#fall cleanup services

[lawncareserviceusa]

Get The Best Yard Clean Up Companies

Yard Clean Up Companies specialize in transforming your outdoor spaces into pristine, well-maintained landscapes. These professional teams offer a range of services, from lawn mowing and leaf removal to tree trimming and garden rejuvenation. Whether you need a one-time cleanup or ongoing maintenance, Yard Clean Up Companies are your go-to solution for a beautiful and tidy yard.

[allthoseripplingpectorals]

Yesterday my aunt told me that she wanted to start learning Hebrew in 2024. I told her she should start at the central library because they have a huge language learning section. She said she thought that it had been closed. Nope. The Minneapolis Central Library has a massive collection and the Hennepin County library system is a state treasure. I told her I would take her this week and get her a card. Always always always support your public institutions. Talk to family and coworkers about the benefits of libraries, parks, public broadcasting, school arts programs etc. Remind people of the excellent things the government can do.

In the early 70s Sesame Street was created with an eye towards educating poor, inner-city children for free, and became a massive hit with all children. In 2016, faced with going off the air forever after facing conservative efforts to destroy public broadcasting since basically its beginning, new episodes became a timed exclusive for premium cable network HBO. In 2022 HBO Max, newly merged with and taken over by reality TV channel Discovery, removed Sesame Street episodes and spin-offs from streaming as a tax write-off and scheme to avoid paying residuals.

[landscapingsunusa]

Say Goodbye to Fall Leaves with Expert Leaf Removal Service in Delaware

As you all know, Summer ends when a fresh autumn wind begins to blow, and bursts of vibrant hues from the autumn leaves start to cover the landscape. The season appears stunning with its various shades of yellow, red, and orange, but it becomes problematic when the moment arrives to gather them all. This is where a Fall Leaf Removal Service in Delaware steps in, tidying up the yard and gearing it up for the harsh winter conditions approaching. Read More….

[markwilliams3]

Find out why we’re the top choice in Landscaping in Detroit MI, with the best team. From lawn care and fertilization services to bush and tree trimming, our team of professional landscapers near you is dedicated to excellence. We also offer fall cleanups and snow blowing services to ensure your yard is maintained throughout the year.  At Pettway Lawn Professionals LLC, we specialize in a full range of services to keep your outdoor space looking its best. Our laydown mold services and mold cleanup services are perfect for enhancing the health of your landscape. For exceptional lawn maintenance service in Detroit, MI, call us today and experience the difference in your area!

[snow-and-lawn]

Landscaping Company Rochester NY

Mulching is an important part of maintaining a healthy lawn and garden. MRB Snow and Lawn offers top-quality mulching in Rochester NY, that can help protect your plants from the heat and retain moisture in the soil. Contact us today!

Visit: https://www.mrbsnowandlawn.com/lawn-care.html

[sabertoothwalrus]

so I’ve been gaining a lot of insight into the animation industry recently, especially in regards to pitching & the creation of new shows. There’s a few ways to go about it.

First, there’s pitching to a studio. When you pitch, it has to be SHORT and CONCISE. You may write a lovingly detailed pitch bible that perfectly breaks down episodes and characterizations, and it might barely even get read. First impressions, first impressions, first impressions!

Most peoples’ first projects don’t get picked up. I’ve heard a few stories from directors that said they tried pitching a story they’d had for years, which got rejected, to then spend a week or even several hours in their car coming up with a new idea, only for that to get greenlit.

But that’s not the end of it. Just because a show gets greenlit, doesn’t mean it will ever get finished. There’s lots of things that can happen. Sometimes, unexpected major world events (like… a global pandemic) can cause projects to get chopped. Sometimes, a CEO change or studio merge means a single person can decide a project “no longer fits with the company’s brand.” Sometimes, the one producer that was rooting for your project gets laid off, and no one else cares enough, so it gets shelved. Sometimes, a streaming service decides to create an animation department, and then they decide they don’t want it anymore. Sometimes, the studio will be simultaneously be developing another project that was too similar to yours and they just didn’t think to tell you until they decide yours is the one with less potential.

On top of that, almost everyone in the industry is saying that “studios just don’t pick up original content anymore.” Studios want something they can franchise, something that will bring in money. New content is risky. Established fanbases are safer.

However! Studios can still be a very good thing. They can be unionized. They can provide better benefits and resources. They can have connections and infrastructure and a larger volume of workers. At a studio, you can divide the labor and produce more in less time. Longer episodes, longer seasons, more consistency in quality.

But this comes with all of the disadvantages of having more in the kitchen.

The alternative is indie animation.

With indie animation, you have total freedom. Full artistic control. It doesn’t even matter if your idea sucks ass, because there’s no one to tell you you can’t make it. You could make it anyway, and you can make it whatever you wanted.

The thing is, making animation is hard. In my production class last semester, the average maximum animation one person could make in that timeframe was 30-60 seconds, and that’s not even counting background design, sound design, or cleanup/color. To make a 5 minute animated short, you should probably have at least 5 people.

And it is CRUCIAL you have a production manager. Ideally someone who’s not already doing art for the project. Most projects without a production manager will fall apart pretty quickly. Once the adrenaline and impulse-fueled motivation wears off, you need someone to hold you accountable and enforce deadlines and proper time management.

Speaking of time, that’s also hard to get. The more people you have, the more likely schedules won’t line up. Most people will have school, or other jobs.

And it costs MONEY!!!!!! You either have everyone work for free and volunteer their time & energy, or you establish a business as a proper indie studio, with people who may or may not have experience on how to handle paying someone else’s salary. And the money has to come from somewhere, so you have to rely on crowdfunding like patreon or kickstarter. (This, by the way, is why I could never fault an indie animation for releasing merch with their pilot.)

And like, maybe you wanna do a series, and all your friends agree to volunteer their labor and time to make the first episode, but it was unanimously not sustainable. Deciding not to produce a second episode until you can raise enough money is not being suddenly greedy, it’s attempting to compensate people rather than expecting them to be continuously taken advantage of.

You have to consider your output as well. There are some outliers like Worthikids, who afaik does all his animation himself, and afaik can work on it full-time thanks to his patreon subscribers. And he still has only produced a total of 30 minutes of animation (for Big Top Burger specifically) in the past 4 years. This is an IMPRESSIVE feat and this is with using a lot of 3D as part of his pipeline!!

Indie animation also has the complication of being more accessible for fandoms. When you’re posting your Official Canon Content on youtube, it doesn’t look a lot different than the fandom-created video essay in the sidebar next to it. What’s canon vs what’s fanon becomes less distinguishable. The boundaries are blurrier. When the creator is just some guy you follow on twitter, it’s easier to prod them for info regarding ships and theories and word-of-god confirmation. They don’t have a PR team or entire international tv networks to appeal to. And this is when creators get frustrated that their fans snowball and turn their creation into something they don’t recognize (and no longer enjoy) anymore.

So it’s tricky.

Thankfully, the threshold to learn animation is fairly low nowadays!! There are TONS of resources online to learn it on your own without forking over a couple hundred thousand to a private art college. There are conventions and discord servers and events where you can network, if you know where to look.

I know it can seem discouraging in the face of capitalism, but I think that’s all the more reason why it’s so important to BE DETERMINED about animation!! We’re already starting to see the beginning of an indie animation boom, and I think it’s a testament to humanity’s desire to tell stories and create art. Even if there’s no financial gain, we do whatever it takes to tell our stories anyway.

[snoopyhq]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ so when the night falls, my lonely heart calls

type: arcane characters x reader

featuring: viktor, mel, jayce, vi, caitlyn, ekko, jinx

summary: how they spend valentine's day with you 💘 straight up fluff really.

a/n: a bit late because i was hanging out with my friends out of town and didn't get home to post this at a reasonable time. hope you guys enjoy!

divider used by @/saradika-graphics !!!

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VIKTOR

a date at the botanical gardens! :3

taking walks with you around piltover has always been one of his favorite ways to unwind, so spending the day in a calm, sunny, pretty spot just seems right

you guys are holding hands and exploring the vast expanse of greenery

there's an insect exhibit, and rumor has it they have cricket delicacies on a stick...

he'll teasingly ask you if you're brave enough to take a bite

if you go along with it, he'll do it too

takes the prettiest candid pics of you ever

the curse of a 'bf who takes the most awful photos of you' does not exist with viktor

he's a perfectionist, and you can never look less than, in his opinion

he shows you the photos later, all shy and nervous and you're losing your mind at how he managed to capture everything so beautifully

"it's easy. you're always beautiful to me. capturing a second of it is no trouble. i just wish i could live every frame of you again over and over."

back in your shared apartment, he's organizing the layout for the next chapter in his photo album of you

you've started your own filled with photos of him

you guys go through them at the end of every year to reminisce on memories

the night unwinds with a glass of sweet wine and reading together by the fire, eventually falling asleep all cozied up on the couch <3

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ MEL

spa day

facial, manis, pedis, the whole package

a day of pampering her beloved!

she wants you to look and feel your best

the best type of love can be self-love, after all

after the spa, she takes you to an orchestral concert featuring renown musicians from the city and beyond

she's booked you both your own private balcony where you can watch the performance from the comfort of privacy and plenty of courses catered to your tastes

there's a gift exchange at home to top off the perfect day

you'd been agonizing on what to get her

councilor medarda? the brains, beauty, and vision of success? what could you give her that she can't simply buy when she feels like it?

you ended up making her gift. a jar decorated with fairy lights and resin'd petals on the outside, and filled with handwritten notes from you

the messages range from cheesy pickup lines to affirmations of how much you love her, and reminders for her to take a break

you also put together a small folder of tickets

each ticket reads something like "movie night", "dinner of your choice, on me", "painting date", etc. etc.

whenever she feels down, she can just pick one and you'll drop whatever you're doing and spend the rest of the day dedicated to that, and to her

she loves you and you love her so much

it's sickening. tooth rotting, even. definitely acts of service and quality time here

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ JAYCE

cooking together is a love language. sharing food that you've made together? hooray! how romantic is that?

especially if it's a cultural exchange of food

he's teaching you to make his mamá's birria tacos and rambling about parts of his childhood in the kitchen, helping her out

you're listening with a silly smile on your face

an expression of pure lovesickness

he's moving around the place with such ease, and the smell of comfort is heavenly

then it's your turn to walk him through something from your culture, and talk about your own stories associated with the dish/dessert/drink (whatever it is you wanna make)

me personally, i'll be making some bánh xèo (it's like a vietnamese crepe! very savory, very yummy)

half your plate is your food, and the other is jayce's birria tacos

cleanup can be dealt with later

right now, there's good food and better company to be have

it's a shared learning opportunity and serves to strengthen your bond :-)

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VI

she's picking you up from your house first thing

ready with a "good morning!", kiss on the cheek, and a bouquet of your favorite flowers

wrapped in paper, of course <3

if you have chocolates for her, she'll melt right then and there in your arms

or maybe even chocolate covered strawberries you put together yourself!

you two are heading right to the arcade

paintball gets competitive. and messy

go clothes shopping for each other after

it's a chance for her to indulge in something she usually doesn't, and you get the chance to spoil your favorite girl in the whole world

she appreciates that you love her style and who she is and doesn't try changing who she is. because of that, she trusts you to help style her

once you're both newly out in some new clothes and kicks, you guys hit the highway

windows down, blasting your favorite songs and singing along at the top of your lungs

i love vi, i wish women were real :(

she's my favorite alongside viktor. AUGH.

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ CAITLYN

what's the point of having money and an influential family if not to rent out places, like a whole bookstore? or a planetarium? a movie theater, even

all of the above, and more

maybe not in that order though

the bookstore is first. you both buy each other a book you think the other will like and promise to keep each other updated on your progress

the movie theater next

speaking of movies, i saw heart eyes with my friends yesterday! it was a great movie, i enjoyed it a LOT more than i initially thought

so glad to have been proven wrong

you guys watch some good ol' romance movies (10 things i hate about you, la la land, the princess bride, etc.)

planetarium! sick as fuck

you're spending the entire day wrapped up in each other and your shared interests

some warm tea and sweet kisses for the winding down as you're watching the sunset

sigh. oh to be in love...

she isn't a kiramman today. not captain, officer, on-duty caitlyn kiramman

she's just your beloved cait, caitlyn

the headstrong, passionate, and protective woman who has your entire heart

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ EKKO

in an opposite direction of caitlyn's, but no less loving

money can buy certain happiness but it's not always necessary

art date where you guys stay home and paint each other with the variety of art supplies he's gathered over the years

ekko's an artist through and through

his mural of vi in the alternate universe? oh i'm in love.

the paintings are getting hung up wherever there's space on your guys' wall because the space is FILLED with posters, artwork, memorabilia, magazine and news pages, etc.

it's a very creative living space

there’s also plenty of plants that litter the windowsills and ledges where sunlight can reach

you guys spent each day of february decorating each plant with something for valentine’s day

the cranes on your ceiling has been joined by spiral hearts

interior decoration could be so romantic. i’d want to do that with someone i love someday

a little walk through the city at night too, but on the rooftops

less people to bother you guys and the aerial view makes it more thrilling

don't fall

he'll catch you regardless

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ JINX

you guys spend the day in her air balloon base

she's made you a gift basket!

it's filled with sketches and doodles of you

all colorful and wild and completely her style

she's stitched together a teddy bear plush too, having gone to ask vi and (reluctantly) caitlyn for help with it

you can see all the uneven bits and parts where the stuffing is too much or too little

but it's perfect

she even added a heart with her signature perfume sprayed on it too

like build-a-bear or something

funny, you also got her a gift basket

various gadgets and knick-knacks, and a new tool kit

some sweets you picked up a bakery

soft, fluffy macarons. tiramisu. a matcha strawberry cake that you share

it's a rare treat for a special occasion

cait also gave you some skincare when you went to visit her, so you and jinx had an impromptu skincare session, gossiping and talking about her latest project and relaxing together under the open night sky

[hellishjoel]

on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks. 

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection. 

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke? 

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults. 

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite. 

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work. 

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot. 

He’s impressive, really. 

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands. 

But his hands… they were brilliant. 

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra. 

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week. 

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country. 

You were good. Peña was great. 

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful. 

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion. 

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch. 

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters. 

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever. 

“Me?” 

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta. 

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.” 

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.  

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?” 

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance. 

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron. 

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath. 

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.” 

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree. 

“Name them.” 

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent. 

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.” 

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.” 

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.” 

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor. 

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice. 

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong. 

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery. 

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--” 

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear. 

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.” 

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”  

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.” 

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn. 

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work. 

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.” 

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare. 

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.  

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph. 

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph. 

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before. 

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie. 

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection. 

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital. 

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed. 

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck. 

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings. 

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall. 

“What the hell, Peña?” 

Oh shit. 

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready. 

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.” 

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect. 

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite. 

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident. 

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.” 

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man. 

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands. 

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor. 

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art. 

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next. 

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery. 

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore. 

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes. 

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash.  He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives. 

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson. 

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway. 

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds. 

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved. 

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months. 

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More? 

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you. 

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you. 

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint. 

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.  

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.” 

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.” 

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.” 

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps. 

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”  

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.” 

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore. 

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed. 

But fantasizing wasn’t enough. 

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.” 

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek. 

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need. 

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his. 

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.” 

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane. 

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs. 

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet. 

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg. 

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor. 

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both. 

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet. 

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again. 

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds. 

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape. 

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts. 

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room. 

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline. 

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop. 

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory. 

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs. 

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs. 

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick. 

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.” 

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.” 

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him. 

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more. 

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness. 

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is. 

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can. 

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it. 

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh. 

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs. 

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands. 

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold. 

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name. 

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space. 

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?” 

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize. 

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly. 

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same. 

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers. 

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption. 

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around. 

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs. 

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem. 

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command. 

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet. 

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly. 

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.” 

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones. 

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security. 

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length. 

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively. 

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were. 

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds. 

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña. 

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it. 

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm. 

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes. 

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.” 

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft. 

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever. 

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings. 

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.” 

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him. 

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance. 

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless. 

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully. 

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist. 

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward. 

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you. 

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck. 

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder. 

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips. 

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark. 

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck. 

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating. 

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity. 

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell. 

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting. 

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark. 

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal. 

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice. 

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment. 

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge. 

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop. 

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break. 

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed. 

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done. 

Did he? 

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze. 

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half. 

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back. 

“For the lessons.” 

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf. 

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches. 

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips. 

“I know why you smoke.” 

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient. 

“Shit,” you mutter. 

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff. 

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit. 

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.  

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s. 

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[finalgirlmorgue]

The Rookie. . . ૮₍˶•▿•˶₎ა 

⭐﹒LEON KENNEDY X older! fem! READER ⭐﹒

⭐﹒- 1000+ words

⭐﹒fluff and smut

⭐﹒not proof read

⭐﹒comment to be added to my tag list!

⭐﹒req open

💫 - Leon and his superior are stuck in the RPD elevator...

Raccoon City Police department was made up of several divisions with distinct positions. Avoiding unequal power dynamics between employees wasn't easy. The Juvenile Crime Division was at the very bottom of the pyramid. Rookies worked alongside higher ups and Tutor officers for a period of time that serviced as a training. That's where you find yourself, in a police car with a wide eyed Leon Kennedy, an eager younger man who was your Protege for the Fall. He was staring down at his nose, a ball of nerves. His face was covered in sweat and his hair flopped over his forehead and into his eyes.

A 4 hour standoff that ended in several arrests, that was good, but it didn't help his inexperience anxiety. You had a rookie on your hands, a kid, whose sole purpose was to prove himself as a good cop. He was 4 or 5 years younger then you, but taller, he hadn't been hardened yet. he hadn't seen the world of police and justice yet or everything that came with it. That was the way these things went and he would learn soon enough.

You had met a year ago. You had gotten him through his first few weeks with the job, though not by much, he was clumsy and clueless. But you took care of him and eventually, he started to warm up to you. In the beginning, you were both awkward around each other, but you felt like there were times when he looked up to you even if he couldn't say it in words. Soon that phase passed, slowly. He called you Miss Or officer during the work day, a strict policy he had crafted himself to be completely professional with his mentor. And you would do the same for him whenever the need arose, which was all the time. Your relationship grew stronger by the day and now that your mentee had graduated from probationary period and was officially assigned his first real mission, things felt right. He was still under you as an officer and mentee, but that only meant more opportunities, more challenges and new ways for him to show his worth. He was already showing you his strengths, and it wasn't too hard for him to catch up to his peers.

He sat in the car, breathing heavily through his mouth. lips wet from saliva, cheeks reddened from the night air, hair plastered to the side of his head from the humidity. It was a perfect early morning. 4 AM. On call for a drug deal gone wrong. 12 suspects, 2 dead bodies, four of them in custody, one escaped and running and several awaiting questioning.

The golden boy was slumped, he had squeezed the trigger of his gun so many times his fingers had begun to cramp and numb. His hands trembled violently as he stared out at the crime scene. The blood was everywhere, splattered across the sidewalk, near the car of suspect #2. A pool of thick, rusty red lay at the edge of the concrete curb. It oozed along the blacktop until it stopped where the asphalt met the gravel. A dark stain. The blood had dried to a solid brownish grey.

"You gonna tap out for the night after this?" You asked.

Leon turned to you with a confused look on his face. "Uh…no. I've gotta get this done," he said. "What about you..?"

"I'll hangout until 5 or 6. I wanna be around for witnesses when they get here."

That seemed to satisfy him. Leon turned back to the street with a grim expression on his face. He leaned forward slightly, looking past the body, at the street. "when's the cleanup team gonna come around?.." Leon asked.

"soon. They blocked off the area. They're gonna put up roadblocks. We'll have some traffic cops come by later And then we'll clean it up. Just sit tight. it'll all be sorted by tonight" You paused, glancing over at the younger man, who seemed focused on his thighs, trying not to get caught up in the adrenaline rush. His hand twitched slightly. It was obvious he could use an ice pack, maybe an aspirin, or even just his own company to calm down. He smoothed out the creases in his pants. He was probably going through the motions, just getting through case by case. He was smart, strong, and had a good sense of what was right. Every cop had a phase where they lost their innocence. When they saw something, and couldn't go back. Leon looked at you for some semblance of comfort, but you just smiled gently. He gave you a smile back.

You weren't sure exactly how long you two sat in silence before a pair of police officers approached the squad car, dismissing you.

As Raccoon city sped and blurred by into streaks of muddy watercolor outside of the window, Leon leaned back further in the passenger seat, closing his eyes, exhausted by the events of the day. His head lolled back, he let out a soft groan. His muscles relaxed as exhaustion set in. You drove in silence for awhile longer, enjoying the smooth ride. The sound of his breathing filled the interior of the vehicle. You watched the city go by, in all of its dirty, corrupt glory. The skyline of downtown stretched out in front of you, tall buildings and small businesses. It was still early in the morning, but it seemed like nighttime had fallen. A heavy fog hung over the streets, giving everything a glassy haze. You rolled down your window. It was muggy in the car, humid, almost hot. Leon's skin flushed pink as he sat up straighter in the seat.

He rubbed his tired eyes and yawned. "Miss Or…uh, Miss Officer…" Leon stammered out. "Can we stop by the RPD?..please? To grab my stuff? And maybe take a shower..it's kinda sweaty in here."

You nodded. "Sure." You pulled into the parking lot behind the precinct and got out, taking your time walking toward the building. It wasn't far from the crime scene, just down the block. "I'll go with you. I'm kind of tired too. My back is starting to ache." Leon was quick to follow. As he walked beside you, he glanced down at your profile. His eyes lingered on the soft lines of your jaw and the shape of your nose, the shape of your chin. His gaze wandered back to the center of your face, which remained stoic. His eyes trailed downward, resting on the neckline of your uniform shirt, which exposed your collarbone. His gaze lingered on it again and he blushed. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and walked faster to catch up with you.

As you entered the main lobby, greeted by the empty Police desk in the front and an attendant behind a locked door in the back, this late night call had messed everyone up by dragging the whole force into longer hours. "We can head to the locker rooms upstairs first, lets take the elevator." You said.

He pointed his nose to the stairs that led to the second floor of the station, and so on.

Well, the elevator would be faster. Leon followed behind you as you headed forward. The elevator doors opened. The two of you stepped inside. The tiled floors inside were cracking, the paint fading and washing away with each set of feet that trod over them.

The elevator shuddered and swayed with each step and every shake of the machinery. A lightbulb in the ceiling flickered. The walls began to hum and creak, metal straining beneath the weight of its load.

Leon closed his eyes briefly as the doors slid open. He took slow steps to exit. Except.. they doors had only cracked slightly..

he doors opened just enough to taunt you – a magazine's width of space, nothing more. Just enough to see the empty hallway beyond, but not enough to escape. There was no one else in the hallways. The only sound came from Leon's footsteps. The sounds of nervous shuffling and pacing. "Well- we're stuck." Leon sighed in defeat as he stood next to you, arms crossed as a defensive mechanism. He was scared.. he always seemed to be in your presence. This was the first time he'd actually been alone with you in such a small space. The elevator was about the size of two desks pushed together. Even being on opposite ends you two were still only a few feet away. He felt uncomfortable with this proximity. He was stuck, in a tiny, dim room with you in close quarters. His face was bright red, his eyes wide in confusion, and his brows raised high. "So, what do you want me to do?" Leon mumbled quietly.

His eyes trailed downwards to your hands. The gloves you wore, the curve of your knuckles against the leather, the shape of your thumb pressing firmly into your palm with a barely contained frustration.

"Radio?" You kept your voice steady, professional.

"What about yours?" Leon's voice had an edge now, that anxious desperation creeping back in. "You must have—"

Leon patted his empty belt, color draining from his face. "I… left it in the car." The confession came out barely above a whisper.

"Perfect." The word hung in the stale air between you. "So no radio, no way to contact patrol." You ran through options in your head. The building would be nearly empty at this hour –.

"If I had mine," you cut him off, "would I be asking about yours?" The elevator shuddered again, leaving you two stumbling.

The buttons beside the door were worn smooth from decades of use, their numbers barely visible. But what caught your attention was what wasn't there – no emergency button, no call box, not even a telephone line. Just rows of numbered buttons that might as well have been decorative for all the good they were doing right now.

You pushed a number on the first row, hoping something would happen. Nothing happened, just the sound of stale air blowing in the shaft. No lights flickered on or flashed. Nothing. It was quiet. Completely silent. Just like a tomb. You reached for the next number, and found it the same. You continued pushing. You pressed three, four, five.. six buttons, all without result. You were trapped. Trapped in a small space with a rookie cop.

Leon tried to pry the doors open with his hands, putting all of the force into his forearms, but it wouldn't budge, no matter how hard he tried. He growled and threw himself against the doors, trying his best to push them apart with brute strength. "Come on!" he shouted, his breath shortening, "Just open the dang thing already!" He stopped for a moment, looking back toward you. Your eyes were staring straight ahead, unresponsive. His mouth dropped open, and his shoulders slumped.

It took several moments of deep breaths for him to regain composure. You both took a moment to compose yourself, sitting down against the wall across from the elevator door, waiting for help to arrive. You didn't know what to say, or what to do, just in shock.

When Leon eventually spoke, his tone was calm and quiet. "It's okay, don't worry, we'll figure something out." You looked over toward him as he spoke. "Don't worry. We've been through worse."

You looked at him, eyebrows drawn together as you stared at him. You bit at the inside of your cheek as you fought the urge to yell. "Quiet." I breathed. "I don't want to hear any more from you."

Leon didn't understand why you snapped at him and he felt bad for raising his voice earlier. "I'm sorry." He muttered, his head hanging low, ashamed.

You pointed your finger at his chest, backing him into the corner, back pressing against the wood paneling. You gripped his shirt with your hands, shaking violently from anger, and fear. You could feel a cold sweat build up from under your hairline and slide down your forehead. "Shut up." You spat, squeezing tighter. Your heart rate shot up to a million beats a minute. "This is your fault. Your inexperienced, clumsy, you showed up to the office DRUNK, on your first day, and somehow caused this!-" You shoved at his chest with all the force you could muster and pushed him farther into the corner of the tiny space. Your chest heaved. "Now, if you don't shut up, I'll-" You let your words fade, but your face told the rest of it.

"I'm sorry Miss… Officer." He whimpered. You let your hold loosen, releasing his shirt slowly, as though letting it breathe. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears and anger. You glared at him, your nostrils flared. Leon lowered his head as you stared him down..

"Unzip your pants." You commanded, not even flinching when he started to cry in earnest. His hands fumbled with the buttons and his knees shook. You took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm your racing heart, and you felt something inside of you unravel. You knew, both of you wanted this. His actions spoke louder than any words he could say and so did your desires for revenge. This was his fault, you two were alone and in a tiny space, no one else was around to hear you .

You stepped back and allowed him his time. You closed your eyes and tried to think you heard him panting. He was nervous, that much you could tell, but there was also something underneath that. Want, maybe? You opened your eyes again, just as he pushed the hem over his thigh. His face shaping into relief as he saw the outline of your hips and lower abdomen as you removed your uniform, before the jeans fell to pool at his ankles. His hands still trembled, but his breathing became steady. A soft smile crept onto your lips. You walked back towards Leon and wrapped a hand around his throat. "As your superior I expect you to listen. Do you understand me?" He nodded frantically, gulping. You pressed harder onto his Adam's apple, causing him to nod even more violently until his eyes rolled into the back of his head. You lifted your hand from his throat, allowing him to swallow air again as you backed away. "Good boy, Leon." You cooed, patting him on the shoulder. He collapsed onto the floor on his knees.

"Please.." He grasped your thighs and looked up through hooded eyes, his hands gripping your legs tightly.

"Take them off..." You whispered. The look in his eyes told you that you had won the battle already. He got to work, he knew exactly what he needed to do in order to get what he wanted without breaking eye contact. He reached out a finger, trailing it along your waist, hooking it under the hemline of your pants, teasingly running it across the front. Your stomach clenched as his finger dragged downwards, pulling them over your hips, exposing yourself to him. He grinned and brought his lips close to your underwear, kissing the front of it softly.

His hands moved upward, his fingers brushing under your belly button. You shivered under his touch and pulled at his collar, desperate for an ounce of heat. You tugged at his hair, forcing his face closer. His nose grazed your stomach as he continued his journey upwards, nuzzling your navel, and then dropping down to remove your underwear, bringing it down to your knees. He knelt between your legs, his mouth now working against your skin, hot and moist. You moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly. He looked up briefly to see your reaction and smiled triumphantly, before returning to his task.

You gasped when his tongue traced over your wet folds and you gasped, digging nails into his scalp. You were trembling, barely able to stand straight, barely able to move, barely able to breathe as he kissed you so sweetly down in between your legs. When you thought you couldn't bear it anymore you grabbed his face and pulled him up kissing him desperately, biting at his lips. It only took a moment for him to respond and soon you found yourselvss on the floor, sprawled out on the ground, tangled together, your panties tossed aside and Leon straddling you. He spread your legs, knees pressing to his shoulders.

"um.. are you... ready?.." Leon asked, his forehead against yours. Your heart pounded in response, your chest rising rapidly. "Sorry- I.. was gonna keep going.. I wanted to make you finish-" You stopped his apology by pushing him back and straddling his waist.

"Shut up." You ordered, grabbing his cheeks in either hand and pressing their foreheads together. His eyes shut tightly as you gently stroked his face. "Just.. relax for a minute.." He sighed, relaxing beneath you and opening his eyes as you two kissed, softly at first. After a few minutes, your kisses grew rougher. The two of you returned to your original position, with your lips hovering above his. "Now.." you said breathlessly. He nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek. With your permission, he slid in, his length stretching you perfectly. His movements slow and methodical, but also sloppy. He was just as inexperienced in sex as he was in police work. You bit your lip hard to stop from laughing at how cute he was being, as he thrust into you. As if sensing your thoughts, Leon began to thrust faster, his hands gripping your hips tightly, slipping slightly with each movement.

"oh god-" He whimpered shakily , his pace increasing, sweat beginning to build on his brow as you held him tight. "am I... doing it right?" His voice sounded raspy and he was flushed pink. You laughed.

"Yes!" you breathed, smiling at him. "Are you okay? Is it too much? We can stop -" His hand rested over your lips.

"No, just... be quiet." You gritted out.

"I want you to feel good, okay?" His face contorted. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and stayed still for a while, panting and sweating as he continued to thrust in and out of you. You groaned, wrapping your arms around him, holding on tighter. You felt yourself reaching climax and you knew he was too, although he wasn't quite as vocal about his feelings. You moaned and squeezed his waist with your legs, arching your back, as Leon continued to thrust. His breath coming in short gasps as he grunted and tensed up every once and a while. And finally -

With a gasp, Leon released himself inside you and you shuddered. You leaned forward and kissed his temple, resting your chin on top of his messy hair, as he slowly regained his composure. Once you were both settled back down onto the floor, you relaxed, feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

Leon turned to look at you. "Officer-"

"Don't ever call me that again." You snapped at him. Leon blinked.

"...Right." He turned back and lay next to you, his eyes drifting shut before opening again.

"I'll get you dressed."

[toronto-tree-removal]

Expert Tree Removal Services in Toronto: Why It Matters for Safety & Aesthetics

Introduction: The Importance of Professional Tree Removal

Trees are an essential part of Toronto’s urban landscape, offering shade, beauty, and environmental benefits. However, there are times when tree removal becomes a necessity due to safety hazards, disease, or urban development needs. At Toronto Tree Removal, we specialize in safe, professional, and efficient tree removal services across various neighborhoods, including The Annex, The Beaches, Liberty Village, and more.

In this post, we’ll discuss when tree removal is necessary, the process involved, and how to choose the best tree removal service in Toronto.

When Should You Consider Tree Removal?

Not all trees need to be removed, but some situations demand professional intervention. Here are common reasons why property owners in Toronto might need tree removal services:

Dead or Dying Trees: If a tree is diseased, decaying, or completely dead, it poses a significant risk of falling and causing damage.

Storm Damage: Severe weather, including strong winds and ice storms, can weaken trees, making them unstable.

Structural Damage Risk: If tree roots are damaging underground pipes, sidewalks, or your home’s foundation, removal may be the best solution.

Obstructing Construction or Landscaping Projects: Sometimes, trees need to be cleared for new buildings, driveways, or other landscaping projects.

Invasive Species & Infestations: Trees affected by pests like the emerald ash borer may need to be removed to prevent the spread to healthy trees.

If you’re unsure whether a tree should be removed, our team at Toronto Tree Removal can provide an assessment.

The Tree Removal Process: What to Expect

At Toronto Tree Removal, we follow a structured and safe approach to tree removal:

1. Site Inspection & Assessment

Our ISA-certified arborists first assess the tree's condition, size, and location to determine the safest removal method.

2. Obtaining Necessary Permits

In Toronto, tree removal regulations require permits for trees over 30 cm in diameter on private property. We assist clients with the application process, ensuring compliance with city regulations.

3. Safe & Efficient Tree Removal

Using specialized equipment such as ropes, harnesses, and cranes, we carefully cut and remove the tree in sections, minimizing damage to surrounding property.

4. Stump Grinding & Cleanup

Once the tree is removed, we offer stump grinding services to eliminate the remaining base, leaving a clean and usable space.

5. Eco-Friendly Disposal & Recycling

We ensure that all removed trees are properly disposed of or repurposed, such as being turned into mulch or firewood.

Why Choose Toronto Tree Removal?

Choosing the right tree removal company is essential for safety, efficiency, and legal compliance. Here’s why Toronto Tree Removal is a trusted choice:

✅ Fully Licensed & Insured: We are WSIB-covered and adhere to all safety regulations to protect our workers and your property. ✅ Certified Arborists: Our team includes ISA-certified arborists who bring expertise and precision to every job. ✅ Fast & Reliable Service: Available 7 days a week from 7 AM to 10 PM, we offer emergency tree removal services when needed. ✅ Competitive Pricing & Free Estimates: We provide affordable tree removal services with upfront pricing and no hidden fees.

For professional tree removal in areas like Rosedale, East York, and Forest Hill, contact us today!

Conclusion: Protect Your Property with Expert Tree Removal

Tree removal isn’t just about cutting down trees—it’s about protecting your home, enhancing your landscape, and ensuring safety. At Toronto Tree Removal, we offer professional, safe, and efficient tree removal services across Toronto.

📞 Call Us Today: 647-558-1366 📍 Address: 2 Forest Laneway #304, Toronto, ON M2N 5X7 📧 Email: info@torontotreeremoval.ninja 🌍 Website: https://www.torontotreeremoval.ninja

Citations:

Toronto Tree Removal Services

Tree Bylaws & Removal Permits – City of Toronto

ISA Certified Arborists – Why Certification Matters

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you're still taking AEIWM questions for the muse's slush pile: Given that Kido is breaks in reality, and given Bankai and Hollow powers do things to the environment, Is there a specialized sub-squad for Battlefield clean-up? And to help extrapolate where would it fall on a scale between Marvel's Damage control and the SCP Foundation?

Site Cleanup, one of the tasks of any organization that goes wildly underrepresented in Shonen, much like Medical Care and Civil Services. Which is a shame because, as any fan of Damage Control or The SCP knows, some of the best stories are lurking in the details, presumably next to the devil.

Anyway, In AEIWAM, Site Cleanup Duties fall to a variety of organizations, and the flow chart USED to go as such:

1. Do We Know Whose Fault This Mess Is?

No: Go to 2

Yes, A Specific Division, Organization or Individual under the governance of Soul Society: Got to 3

Yes, Hollows or other Persons not under the governance of Soul Society: Go to 2

2. Where is the Damage Site?

In The Seireitei City Limits: 4th Division and City Civil Services

In the Rukongai: 5th Division and District Civil Services (5th Division is responsible for Rukongai Affairs)

In the Living World: 10th Division (10th Division is responsible for Deployments and anything that happens in the Living World.)

Elsewhere: Not Our Fucking Problem!

3. Is the Party Responsible or their Organization Available to do cleanup (i.e. Alive)?

Yes: It's their problem.

No: If the whole Organization is dead, we have bigger problems.

Recently, there's been a few Shakeups!

For the first time since she became captain of the 4th, Unohana is finally willing to share some of the 4th Division's responsibilities regarding civil upkeep and Damage Control- Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku had been offering to assist their beloved Senpai for centuries now, so it seemed rather peculiar to them that she should trust recent blow-in and honestly somewhat Dubious Captain Zaraki to start taking on the Non-Medical tasks, but he has proven to be rather good at the hard work of fixing things. Even if he's usually the one that broke them.

[ladyiristheenchantress]

Elemental Work Crash Course

Hello friends! As a west witch I find myself in a lot of elemental spaces, but as an elemental pagan I feel like we get little to no representation without wicca being present so this post is for all my friends who may be looking into elemental work and want to know what to expect! This is an introductory post so if anyone is interested in further information let me know in the comments!

Earth

Common Lessons tend to include grounding, understanding your place within it all like your social circles, life itself, or even the ecosystem. People also tend to find out how to see beauty even when they feel there is none, home and hearth magic, generational magic, and harnessing your own power. Its important to recognize earth is extremely giving, often giving things without expecting anything in return. Remember to give back to the earth when you can in your practice, it isn't fair to take things without giving back. Eventually earth takes all things back from the living, so remember that earth is as powerful as she is kind Darker Aspect/Element: Rot How to honor and find these teachings:

Going out in nature

Taking care of plants

Herbal work

Community service

Exploring

Grounding and meditation outdoors

Connecting to earth itself

Evaluating what it means to be human

Common forms of divination

Osteomancy (Burning Bones)

Abacomancy (Dirt)

Dendromancy (Tree reading)

Falling petals or leaves

Air

Common lessons from air tend to be quick and ever present, air speaks rather quickly to people and messages change! Its best to keep a log of signs and messages you receive because it tends to be a pebble trail on your journey. Air teaches how to keep calm in tense situations, creating your own path on the journey of life, going with the wind and learning to not value materialistic lifestyles, plus learning how to be more gentle with yourself and others!

Darker Aspect: Tempest How to honor and find these teachings:

Breath work

Spontaneity and leaving your comfort zone

Living to the fullest (however that might look for you!)

Dance or Hand motions

Meditations

Keeping sword or athame imagery as a talisman

Storm tracking

Common forms of divination:

Smoke Scrying

Wind Watching

Electromancy (By Lightning)

Austromancy (By Clouds)

Fire

Common lessons in fire encourage you to listen closely and not rely so much on searching for messages. In most mythos fire speaks once per session, when its burnt out usually the message is over. Fire teaches us how to be confident in our work, ambition, and performance. Fire likes to throw a lot at you and teach you adaptability, and most importantly how to be the best you can be. You can learn a lot from just a little flame.

Darker Aspect: Magma

How to Honor these teachings:

Practicing Confidence

Glamour Magic

Using your backbone/saying no more

Making friends in odd places

Hosting bonfires/tending to a hearth fire

Using candle magic

Common forms of divination:

Fire Scrying

Candle/Wax reading

Flame Shape reading

Casting knives

Water

Common lessons range depending on what you are looking for! Water can teach you how to be calm and collected, but also encourages you to be fluid! so if you need to unleash the flood you know when its appropriate to do so. You also learn how to go with the flow, how to be persistent, and how to be a fierce enigma. Water is also very humbling at times, so you will learn a lot about yourself.

Darker Aspect: Abyss

How to honor these teachings:

Emotion based meditations

Shadow work

Being in tune with yourself

Swimming

Boating

Fishing

Beach cleanups

Exploring your waterways

Common types of divination:

Water scrying

Waves

Rainfall

Storm tracking

Mist/Dew

Tip Jar

[bisexualbaker]

Back on the 2018, Tumblr had that porn ban, and a lot of people fled to Dreamwidth. How many are still active, I couldn't tell you, but at the time some purity culture jackass asked in the comments of the official News post welcoming Tumblrites:

"So you allow pornographic images here and you're proud of that fact?"

Site co-founder and co-owner Denise replied:

We sure do and we sure are! That sounds like I'm being flippant, but the question of "what is pornography" has been, for hundreds of years, the tool used by societies, governments, and corporations as an excuse to censor and suppress anyone who doesn't match the societally-accepted attitudes on gender, gender presentation, sexuality, and sexual expression. Because of how "societally-accepted attitudes on etc etc" are formed, "pornography" as a label falls disproportionately on minority populations and their cultural practices and the cultural, social, and legal penalties for producing "pornography" follow. US judicial precedent, for years, defined obscenity primarily by the classic "I'll know it when I see it" -- that is, personal, subjective opinion. (Today's definition of obscenity that's replaced it is less pithily-summarized but equally personal and subjective; one of the three elements for a judicial ruling of obscenity specifically includes community standards, although nobody has ever defined the "community" involved, and so it is equally subjective and equally inequitably-enforced; in practice, it's been impossible to get a conviction for obscenity in the US in years, precisely because of the vagueness of the definition.) Our goal from the beginning was to remove as many subjective judgement calls from ToS enforcement procedures as we could, because subjective judgement calls, especially on adult-content related issues, lead to the burden of enforcement primarily landing against those who are gender/gender-identity/gender-expression and sexuality minorities, such as LGBT folks, trans folks, gender non-conforming folks, sex workers, and the like. We sidestep all that by saying, flat-out, that with certain limited exceptions that are necessary to preserve the quality of the service for everyone, such as spam cleanup, it's okay to post here unless it's inherently illegal under US law. This undoubtedly includes a lot of content that people think shouldn't be allowed to post, but everyone's line for "people shouldn't be able to post this!" falls differently, and by outsourcing our particular definitions to "inherently illegal under US law", it lets us have a single standard that involves very few subjective elements.

So if you're wondering about Dreamwidth's content hosting restrictions, there you have it.

[sitp-recs]

omg love the water recs you shared!!! what a good idea for how to make a list. what about fics set in gardens or featuring gardening? recs from followers welcome too! thank u livvvyyyyy

I’m so happy that you enjoyed the water-centric recs. And thank you for the excellent prompt! I’ve really enjoyed these, most involve gardening and a couple feature gardens in a special way even if it’s not the focus, so I thought I’d include them too🪴

I Fall On Grass by @tackytigerfic (T, 3k)

Harry loves his garden, and he loves his sons, and he also loves— Well, he definitely feels something for Draco, who is currently distractingly topless under a pear tree. The language of flowers isn't much good when it comes to big declarations, though; Harry needs to find the words to tell Draco just exactly what he's been feeling all these years.

To the Rhythm of the Waves by @tsauergrass (G, 3k)

They found a lot of things together: the cottage, the garden, their lives, each other. Then one day, Harry finds a hammock.

In the Garden After Dark by @the-starryknight (M, 3.5k)

Unspeakables work in teams of three, but when Draco and Harry lost their third, Draco left too. Now he's back, Illusion magic stronger than ever, and Harry is less lonely in his arms.

Harry, Harry, Quite Contrary by @maesterchill (T, 4k)

It's almost Midsummer, and that can only mean one thing! Time for Upper Itchington's annual Tidy Streets contest. Draco Malfoy is supremely confident his street will retain the title. It just takes one contrary neighbour to bollocks things up: a certain Mr Harry Potter.

Garden War by @cibeewastaken (T, 5k)

Harry and Draco are quarantined in their houses, a lake across from one another. What better ways to spend this time than to annoy each other with letters and attempts to prove that their garden is better ?

This Delicious Solitude by Omi_Ohmy (M, 17k)

Draco is sent to investigate Harry’s extraordinary carrots for the Prophet after whispers of cheating rock the world of competitive vegetable cultivation. But how’s he meant to get anywhere when Harry won’t even let him past the garden gate?

A Ghost in the Garden by thistle_verse (E, 27k)

Harry and Draco are thrown together on an investigation into a sinister political movement.

Orbit by HenryMercury (E, 52k)

They don't like each other. They're not friends. There's not even a ceasefire of any sort because they're fighting as much as ever—but there's definitely something different about it. An added layer of self-awareness they don't dare identify, but which colours every Scared, Potter? and Do your worst; each You wouldn't dare and Then prove it.

along each garden wall by @oflights (E, 61k)

Draco has to have a baby (or have one on the way) at the time of his fast-approaching 35th birthday, or he's going to lose his home to his vile cousin. Harry offers to help, but their complex past—even beyond Hogwarts—prompts Draco to set out on a long journey of friendship, kittens, gardens, motorbike rides, and more.

That Old Black Magic by bixgirl1 (E, 77k)

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Wild, orphaned (E, 92k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

Dronarry:

Trillium by @wolfpants (E, 13k)

Harry and Draco are shagging. Ron’s got a hunch, and the only way to find out is to volunteer his services alongside Harry’s in the Big Malfoy Manor Cleanup of 2010. What could possibly go wrong?

Silhouettes by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 17k)

Draco's trying to fix the Burrow, Ron's trying to grieve, and Harry... well, just what is Harry actually doing, anyway? A tale of grief, gardening, and ghouls, bad memories, bad puns, and bad flirting, and nudity both accidental and very, very deliberate.

[sfblah]

The Cleanup Crew - Tactical Maid Service - Chapter 2

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]

Now to meet the rest of the main cast. Things still haven't really gotten tactical yet, but should I finish the third chapter sometime this century I promise this series will actually live up to its name eventually lol.

Female sneezes - Various causes

Operation "Crackers"

Cleanup Cafe. A cafe. With maids. A maid cafe.

And today, with one more maid than before.

Over an hour remains until the cafe opens, but she goes around back to the staff entrance anyway. Her hand stops short of the door handle, and her shoulder-length ponytail sways in the breeze for a moment before she finds her resolve and steps inside. 

The break room is more or less what she expected: a table, a few chairs, a series of lockers, and an outdated computer in the corner. The only thing that might seem out of place in any other cafe is the collection of weapons displayed on one wall. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, and so on, most of which she recognizes from various video games. Her eyes drift across a few empty pegs, and she can only hope she wasn’t supposed to bring her own.

“Ah, Miss Bucket, you’ve arrived.”

A low, calm, and mature voice, but it still startles the maid enough to make her jump. It sounds like the same person she’d spoken to after her assessment, but there’s really no way to be sure. And… ‘Miss Bucket’? She really should have done more to assert that that would not be her nickname.

A tall, proper woman emerges from around the corner, blonde hair in a claw clip updo and clad in a black and white maid outfit. Sharp but tired eyes pierce through the large, circular lenses of her glasses, and Bucket finds herself frozen to the spot.

“Uh. Hi,” she stammers, unable to give even a little wave. Why is she so anxious? She already got the job. Just clock in, collect a paycheck, and…

“Again I’d like to welcome you to The Cleanup Crew. You may call me ‘Kerchief,’ or simply ‘Manager.’ I hope you enjoy your first day with us.”

Bucket fidgets in place.

“Um, yeah. You too. I mean… Yeah.”

“Please don’t be nervous,” commands Kerchief, her flat tone of voice doing little to reassure her new subordinate. “I’m sure you want to meet the rest of the team, but first, I have an assignment for you.”

Bucket gulps. Is this going to be some kind of initiation thing? Something to get blood on her hands and keep her from running off and snitching? Kerchief begins to move away from the weapon wall, and Bucket enjoys a moment of relief before her manager pushes open the door to the kitchen.

“Your first task is to prepare something to eat. It could be a meal, a snack, anything that strikes your fancy. Then, you are to come out to the floor and serve us as if we were your customers. I think that would be a lovely way for you to introduce yourself.”

After Kerchief disappears into the next room, Bucket takes a second to shake out her nervousness, wiggling from her feet all the way to her head. She skips through the door, and… It’s just a kitchen. No command center, no vast collection of weapons. Hardly any euphemisms for murder to be found. For better or worse, the maid has little time to catch up before Kerchief is already on the way out another door.

“We’ll be right through here, Miss Bucket. See you soon.”

“Wait, I…”

And the door swings shut.

Bucket limply lifts her hands and lets them fall back to her sides. Great. Time to navigate this whole-ass restaurant-ass kitchen, because she definitely knows how to do that. Gotta start somewhere, just open a cabinet, any old cabinet.

Seasoning. Condiments. Is salt a condiment?

The pepper grinder lays on its side, along with a sprinkling of that black and gray dust. Bucket frowns and shuts the door, grumpily pressing her fingers across the underside of her nose as she turns away.

Just make something simple. More involved than handing out ketchup packets, but this didn’t exactly seem like a Michelin star operation.

Bucket squats down, checking the cabinets below the counter this time. Her eyes clench shut and she gives her pudgy nose an upward wipe with her palm, still feeling a peppery itch somewhere inside. Then, once she finally has a chance to look… Flour!

Perfect! Flour goes in all kinds of stuff, like bread, and other things made out of bread. Bucket grabs the bag, struggling with its surprising weight for a moment, and slams it down on the counter. She spies a stack of mixing bowls at the other end of the counter, and she slides over the biggest one she can get her hands on. Ready to finally get started, she tears the bag of flour open and begins to pour.

Suddenly, Bucket’s mind and expression both go blank. Flour continues to flow as the maid’s teardrop-shaped nostrils flare and constrict. Like it or not, it seems the pepper is ready to leave.

“ah… ah-ahh…”

The last of the flour falls into the bowl as Bucket’s breathing begins to heave and hitch. The bag wasn’t big enough to completely overfill the bowl, but a veritable mountain of white powder stands before her nonetheless. At least, until…

“aaAAH-CHOOOO!!!”

The hapless maid sneezes up a blizzard that envelops half the kitchen. Her face and clothes above the waist are completely covered in flour, a few clumps falling away as she weakly opens her eyes. She barely has time to realize what happened before her face scrunches up again and she delivers another “haa-CHHHOOO!” into the bowl.

After the second explosion of flour settles, Bucket cringes and cracks one eye open. The blow is softened ever so slightly by the kitchen’s already largely white decor, but the powdery mess is undeniable.

“Oops…” she mumbles, sheepishly rubbing an outstretched index finger back and forth under her nostrils. After a look over her shoulder at the door to the cafe floor, Bucket makes a token effort at brushing herself off as she runs back to the break room. Partway there it occurs to her that she really should be doing this outside, and so she flings herself through the exit door. Maybe she can change into a fresh uniform and pretend none of this ever happened. Just sweep the flour out and then the wind will… Th-the wind will…

“ah-ahh-ahhh-CHOOO!!”

A layer of white bursts away from the maid as she sneezes again. She snuffles and rubs a finger hard under her nose, bending it from side to side. And when she straightens up, Bucket finds salvation gazing upon her from across the street.

Paying no attention to any potential traffic and still blotchy with flour, Bucket flees to the catty-corner convenience store. She clumsily ducks down to hopefully avoid being seen through the cafe’s front window, and a moment later she sneaks her way back with equal care, hugging a tub of premade frosting and a box of club crackers to her chest.

“Um… H-hi, master. Sorry for the wait,” Bucket stammers, finally emerging from the kitchen. One hand holds a plate of frosted cra- Frosted cookies, while the other timidly rubs her nose. Her voice cracks when she sees not one, not two, but three fellow maids seated around a table. One of them is Kerchief, her manager from earlier, but the others are new to her.

On the left is a pale, gloomy maid with a bob of green hair and long, straight bangs that completely cover her face above the cheekbones. Including both eyes. If she even has eyes. And on the right sits a boyish, muscular maid wearing a lopsided smile. Dark skin, short and spiky black hair, and a bandage across the bridge of her long, upturned nose. Both turn to face their new companion, and each gives a little wave. Bucket swallows nervously and resumes her approach.

As she arrives at the table, muscle maid leaps from her chair and rushes over.

“Hey there, Bucket! Pleased to meet’cha!” she exclaims, offering a hard slap on the shoulder. Her other hand flies to the plate and pops a frosted cracker into her mouth.

“Ooh, nice cookies,” she says as she chews. “Sweet and salty’s a good mix. Anyway, call me Duster!” She pauses to swallow. “And this is Mop!” She gestures to the green-haired maid, who ‘looks’ up at Bucket and wordlessly waves again. “Welcome to the team!”

Kerchief, Duster, Mop, and Bucket. What a world. Settling into panic mode autopilot, Bucket deposits her plate on the table and sits in the one vacant chair. Mop and Kerchief each take a cracker of their own, and Bucket feels a massive weight lift from her shoulders when neither offers a complaint.

“What’s your secret ingredient?” Mop suddenly asks, startling Bucket out of her trance. Her lips part, but before she can bullshit an answer, her nostrils decide to respond for her. “Well, I… I… ah… ahh… CHOOOO!!”

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Hold On — Chapter 36 — Don’t Let Go

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Reader

Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.

Chapter Summary: With everything falling apart, they hold on—to memory, to hope, and to each other.

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

The world blurred around them

Lights flashing. Radios crackling. Voices shouting in clipped, professional tones.

But Beau barely heard any of it.

He sat on the floor of the cabin, your head rested weakly against his lap, his arm wrapped tightly around you.

Outside, the dawn was breaking — soft, gray light seeping through the windows.

Inside, everything felt cold.

Boots stomped across the wood.

Deputies swarmed the cabin — weapons drawn, moving fast, too fast for his brain to catch up.

He blinked slowly, watching two offers unfold a black body bag. It hit the floor with a soft, sickening thump.

They zipped Sharron inside without ceremony. Just another scene. Another cleanup.

Even though he knew she was already gone—even though he’d sat with her through her last breath—the sound of that zipper ripped through him.

It sounded too loud. Too permanent. Like erasing someone he’d once loved.

For a split second, he wanted to stop them. To say wait. To say she wasn’t always like this.

But he didn’t move.

He just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to your hair.

You whimpered softly, pain making your whole body tremble.

Beau shifted instantly, whispering soothing nonsense against your temple.

"I got you, sweetheart," he whispered, voice cracking. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

Someone touched his shoulder — gentle but firm.

A paramedic.

“We need to get her to the hospital. “She’s losing a lot of blood. If we’re gonna keep her stable, we have to move now.”

Beau nodded numbly, not trusting himself to speak.

They eased you onto a stretcher carefully, voices soft, movements practiced.

You whimpered again — tiny, broken sounds that shattered his heart.

He hovered beside you as they buckled you in — his hand tangled tight in yours, refusing to let go.

The paramedics didn’t argue. They knew better.

The ride to the hospital was a haze.

The ambulance bumped and jostled down the winding forest roads, red lights washing over everything like a heartbeat.

Beau sat perched on the narrow bench beside your stretcher, his hand never leaving yours.

You were pale. Too pale.

But breathing. Still here.

Somewhere in the quiet hum of the wheels against the road, you stirred. Opened your eyes — barely — and blinked up at him.

"Beau…" you croaked, voice broken.

He leaned down instantly, pressing his forehead to yours. "I’m here," he whispered. "I’m not goin’ anywhere."

You were silent for a beat.

Then — with a trembling, wobbly smile — "You... y-you... look like hell," you rasped, voice weak but teasing.

Beau barked out a broken laugh—half sob, half joy. “You should see yourself, darlin’,” he said, smiling through the tears burning his eyes. “You’re a real vision.”

You smiled—tired and battered, but real—and squeezed his hand again.

The medic glanced over, half-worried, half-soft, but said nothing. He just let them have it. This one small moment.

The cabin was gone. The gun. The blood.

It didn’t matter. Not here. Not now.

They rode in silence for a while. Your breathing was steady. His grip never loosened.

Finally, Beau whispered: “We’re gonna be okay. You and me.”

You nodded, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “J-just… might need a new vacation spot.”

Beau laughed, ragged and alive. “Yeah,” he said, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Next time, no cabins. No crazy exes. Just room service and a pool.”

You chuckled—a broken, beautiful sound—and leaned your head against his arm.

Beau looked down at you, at your messy hair and bruised face, and felt something he hadn’t in a long time.

Hope.

You were alive. And you were his.

And for the first time in forever— that was enough.

The hospital lights blurred overhead as they rushed you through the hall, nurses barking orders, a doctor appearing at your side mid-run.

Beau kept pace as long as they let him, gripping your hand, his heart pounding out of rhythm with every step.

“She’s prepped for emergency surgery,” someone called. “We need to get that bullet out now.”

“Wait,” you rasped, suddenly tugging Beau’s hand.

The gurney jerked to a stop. Everyone froze. Your voice was barely a whisper, your eyes glassy, but locked on his. “Beau…”

He leaned in immediately, his face inches from yours. “I’m here, darlin’. What is it?”

You reached up with trembling fingers and touched his cheek, just barely.

“If I don’t make it…” you started.

“Don’t say that,” he said, voice cracking, eyes already swimming. “Don’t you dare say that.”

But you gave him a small, crooked smile anyway.

“If I don’t,” you continued, breath thin, “You should know… being loved by you? It’s been the best thing I ever got.”

Beau nearly lost it. His throat closed.

He bent forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your bloodstained knuckles. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me? You’re gonna wake up, and we’re gonna fight about something dumb like burnt coffee, and I’m gonna tell you how damn lucky I am until you believe me.”

You smiled again, weak but so you. “Okay,” you whispered.

They started to move again.

“Wait!” you said again, making the whole crew stop mid-stride.

Beau’s heart leapt. “What?! What is it?”

You blinked slowly and said, “I still want pancakes after this.”

Beau let out a choked laugh, one hand dragging down his face. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

One of the nurses smiled to herself and gently patted your arm. “She’s a fighter,” she murmured.

Beau bent lower again, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ll get you all the damn pancakes you want after this."

They started rolling again— “Wait!”

Beau groaned—half panicked, half amused. “Baby… they are trying to save your life right now—”

You cracked a grin, voice barely above a whisper, but full of mischief.

“When I wake up,” you whispered, slow and smug, “You owe me a night where you make that noise again…”

Beau froze. Absolutely paralyzed.

“I—what—you can’t just—” he stammered, turning beet red in two seconds flat.

The nurse choked on a laugh and turned away, very professionally pretending not to hear.

“Mission accomplished,” you whispered with a wink. “Okay. We can go.”

They wheeled you off, finally, leaving Beau standing there—flushed, flustered, and more in love than he knew what to do with. “Unbelievable… bleedin’ out and still got time to flirt…”

Even half-conscious, bleeding out, you’d somehow managed to completely ruin him.

And he couldn’t love you more if he tried.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter  coming soon! Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕