unpopular opinions is idgaf about morey because i couldn't care less about corey. i don't even know that boy's last name. he's nothing to me. but theo/mason??? both of them experimented on by the dread doctors, one of them 'evil' and the other 'good' (too 'good' to be traumatized, if you ask jeff davis, which is why you should never ask jeff davis), one of them so compassionate and caring, the other callous and lacking empathy, on opposite sides of the fight, yet both bound by the same trauma, and both deep inside wanting to help? look i'm not a big m/m shipper so i'm not gonna write the fic but SOMEONE should write the fic. is what i'm saying.

19. you’re mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like…

disclaimer i am not ashamed of liking anything because, to paraphrase the great cordelia chase, shame is not something to be proud of. however i am a little mad that stiles and derek genuinely have such a fun relationship. i do actually wish they had more scenes together and i would happily watch an entire episode that was just the two of them on a buddy cop roadtrip and if people wrote more platonic fic of them with their canon personalities being forced into Situations together then i Would read it. i don't ship them because it's not my cup of tea shipping-wise and i think fanon sterek is nothing like canon sterek and is deeply uninteresting but in the year 2024 i must confess that canon stiles & derek did make some points.