#had to work a code black at work and pull all the residents out of the room while a tornado formed above us 🫠🫠🫠🫠

[forfuckssakejim]

Going on 14 hours without power from the storms last night.

[mynameismckenziemae]

All of Me

Part 3

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x You

Summary: You take a stroll down memory lane and Jake surprises you in more ways than one

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, oral (m receiving), premature ejaculation, accidental facial, cumplay. Mentions of medical stuff/blood, probable naval inaccuracies, probable medical inaccuracies, mentions/memories of losing a spouse

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

The note with Jake’s number is shoved into your desk drawer to be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Wrong.

You find yourself thinking of him often as the week goes by; wondering what he’s doing while you’re in a meeting, hoping he’s not eating alone as Drew tells you about his day over dinner and remembering his touch when your fingers trail between your legs.

The weekend comes and goes quickly. Saturday is spent at Drew’s baseball tournament and Sunday is catching up and prepping for the week.

You fall into bed that night, exhausted, and drift off in minutes, which is a rare but welcomed occurrence as sleep likes to evade you. Once Drew’s down for the night and the house is dark, you struggle to fight off the underlying loneliness that’s always pressing in on you. Coming back to a quiet house is especially difficult after the constant hustle and bustle at all hours while deployed.

You wake up gasping just a few hours later; pillow damp from your tears as you reach for Andy beside you.

But the bed is just as cold and empty as your heart has been for the past 8 years.

Sleep then evades you, like it normally does after dreaming of your first love.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Rolling over with a sigh, you reach for your phone, but the doom scrolling does little to quiet your mind.

You were a brand new resident when Andy came in with a laceration above his eyebrow and a possible concussion after a training accident.

Even with the swelling, blood and the start of a black eye, you could see how attractive he was.

It had been a busy day and your preceptor left you to suture him once the concussion was ruled out as she was pulled away to help with a more pressing matter.

“This your first time?” Andy jokes, noticing the way you stalled; how you kept checking and rechecking you had all the supplies needed on the tray and looking at the door, praying your supervising physician would be back soon.

“Of course not,” you scoff dramatically before giving him a small smile, “I’ll have you know, I’ve put stitches in plenty of oranges and chicken breasts.”

His colleague, tasked with bringing him to the ER, chuckles from behind you.

A code-blue is called overhead and you sigh. There’s your sign that you’re on your own.

“Sorry,” you murmur when he hisses at the burn of the lidocaine you were injecting to numb him. “Almost done.”

“You’re going to feel pressure and pulling, but let me know if you feel anything sharp,” you tell him after giving the lidocaine time to work, taking a deep breath when he nods.

“Ow,” he says quietly as soon as you touch him. He’s teasing you again but it still makes you jump.

“Seriously?” You scold but he’s got the cutest grin and you can’t help but smile too.

“Sorry, I’ll be good,” he apologizes, still grinning.

“You better be,” you reply as you poke him with the curved needle. “Your pretty face is my hands. Okay?” You ask when he doesn’t flinch.

“Just fine,” he confirms. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“Maybe you do have a concussion,” you tease him, keeping your eyes on the work your hands are doing. “I never said that.”

“It’s true, Kernsie,” his friend pipes up from behind you. “She said your shitty face is in her hands.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Oh fuck you, Bradshaw,” Andy chuckles too. His hand brushes accidentally brushes your waist when he reaches around you to flip him off and color rises in his cheeks. “Sorry ma’am.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, just thankful that you’re halfway done.

“What’s your name?” He asks with 2 sutures to go. “Your first name.”

“Reese,” you reply.

“Like the peanut butter cups?”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “My mom craved them the whole time she was pregnant with me. They’re also my favorite.”

“Mine too,” he says and his eyes flick to yours. “You have beautiful eyes, Reese,” he murmurs lowly, so only you can hear.

It’s your turn to blush as you finish up.

“All done,” you say, stepping back and handing him a mirror. “I was able to follow your brow line so the scarring should be minimal.”

“Thanks for keeping my face pretty,” he smiles, making your heart skip a beat.

“Shitty,” Bradley coughs.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“Reese?”

You nearly jump out of your skin and reach for the pepper spray on your bag as you walk to your car an hour later. You were distracted having a mini pity party because you’ll never see Andy again that you didn’t notice someone waiting on the bench outside the door.

“Shit, sorry!” Andy says, rising. “It’s me, Andy, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing here?” You ask, hand still on your pepper spray.

“I-fuck.” He sighs and turns to a light blue Bronco in the parking lot. “I told you this was a bad idea, Bradshaw. I scared the shit out of her.”

You squint and see Bradley giving him a double thumbs up from the driver's seat.

“I’m-uh, gonna go,” Andy says, stepping toward his ride. “I’m really sorry again, for scaring you.”

“Wait,” you take your hand away from the bottle. “Are you okay? Did you need something?”

“No, I’m fine. You did a great job,” he assures you. “I just…”

“He wouldn’t stop talking about you,” Bradley calls out the window when Andy hesitates. “He said he wished he would’ve asked for your number and then made me stop at a gas station before coming back and-“

“Thanks, Bradshaw, she gets it,” Andy interrupts, flustered. Somehow, it makes him even cuter. “Here,” he hands you a plastic bag.

Inside are Reese’s peanut butter cups.

Unexpected tears prickle in your eyes at the sweet gesture. Once your mom figured out that you liked them too, she never bought them again.

“Thank you,” you say softly, smiling.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, returning your smile before opening the door. “Have a good night.”

“Wait,” you call as you pull out your phone. “Can I get your number?”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

You finally fall back asleep only minutes before your alarm goes off and you’re dragging by the time you get Drew to school and yourself to work.

You’re filled with a mixture of butterflies and nostalgia when you see the familiar orange package on your desk when you enter your office.

Though there isn’t a note, you know it’s from Jake; you had mentioned the love of your namesake the night you’d spent together.

A smile pulls at your lips as you slide it into your top drawer to eat later, right next to Jake’s number.

Your heart pounds as you add his number to his phone. It can’t hurt to have another trustworthy man just a phone call away. Especially if Ron, Roo, Iceman, and Mav are busy.

That’s how you justify it at least.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“Can I take Drew tonight?” Bradley asks, eating his lunch in your office on Friday.

“Maybe,” you reply, taking a bite of the sweet chocolate treat that was left on your desk this morning. There had been one on your desk nearly every day this week. “If you tell me what you guys are gonna do.”

“You know I can’t tell you that, Kernsie,” he rolls his eyes. “What happens at boys nights-“

“Stays at boys' nights,” you finish with a sarcastic sigh. “Fine.”

“You should get laid while I’ve got him, maybe then you won’t be so-hey!” he laughs as you throw your wrapper at him.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Bradley picks up Drew at 5.

By 6, you’ve typed out but deleted multiple messages to Jake.

You put your phone face down and sigh as you sit on the couch.

Forget it, Reese. He’s probably got plans; it’s a Friday night and he’s hot, young, and single.

Another hour and several frustrated sighs later, you hit send.

Reese: Thanks for the peanut butter cups.

Your heart flutters when your phone rings a minute later.

“Reese? Hey,” he says when you answer. “You’re welcome. How was your week?”

Long. Exhausting. Lonely.

“Busy, you?”

Faint laughter in the background has your heart sinking.

Of course, he’s not sitting at home on a Friday night.

“I’m sorry, you’re busy. I shouldn’t-“ you start but he interrupts.

“I’m not busy. Nat and Javy’s invited me over so I’m third-wheeling as usual,” he assures you. “I’m happy you reached out. I’ve been hoping I’d hear from you.”

You smile.

“What are you up to tonight? Drew asleep already?” He asks.

“I doubt he’s asleep, he’s having boys' night with Bradley.”

“I see. So you’re home alone.”

“I am.”

“How do you feel about that?” He asks, hope lacing his tone.

“A little lonely,” you admit.

“I could keep you company?” He offers. “No strings, no expectations. Just two friends hanging out.”

“Can friends fuck?” You blurt out then wince.

Real smooth.

But you smile at his sharp inhale.

“I don’t see why not,” he replies after a beat.

“I’ll text you my address.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Reese: 418 Magnolia Lane.

You toss your phone onto the bed before changing out of the old, threadbare shirt of Andy’s you had put on after work, ignoring the pang of guilt. Not bothering with undergarments, you slip on a silky pair of shorts and a tank top, shivering at the way the material feels against your nipples.

Your phone dings as he replies.

Jake: Got it. Be there in 15.

Jake: Actually, might be closer to 20. I’ve gotta stop and pick up condoms first.

You’re surprised and a little relieved that he doesn’t have any on him.

Reese: Good thinking. See you soon.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

He rings your doorbell exactly 23 minutes later and you have to force yourself to not rush to answer it.

“You’re late,” you tease when you open the door.

“I am,” he admits and hands over the pretty arrangement of flowers he’s holding. “My mom would smack me silly if she knew I showed up somewhere empty-handed, so I stopped at the flower stand.”

The butterflies in your stomach come back as you take them and step back to let him in. “Thank you, Jake.”

He gives you a smile and follows you to the kitchen to find a vase.

A wave of sadness washes over you though as you set them on the counter.

“Something wrong?” Jake asks, brushing your fingers with his when he sees your mood shift. “Are they too much? The guy said yellow roses mean friendship and I-.”

“Not at all,” you shake your head and give him a sad smile. “They’re beautiful, really. I just…I don’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”

You do remember, actually. It was Andy’s funeral. But you’re well aware that talking about your late husband makes people uncomfortable.

“Not since Andy died?” Jake asks softly.

You shake your head but then paste on a smile. “Sorry,” you say as you turn and open the fridge. “Have you eaten? I made dinner earlier and there’s leftovers in the fridge.”

“I ate earlier but thanks,” he replies, reaching for your hand. You expect him to kiss you, but instead, he pulls you in for a hug.

It feels so good to have his arms wrapped around you and he smells amazing; a heady mix of clean laundry and a hint of expensive cologne.

Your hands slide under his shirt as you start your relax and goosebumps follow your fingers as you trace over the warm skin of his back. Your breath hitches when he hardens against your stomach

You gather the thin material of his shirt in your hands and he helps you pull it over his head.

You bite your lip as your eyes hungrily roam over his tan chest and the cut ridges of his stomach before he pulls you back with a cocky smirk.

He leans in for a kiss but dodges your mouth, making you shiver when he instead presses his lips against your ear to murmur, “Like what you see?”

It’s cute how he thinks he’s got the upper hand.

“Yes,” you sigh, as your hand slides down his chest and over his belt to palm his cock, straining against the confines of his jeans. “I‘ve pictured you every time I’ve touched myself since our night together.”

He groans softly against your ear and his hips push further into your hand. “Tell me more?”

“I remembered the way you fucked me against the door,” your head falls back as he kisses down your neck. “How you looked up at me from your knees, figuring out what I like making me cum,” your eyes close as he hums against your shoulder, remembering too. Your hand slides up to the button of his jeans and he stills. “Imagining what it would be like to return the favor. Can I?”

He sucks in a breath before nodding.

You loved giving head, but it was intimate for you. Since you’ve only had a few hookups since Andy, this would be your first time in over 8 years. So your hands shake as you undo his jeans and you pull them down with you when you kneel.

Jake notices, ever observant.

But you tongue the precum through the fabric of his Calvin’s before he can protest and you moan when you’re rewarded with another burst.

“It’s just…it’s been a while,” you explain, looking up at him from under your lashes and do it again before you tug down his briefs. “So let me know if I do anything you don’t like.”

He nods, tucking your hair behind your ear.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“So big,” you murmur when you bring a hand up to wrap around him and your fingers can’t reach your thumb. He sighs as you trace the vein running the length of him.

He’s quiet, only breathing heavier while his hands clench and release at his sides as you continue teasing him with licks and flicks of your tongue before you finally pull him into your mouth.

“Oh Reese,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he leans back against the counter.

You nearly whimper when you look up at him. He looks wrecked; cheeks flushed pink and a light sheen of sweat covers his heaving chest.

Your other hand trails up your thigh and over your shorts as you start to bob your head, starting slowly and pulling a little more of him into your mouth each time.

“Fuck,” He gasps, knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the counter when your lips meet your fingers circling him and you swallow.

You can tell he’s starting to get close.

His eyes fly open at the moan that escapes when your fingers find your clit through the silky material of your shorts.

“Oh God,” he rasps when he sees you touching yourself. “W-wait.”

“What’s wrong?” You pant, pulling him from your mouth.

“I can’t-I’m gonna cum,” he winces before he looks to the ceiling in effort and staves off his orgasm.

“Good,” you murmur and you begin to stroke him with the hand still gripping him.

“But I-fuck!”

He startles and his hips jerk when you draw him back to the wet heat of your mouth. He cums with a choked groan as he coats your chin and chest with thick white stripes.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“I am so incredibly sorry,” he says lowly, obviously mortified as he looks down at you covered in his spend.

“That was…” you bring your fingers up to wipe your chin, “so fucking hot.”

He watches with rapt attention as you bring your fingers to your mouth to suck them clean.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

A/N: Sorry, kind of an abrupt ending. So…we find out more about Andy. I hope I’m not being annoying by including him so much…just trying to portray how hard it’s been on Reese.

What do you guys think?

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[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Comforting Tara at the hospital after getting attacked in the opening scene

my taglists are here (I added one for SCREAM) + you can requests here at any time

—

When you arrived at the Carpenter residence, a hoard of police cars were parked in front of the property and an ambulance was pulling out of the driveway with its siren screaming and flashing.

Mrs. Carpenter was at a conference in London and Sam had moved god knows where outside of town. That left...Tara. Worry began to set in your stomach and you reached for your phone to call Tara, which kept ringing.

‘’Pick up, pick up,’’ you prayed into the phone, needing to hear her voice to confirm she was not in the ambulance.

One of the officers saw you on the grass and came up to you. ‘’Excuse me, Miss, you can't be here,’’ he informed you as red and blue lights were flashing all around.

You put your phone down. ‘’My girlfriend Tara, this is her house. We were supposed to have a movie night—’’

Before you, the officer’s face changed and tears filled your eyes.

Tara was the only thing on your mind as you drove to Woodsborrow’s hospital, breaking a few driving code rules on the way. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to see her until a few hours after she was admitted.

One of the nurses informed you that she was getting surgery, but that she would be okay.

When you finally entered her room, your eyes found Tara's small frame in the bed and another rush of tears filled your eyes. Her face was on the pale side, her hair was tied into a messy ponytail, tubes were inserted in her nose to help her breathe and her right arm was bandaged. One of her left was broken too.

Whoever had attacked Tara had gotten her good.

‘’Tara.’’ Her name slipped from your lips in a barely there broken whisper.

Tara’s head turned in your direction and her face crumpled and she broke into sobs. They had given her strong medications for the pain and post-traumatic shock, but they hadn’t fully kicked in yet.

You rushed to her side, your heart breaking more.

‘’I was so scared,’’ she said through sobs, shaking as you pulled her in a careful hug. Her non-bandaged hand gripped the back of your sweatshirt, needing to anchor herself to something comforting and real, still shaken up and terrified. ‘’I thought someone was pulling a prank, but it wasn’t. Someone was in my house and stabbed me and I…I thought I was going to die.’’

You held her a little tighter and pressed a kiss to her temple. ‘’It’s over. You’re safe, now.’’

‘’I thought something was gonna happen to you too.’’ A cough ripped through her, her throat raw from all the screamings.

You looked around the room for water and found a cup on the table. ‘’Drink a little.’’

Tara took the cup with shaky hands and brought it to her lips, letting the cool water run down her parched throat. She took a few sips, then handed it back to you.

You tuck her hair behind her ear. ‘’I’m okay. We’re both safe, okay?’’ She nodded and settled into her pillows, the medications starting to work. ‘’We'll talk tomorrow. Go to sleep, you need rest.’’

Tara grabbed your hand. ‘’Can you stay? Please.’’ Her eyes were heavy, close to falling asleep.

A soft smile curled on your lips. You nodded. ‘’I’m not leaving your side.’’

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade

[inkluvs]

i feel like this would work for both of the black brothers so your pick😊

Purple Iris - a compliment that accidentally slips out

Gryffindor reader for both if thats possible-

a wonderful place

a/n: okay i don't often write regulus so i hope this is alright <3 also also dedicated to my babies @meredarling and @whennyxfallsinlove bcos they are my resident regulus girlies <3 tw: uhhh a teeny tiny bit of angst ; he's autism coded ; (0.2k)

regulus black x fem! reader

masterlist // taglist

“Your mind,” he murmurs, tapping his index against your temple. You lean into the warmth of his hand, and for a moment, all you can hear is the way your heart rate picks up as you wait for him to continue.

You’ll have to coax the full statement from him, is what you realize after a few more beats of silence. Regulus had a tendency to complete thoughts inside his head and forget to vocalize them, making it slightly confusing to understand his thought process. Typically, he didn’t realize when things like this happen, at least until somebody points it out to him.

“What about my mind?” You seem to pull him from thoughts, and for a second, you’re almost sorry for penetrating the silence.

His brows pucker, “what d’you mean?”

“You said something ‘bout my mind, didn’t finish the sentence.” The confusion on his face eases into something akin to embarrassment. 

“You heard that, hm?”

“Was I not supposed to?” you tilted your head.

“Would’ve been my choice.” He doesn’t mean anything by that, and you know it, but you couldn’t help the way your face fell.

“Oh,” you whispered. It then occurred to him that he might’ve hurt you, that you’d just wanted to know why he’d mentioned you, and he’d blown you off without so much as a second thought.

“You really want to know?” he’s more curious than anything, curious whether you’re actually interested in what he has to say. 

You nodded.

“I meant to say,” he paused, “that your mind is a wonderful place.”

“Yeah?”

He hums, “I would live there if I had the option.”

[xamaxenta]

New MAS meetcute

Marco attending a very extended family members wedding that, goes to shit as one of the cheapest and tackiest weddings hes ever attended in his life but he showed up according to dress code which is to say he looks fine as hell

But the brides father (the family marrying into theirs) ended up getting blackout drunk and started a fist fight with one of the bartenders, the other family members ended up squabbling about petty shit that also ended up in a physical altercation, someone gets a concussion and someone pulls a knife — its the brides cousin and Marco cant really be a bystander and out of the goodness of his heart intervenes because hes nice like that

He gets socked in the jaw and wakes up in the arms of an angel, hes got dark sun kissed skin and freckles and a million watt smile hes like hey there champ you got got pretty bad huh? How are you feeling? — runs down the entire list of checks name age where am i blahblah

Oh someone called emergency services and Marco couldn’t be more grateful honestly, realises belatedly that the man cradling him is actually a firefighter he thought he smelt something burning before he got knocked out

The actual paramedics show and its supremely unfair that this one is also obnoxiously goodlooking because hes tall blonde broad shouldered and Marcos never been one to fixate on hands but nobodys hands should be that pretty scars or no scars

Marco mumbles something that makes him realise he is so goddamn thirsty, its hot as balls out summer wedding in full black dinner tie jacket bs and too much alcohol does that to a guy, unglues his tongue like what have i done to warrant access into heaven im not even that religious mind you—

The dark haired fire chief laughs, jostles Marco in his big strong arms god, Marco will actively die in a hot second— The blonde Paramedic leans in to smooth a hand over his forehead and declares heatstroke and with the same snide tone criticises the venue as a whole and who even has a peak summer wedding without adequate cooling amenities and god even his voice is sexy the crisp undertone and its like yeah yeah definitely he’s absolutely addled by the sunbeams toogay Um today

Marco gets patched up and gets a nice IV for all his troubles, Fire Chief Portgas and Chief medic (chief paramed?) Portgas sit with him the entire time occasionally rotating out to check on the rest of the dumpsterfire of a wedding and tend to the other injured guests in the meantime, Marco realises hes utterly fucked when one the blonde slips a number in his suit jacket pocket but moments later the dark haired one scribbles his own on the back of his hand

Truly a goner when he witnesses them squabbling behind the back of the open wings of the firetruck over who had managed to give Marco their number first

The thing is the number is exactly the same, it takes Marco the trip home to realise that they werent just close working partners, not roommates or even brothers, but spouses theyd given him each the home number to their shared residence (as spouses)

Ofc he calls them, its Fire chief portgas who answers a little suspiciously at first but when Marco speaks up he can practically hear the fist pump from over the receiver

“So dinners on us.” Ace says warmly and Marco feels his heart catch on the melted insides of his ribcage, its been a while since hes had time to focus on himself and not his career—

How shall he dress for the occasion?

However you like, its tall blonde gorgeous whos taken over the call, but he does have a small request, the trousers he had worn at that now since annulled wedding, had made his behind look particularly attractive so perhaps those paired with some nice shoes?

So a fellow gentleman, Marco can dress to impress certainly, Ace will pick him up at 7 and Sabo will meet them at the venue

[agirlunderarock]

Consequences

Summary: Obi-Wan gets protective of Ahsoka after finding out Anakin plans to use her to get into the Zygerrian slave camp. Some people are more willing to roll with the changes Obi-Wan wants to make to the plans than others.

Pairings: Obi-WanXSas (original female character)

Warnings: None- written for general audiences

A/N: This fic was inspired by artwork by @agingerpanda so please go show the post some love her artwork is wonderful!

Read on Ao3

“Alright, that should be everything,” Sas said to herself as she inspected the neat stacks of disguises she had put together for Anakin’s most recent “just crazy enough to work” idea for the mission to Kadavo. She placed her hands on her hips, whether with satisfaction with her handiwork, or an attempt to keep from fussing with her back brace, she wouldn’t admit to either. She would however admit that she was proud of the effort she put into putting the disguises together. Scrounging around for oddly specific helmets on the black market, or going through the trouble of buying a dress, taking it apart and making something completely new, weren’t exactly the skills she was pulled into the Grand Army of the Republic for, but she found she did enjoy the change. At least it was better than sitting around the Jedi Temple training halls or the clone barracks and running through her monotonous physical therapy routine.

“As our resident shapeshifter, recon consultant, and biggest critic of armor functionality I’m putting you in charge of our disguises,” Anakin had said. Sas had rolled her eyes at the time, but now as she rubbed the soft but stretchy teal fabric of the captive disguise, she felt really pleased with herself. She really did try to keep it simple, almost all functional, the dress being the exception. Well, Sas made it as functional as she could, with as little fabric as she had.

Anakin, Obi-Wan and Rex would be getting to her ship soon to try on their Zygerrian slaver disguises. Heat creeped its way up the back of her neck at the thought. She didn’t want to dwell much on why.  These were just mission things that had to be taken care of, and this time the mission included her shifting into a Togruta woman and being barely dressed. No big deal.

Sas took one quick breath to shake off the pre-mission jitters, and went to change. 

Okay so Sas actually did like the way the disguise fit her. She turned in the mirror, grinning as teal color complimented her green skin and dark hair. The fabric had some give at the top, so it was form fitting, though not tight. She had even managed to leave enough space that she could wear her back brace under it. With the gold necklace and the belt, all she would need to do is ask Anakin or maybe Boil if they could paint her brace the same gold color. She could make it look like the necklace, and the long spinal support was connected to the belt at her waist. She might need a second opinion on it, but truthfully the thought of heading back into the field after being out so long filled her with a nervous excitement.

At least that was what she told herself when she heard the ramp to her ship lower itself. It really shouldn’t have surprised Sas that Obi-Wan and Anakin were early, or that they came onto her ship without knocking, and yet she felt warmth inch its way up her neck again.

“You seem to know your way around here,” Anakin’s voice echoed down the metal halls.

“Only about as well as you know Senator Amidala’s apartment,” Obi-Wan replied. Sas could practically hear the smile in his voice. 

“You two are early,” she called down the small corridor as she walked to the ramp, “For once.”

“If we were going to be late, it would have been Anakin’s fault,” Obi-Wan called back, punching in the code to close up the ramp again. “Lucky for us I know how to keep to a schedule.”

“How would it be my fault? We came from the same place.”

Obi-Wan just ignored the question, “Rex will be here soon. I believe he was having lunch with Pyrrha-” He stopped for a moment as Sas met them in the main storage hold.

Sas watched the two jedi for a moment, Anakin averting his eyes to Obi-Wan, and the latter taking a moment to fuss with his beard under his chin. She wasn’t a jedi; she couldn’t read their emotions, but she could tell Obi-Wan was trying to figure out something to say.  “That's fine,” she started, “Pyrrha knows the code, they can just drop in when they’re ready to. I’ve got your gear sets on the table. Let me just walk you  both through everything. It’s not going to be nearly as comfortable as the duraplast you wear with your robes, but it gives more coverage so that should be good.” Sas was acutely aware of how cold her legs felt as the teal fabric swished with each step. Neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin were the kind to keep their judgements to themselves, so their silence felt heavier and awkward as she continued to ramble on. “So I also needed your opinion on this,” Sas continued, as she gestured to her back brace. “It fits well enough under it, but I thought if we spray painted it gold or something it might look like part of the costume or something-”

“Sas, what are you talking about?” Obi-Wan said at last.

By now the trio was standing in her small mess chamber, Sas leaned against the table as she turned to Obi-Wan, his brows furrowed low over his blue eyes. To anyone else, he might have looked frustrated, but Sas had found over the years it was a face he really made when he was more concerned.

“I just thought it would be better to work my brace into the costume, Anakin or maybe Boil could help me paint it. It wouldn’t take long,” she said. “Figured that would be better than me going without it. I’d be fine to go without it-”

“Sas, you’re not going on this mission,” Obi-Wan interrupted again. 

“What are you talking about Kenobi?” She challenged. “If I’m not going, what was the point of having me put all of this together? Having me put together the disguises?” She looked between the two jedi in confusion.

“So you could feel involved again-” Anakin quickly answered. “You have the best eye for things like this. I didn’t think you would take it to mean you were coming with us.”

“Regardless, Anakin, you could have done her the courtesy of telling her,” Obi-Wan said.

“Honestly, Sas, you’re still my first pick for this mission.”

“Anakin-”

“What? Sas has done plenty of undercover missions for us before. She’s perfect for this!”

“She was undercover as Padme, not being sent to a prison camp. What makes you think those two missions are comparable?”

Sas just crossed her arms and let them bicker back and forth. That was how these sort of things usually went. Truthfully, Sas thought she would have been medically cleared to return to the field by now. She wasn’t surprised though that Anakin hadn’t bothered to check or clear any of it with anyone. While she could say that her physical therapy had been going well, and she was infinitely stronger than she had been a few weeks ago, the implications of getting wounded or looking weak at prison camp, in the event she was rejected as a “gift,” didn’t give her much confidence in making it through the mission in one piece.

“Do I get a say in any of this?” She sighed. Both jedi stopped and looked at her. “Its fine, alright. I misunderstood. It’s fine. I don’t know who you got to fill in, I can see if I can make adjustments for Shaak Ti, I’m assuming you asked her-”

“Eh, Ahsoka is only a little shorter than you, she can make it work,” Anakin said with a shrug. “These my things?” he added as he picked up a stack of gear.

Sas blinked, once, then twice, then looked to Obi-Wan who seemingly turned to stone as he stared at Anakin before speaking again. “Anakin, am I to understand that in your eyes, the next best person to pretend to sell into slavery is Ahsoka, not just your padawan, but a child?”

“She’s a tough kid, and we’ll be there to keep an eye on her. She’ll pick up on the plan quickly. Ahsoka is used to our improvised plans. At least more than Shaak Ti or anyone else would be.”

Sas pressed her palms together, took a deep breath as she brought her hands up to her face before slowly letting out the breath and dropping them. She opened her mouth to call Anakin a few choice words, but stopped abruptly as Obi-Wan reached for his pile of gear with one arm, and with the other guided Sas away from the table by her waist. 

Sas told herself her stuttering was because she was abruptly cut off as Obi-Wan led her away. It definitely was not a reaction to the way his war worn hand sent a shiver of warmth through her when his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin of her exposed waist. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched her before, and yet she felt her heart fluttering with each step she took as he led her back to her cabin. There was no reason for her to feel so worked up. There was absolutely no reason for her heart to race as he adjusted his hand to the small of her back, just where her brace ended.

“My dear, I should apologize for the confusion,” Obi-Wan said as they stopped outside her door.

Sas furrowed her brows. Her mind was still ringing with him calling her ‘my dear’. She felt more warmth creep into her face, He had done it plenty of times before, but something about the way he said it coupled with his hand once again adjusting its position on her waist, left her brain buzzing.

His own blue eyes widened for a moment as he realized what he had done and abruptly pulled his hand away. “For the miscommunication,” he clarified as if he didn’t know he set every nerve ending across her skin ablaze.

“Oh that,” She said, giving a tired roll of her eyes. “It's just Anakin being stubborn. I should have known better than to try to squeeze my way onto the mission so soon.” Outwardly she gave a small teasing smile, “You know its probably for the best I sit this one out. You seemed so distracted when you walked in. I’d hate to mess up the mission because you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

To her surprise she heard Obi-Wan chuckle to himself  as she walked into her room. She looked back at him only to see a small smile of his own tugging at his lips from under his beard. “Yes, well fortunately for me, if you were going you would have shifted into someone else. Someone not nearly as distracting as you claim to be now.”

“I’m not claiming anything. Your silence spoke volumes Pretty Boy,” Sas teased. “It's fine, I understand. I’m just too hot for this mission. I get it.”

Obi-Wan just shook his head, but she could still see the small curve to his lips. He looked down the corridor for a moment before letting her door close behind him as he stepped further into her room. “Sas, it's alright if you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

He raised a brow in answer.

“Using the force to read my emotions is cheating,” Sas countered sitting on the edge of her bed. “I know I’m just too gorgeous for you to handle right now, but you could pretend to misread my body language like anyone else would.”

Obi-Wan let out a breath as he moved to sit next to her. “I know you’re deflecting by making jokes about how hot you are-.” “Its not a joke, I’m a legit snack.”

Sas hadn’t even realized she moved, until she felt Obi-Wan shift next to her and wrap his arm around her shoulders. Her throat closed up around half formed words as she tried to protest that she wasn’t upset. That she wasn’t disappointed, that she wasn’t worried about him.

“Sas, its okay. You don’t have anything to prove by going, or trying to hide that you’re upset.” She felt his chin rest on top of her head. “While I agree, you made a disguise that accentuates your beauty, I would prefer to have you well rested and in one piece. There will always be another mission-”

Closing her eyes and leaning into his hold, Sas let his words sink in for a moment. Of course she knew there would always be a next time. Even if she wasn’t serving on republic funded missions, there were always supply runs  that needed to be made for her home planet. Part of the problem was that there was always another mission and it had taken more than a few tolls on Obi-Wan and Sas. Physically and mentally they were drained, even if they tried not to show it.

“Maybe the next mission will be for us to take a vacation,” she whispered.

“That would be nice,” he hummed. 

They sat in silence for a while, neither in much of a hurry to change their clothes. It was comfortable and Sas was in no rush to disrupt the small moment of peace.

Anakin however, was eager. “Rex and Pyrrha are picking up Ahsoka, they’ll be here soon,” he called from down the corridor again.

Obi-Wan stiffened next to her. “He just doesn’t want to ask anyone else.” With his free hand, Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay but how many Jedi do you both actually know that would put themselves in that situation with you guys?” Sas asked as she slowly sat up.

“You’re not seriously defending him?”

“No, no I’m not.” Sas said quickly. “I just…understand only wanting to work with people who get your- uh preparation methods. That's why I was contracted through you and really only your unit for the GAR.”

Obi-Wan turned to her fully then. His blue eyes scanned her face, for what though Sas couldn’t say. She always understood those little extra moments of staring as Jedi things, that Obi-Wan just sometimes did. “Darling, you’ve just given me an idea. Take off the dress-”

“Excuse me there should be a please sprinkled in either before or after ‘take off the dress.’” Sas said.

Obi-Wan just blinked at her.

“I just mean, I’m not sure now is a good time for that- We can do that but i don’t think right this second is a good time-”

“Sas-”

“I get it, I look good in this disguise,” Sas was grinning at this point, as she thought she saw some red creeping around the edges of his ears.

“Sas, you know that's not what I meant.”

“No, I know, but it did get you to laugh.”

***

“How do I look?” Obi-Wan said at last. He held out his arms as Sas circled and inspected him in his new disguise.

“Honestly you look better than I did-” Sas said quickly as she adjusted the teal material stretched over his shoulder. She had added some fabric to the metal belt and necklace so that it would fit him. She hadn’t anticipated just exactly how the disguise would fit him. Truthfully she didn’t think the teal disguise would fit him at all. “There's a part of me that says I should be offended but,” she stood in front of him and reached out to adjust the top over his shoulder, “it makes your tits look better than mine.”

“Sas-”

“Fine, your pectorals, is that better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“This is barely going to cover your nipple-” Sas thought out loud as she reached to adjust the fabric but then quickly pulled her hands away. Fixing it over his shoulder was one thing, something about this felt different. This wasn't a necessity like when they trained together, or occasionally had to put and check each other's bacta pads. She took a step back studying the way the fabric clung to him, accentuating his muscle definition that usually hid under his robes.

“So we’re leaving it out? I suppose that would add to the appeal,” Obi-Wan said looking down at himself and then to Sas with a small grin. “But you would be the best person to speak on that, right Darling?”

Sas had to look away for a moment. She needed air. She felt warmth flood her face as she tried to look back to him to attempt to counter his teasing. All it took was a glimpse of his little teasing grin and the mischievous glint in those pretty blue eyes to make her heart flutter wildly in her chest. She had to look away again. He was only saying that because she was in charge of the disguises. That was all. Any flirting or comments before, even now, were just both of them being silly. That was all. Her ears burned. She spotted the last of the matching jewelry on her dresser, and took her chance to escape.

“I would be, if I was the one you were supposed to be charming and distracting,” She said once she could clear her head of his grin. She gathered up the head piece and the few rings she had found to match the belt.

“I suppose this would be good practice for me then?”

“The day you need to practice being charming, is the day Tatooine floods.” Sas held up the jewelry. “Besides, you need the finishing touches.”

 She offered him the rings and waited for him to slide them onto his fingers before holding up the head piece. She had expected him to just take it from her hands but instead he tilted his head down and leaned in toward her. Sas stopped breathing.

“Would you do the honors?”

Sas blinked. For half a second she thought he was going to kiss her cheek. He was close enough. She let out a breath and gave him a grin. He was just messing with her that was all. It wasn’t often that she got flustered and he was just taking advantage of that. Maybe even trying to get her mind off the disappointment of not going with them.

“Of course, Love,” she finally answered as she set the crown on his head. She did her best to set the small combs on the edge in his hair without making it look silly. Once it was securely in place she dropped her hands to her sides and looked up at him. “All done. Are you sure you want to do this? Rex, Pyrrha and Ahsoka could show up at any second.”

“Anakin only wanted people he knew well on this mission. Who better to take this role, but me?”

Sas just laughed. “Well if you change your mind, at least we know your other disguise fits too.”

“You did a wonderful job with both Sas,” Obi-Wan assured her as he clasped her shoulder.

“You want me to go ahead of you, make it more dramatic?” “If you would be so kind.”

“He’s going to be so mad.”

“Maybe he should have done what we agreed on then.”

Sas let out another laugh before composing herself and stepping back to the mess table. Anakin had apparently just decided to try to fit the armor over his robes, which worked, but anyone who knew Jedi robes would be able to see through the disguise. Sas felt less bad for him as she watched him slide the helmet over his head.

“What was the point in having me put together actual disguises if you were just going to put the armor on over your robes?” Sas asked as she plopped down on the bench and propped her head on her arms on the table. “It would have saved me a lot of time, you know.”

“Well its about time you’re back. What happened, the old man couldn’t dress himself?” Anakin said, turning to look down the hall waiting for his former master still.

“Well…something like that- You laced up the shoulder piece wrong by the way.”

“Can you fix it for me then?” Anakin asked, turning his back to the hallway again.

“I don’t know, last I heard only old men couldn’t dress themselves.”

“Sas, come on-”

“Fine, stop your fussing. Come here.” Sas shifted so she was kneeling on the couch and motioned for Anakin to stand in front of her facing the hallway again. “Just sit still, this will only take a second.”

“Then what’s taking Obi-Wan so long?”

“Well he’s wearing everything exactly the way I said to so-”

“Obi-Wan, what are you wearing?” Anakin exclaimed.

Obi-Wan stood at the edge of the room,standing a little taller and straighter, really attempting to test how well the fabric of the disguise would hold together. Now that Sas had a moment to catch her breath and clear her head, she took a moment to fully appreciate the lengths Obi-Wan went through to get back at Anakin. Revenge may not be the Jedi way, but Sas thought she was starting to understand why.

“Anakin stop moving-” Sas tried not to laugh as she yanked on the armor making him face Obi-Wan as he tried to look away from the Jedi Master.

“My disguise Anakin, I thought it was obvious,” Obi-Wan answered.

“Why are you wearing Ahsoka’s-”

“Oh no, Sas and I agreed this disguise was much too big for Ahsoka. We’ll just let her know she won’t be accompanying us on this mission.” 

Anakin tried to lift one of his arms to shield his eyes, but Sas just pulled on another one of the ties in the shoulder armor to get him to lower his hand. “Fine I’ll send holo to Shaak Ti, I’m sure-”

“Are you kidding?” Sas started, “You think she has time to make it all the way from Kamino? You leave tomorrow and you can’t pick her up on the way.”

“After all Anakin,” Obi-Wan cut in, “You did say you would prefer to work with someone who was familiar with- how did you describe it- your preparation style?”

“Fine, I’ll find someone else!”

“Frankly Anakin there's no one in the Order who knows you better than I do. It only makes sense that I should take this role.”

“I think it's a bit late for that, Ani-'' Sas said, finally letting go of the armor straps and letting him step away.

“Come on, Obi-Wan take it off. You’re not posing as the slave,” Anakin said, though he still wouldn’t look directly at Obi-Wan.

“Oh no, I believe I fit your requirements better than Ahsoka could.”

“I’ll find someone else, it won’t take me long.”

“No, you said you wanted someone with more experience following your plans, and these are the consequences for not making a proper plan.”

Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose. “There's gotta be someone else-”

“Someone else for what-” Ahsoka’s voice trailed off as she stopped in the opposite entrance.

Sas kept her grin contained as Rex, Ahsoka, and Pyrrha stood in the main hall staring in shock at Obi-Wan. Even though they were all struck differently, it was nice to know she wasn’t the one. Rex and Ahsoka shared similar wide eyed expressions of complete shock, Anakin still wouldn’t look directly at his former Master, and Pyrrha, clutching her helmet, was trembling as she tried to contain her laughter.

“Oh nothing,” Obi-Wan answered the padawan as he crossed over to lean against the couch next to Sas. “Anakin was just thinking I should be replaced. He should know better than that though.”

“Besides, General Kenobi here would get a much better deal than anyone else  we would pretend to sell,” Sas chimed in, as she shifted to give him a high five, only to have him clasp her hand in his. Her heart stopped for just a second, but she kept her hand in his.

“It’s not going to make any sense- we need a Togruta to get into the camp,” Anakin complained.

“Well, you do like to improvise, so we’ll improvise,” Obi-Wan answered calmly.

Ahsoka’s brows knitted together as if she were finally starting to make the connection. “I’m definitely not going to wear that,” she muttered, eyeing Obi-Wan skeptically.

“No, you’re not,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “It was already settled. I will be sold off, Anakin and Rex will be the ones to do that. Pyrrha, you may need to take Sas’ place as the third guard since she’s not medically cleared for the mission.”

Pyrrha finally wheezed out the giggles she had been trying to contain. “Wait, I thought the plan was to have four keepers.”

“I mean I have extra gear but that's going to be up to Anakin and if he can stick to the plan this time,” Sas teased.

Anakin sighed, “Yeah sure let's have four, Pyrrha you can switch with Obi-Wan, or maybe Jankari will do it-”

Before Pyrrha could answer, Obi-Wan spoke up again, “No, you just said he had to have a Togruta to get in the prison camps. A human woman isn’t going to get us any closer. I’m your best chance.”

“Master Jedi, Republic High General, makes him a valuable catch, on top of you know the look he has going for him,” Sas added, earning an eye roll from her friend across the room.

“Unless of course you’d like to volunteer to be the captive,” Obi-Wan continued looking pointedly at Anakin. “I’m sure Sas could make some last minute modifications-”

Anakin threw his hands up, “NO.”

“Then it’s settled,” Obi-Wan said, his grin growing wide under his beard.

“Wait one more thing,” Pyrrha started. Rex just tensed up next to her. Clearly the captain just wanted to grab his gear and go. “We gotta get a receipt for Kenobi when we sell him. They might try to get a refund for him after having him around for a while.”

“Oh no, there's no exchanges or returns for this sale,” Obi-Wan said with a small head shake.

“ Is that why Sas hasn’t been able to get rid of you yet?” Pyrrha added with a snicker.

Sas looked up at Obi-Wan, who was looking back down at her, and their hands still clasped together. She couldn’t get rid of him even if she wanted to, is what she wanted to say and she even offered him a small smile. He could probably tell what she was thinking anyway, nothing she said out loud would really matter. So instead she turned back to the group, Anakin had already disappeared down another hall to remove his armor, and said, “Hey Ahsoka, you wanna take Pyrrha’s place as a guard?”

“Does it mean I have to deal with more of,” Ahsoka gestured to the general area between where Anakin walked off and where Obi-Wan was still standing, “this?”

“Probably.”

“I think I’d rather deal with the younglings all week.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you as always for reading, commenting and sharing. I hope you enjoyed :3

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[jazzthatonewriterchick]

I'll Show You "Uptight" (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Adult!Bakugou x Black!Fem!Reader (Coworkers to Lovers) 

Synopsis: In which a very pissed and very emotionally frustrated Bakugou decides he’s not going to let you get away with your lip that easily and pays you a visit one girls’ night to prove to you that he is, indeed, able to be “looser” after you make a drunk comment about his introverted and uptight personality to your mutual friends and Kirishima “accidentally” spills the beans. 

Story Warnings: Smutty smut (MINORS DON’T READ), 18+, AgedUp!Bakugou (he’s 25 years old), Swearing, Grinding, Public Displays of Affection, Mentions of & Consumption of Alcohol, Consensual Sex w/ Verbalization, Foreplay, Public Kink, Manhandling, Mild Degradation, Praise Kink, Daddy Kink, Spit Play, 69ing, Facefucking, Safe Sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), Edge Play, Spanking, Mild Choking, MULTIPLE Positions, MULTIPLE Orgasms for Reader, Aftercare, Reader is black-coded but anyone can read this 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer’s Note: Back with another one for y’all and this one is a bit longer. It’ll probably be either 5 or 6 chapters. I came up with this after being on a dancehall/reggae craze lately & thought, “hmm…would Bakugou know how to dance to this shit??” I decided yes & got to writing since I’ve got time before winter break ends. If you wanna listen in on the playlist that inspired me to write this fic, it’s riiiight up in here. I hope y’all enjoy the first chapter! Be safe out there & thank you for reading! -Jazz

Ao3 link here!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

*********

Chapter One

Bakugou was pissed. 

He didn’t consider himself to be someone who gave a shit about what anyone said. If someone decided to take a jab at him or comment on him in any way, he’d usually just tell them to fuck off and keep it moving. Or, if said jab or comment got back to him from someone else, he’d usually pull up to the bitch who said it and ask them to say it to his face…which they never would. 

Bakugou was a hard nut to crack. Ever since he was in his teens, he was hard edges and a tough exterior, all to hide the softness that resides within him, of course. He hasn’t changed much since graduating from UA and becoming the second most popular pro hero in Japan at age 25. His mom, some mentors of his, and his closest friends are the only ones who are aware of this truth. 

You, however, were not. And that shouldn’t have gotten to him the way it did now, but fuck, it did! He didn’t get what irked him about you so or why he was so hung up on you. He’d only known you for a couple of months since you started working at his agency alongside him and Bakusquad. You weren’t a pro, only working at the front desk, but you were respected as if you are one. 

Maybe it was the way you always give each employee a kind smile when they walked in, brightening up the day. Or maybe it was your work ethic and how you went above and beyond. Or maybe it was the way those pencil skirts and work slacks you wore hugged your ass just right…or maybe that was just Bakugou’s dick talking. Probably. 

Needless to say, you bothered him. But he knew rationally it wasn’t your fault. Whatever it was about you that had him tossing and turning at night, or so tongue-tied that he refused to speak too much to you when you said hello during work hours, or made him blush while on patrol when he so much as thought about your pretty smile or gorgeous skin, was all on him. But dammit, did he want to blame you for all of it! 

But that was only part of the reason why he was so pissed. The main reason why was because you couldn’t seem to keep your pretty mouth shut, especially when you drank. He came to this conclusion one day while he and Denki were coming back from patrols. It was a warm spring day in Musustafu that day, but not enough to have him sweating buckets in his hero’s uniform. 

However, when he got back to his agency and finally stripped himself of the outfit, the air conditioner felt good on his slightly-clammy skin. He sighed in relief, letting the outfit pool to the tiled floors beneath him. “Ah, man,” Denki sighed, stripping off his jacket. “I’ll tell ya, six hours of patrolling is fuckin’ wicked. My feet are killing me!” 

Bakugou had chuckled at his friend’s pain as he stepped out of his outfit, only in his Calvin Klein briefs. “That’s why I chose you for patrols today,” he smirked. “Gotta do something besides flirt with Jirou on FT.” 

Denki gaped at him. “Hey!” he shouted. “That ain’t true! And at least I got someone to flirt with. All you’ve got are those cute little FunkoPops you hide behind your desk.” Bakugou shot him a death glare as he grabbed the extra water bottle out of his locker, earning a shit-eating grin from Denki. “You’re a Sailor Moon fan, eh?” he hummed. 

“Fuck off!” Bakugou growled, just as Kirishima and Sero walked into the room.

“Uh-uh, no killing each other right now,” Sero groaned as he sat down on the bench between the row of lockers. “I haven’t eaten yet and it’s all I can focus on.” 

“We wanted to come and get you guys first,” Kiri says as he sits down closer to Bakugou, legs open in his sweats and wiping his face with a towel. They must have just come from the gym/spa downstairs that Bakugou was hellbent on getting built. “You guys up for ramen?” 

“Hell yes!” Denki practically shouted, now in his undershirt and briefs. “Just let me get a shower in and I’m good. I could use some spicy miso.” 

Kiri grinned happily, all sharp, white teeth. “What about you, Bakubro?” he chirped. “You comin’ with this time?” 

Bakugou glanced at his friends as he took some Native deodorant out of his locker, slathering some on. He’d make sure he showered after coming back from lunch. “Sure, why not?” he grumbled, expecting some kind of cheer between his friends…but there was nothing. 

At the sound of sheer silence, he glanced up at his friends to see them all gaping at him. “What?” he growled.

Denki blinked at him, alarmed. “Do my ears deceive me?” he gasped teasingly. “Is it snowing outside? Bakugou, going out with us? You never go out with us!” 

“Yeah,” Bakugou agreed, irked as he puts on a pair of active Nike joggers to hide his muscled legs and thighs. “Because you guys are fuckin’ embarrassing. Plus, sometimes I just prefer to eat in my office. It’s better privacy.” 

“And better company,” Denki snickered. “I bet those FunkoPops really listen to you.” Sero guffawed into his hand, but at the sight of Bakugou’s death stare, he clamped up. 

“I guess that means you’d be up for going out with us tonight for drinks?” Kiri asked hopefully. “They’re having happy hour. C’mon, it’s a Friday!” 

Bakugou would have asked if you’d be joining them, but he didn’t think so. From the way Kiri put it, it was a guys’ night thing. And even if you were, he still probably wouldn’t have gone. He isn’t much of a “social” person if you couldn’t tell. Instead of downing shots at a bar, he prefers to drink from his private bar at home.

And clubbing? Partying? Forget it. His kind of part is smoking a blunt, watching a good movie, and falling asleep on his big ass couch. 

He could tell Kiri knew his answer before he even said it: “Nah. Besides, you know how I feel about those Friday night crowds. They’re–” 

“We know, we know,” Kiri groaned, rolling his crimson eyes. “They’re too rowdy. Too sloppy. Too this, too that.” He crossed his big, tattooed arms over his broad chest, fixing Bakugou with a tight glare. “And yet, they’re havin’ fun too! C’mon, Bakugou! When’s the last time you’ve gone out with us to celebrate just because? When’s the last time you’ve had fun?” 

Fun. He said it as if the word was foreign to Bakugou and that pissed him off even more. He had fun…just not in the social sense. He didn’t see the need in partying on the weekends and socializing with people at a club that you’ll never see again. Plus, to spend even one hour in a crowd of drunk bar hoppers was less than ideal for him. But he didn’t answer Kiri as he pulled on a Nike sweatshirt, then began to dig into his locker for his socks. 

Kiri groaned, exasperated. “Ugh, so boring!” he dramatically whined. “Now I can see why Y/N she’d never date you.”

He let out an audible gasp at that moment, quickly clamping a hand over his mouth just as Bakugou slowly raised his head out of his locker at the mention of your name. 

Slowly, he turned to stare at his friend who looked redder than his hair, then at Denki and Sero who looked like they were writing Kiri’s obituary in their heads. The locker room swelled with tense silence as Bakugou processed Kiri’s words on an empty stomach. You? Dating him?

You’d never…date him? 

“What did you say?” he questioned, staring down at Kiri. His friend said nothing, eyes wide and horrified.

“You said Y/N would never date me?” he parroted, more confused than he is upset…well, upset too. Why would you say something like that? And where the fuck is the context? 

“Why?” Bakugou asked, just as shocked at the question as his friends were. But it wasn’t so much at the question, but the way he said it: Confusedly. Sadly. Like he gave a shit. And goddammit, he did. And he does! 

Kiri looked at Sero and Denki, silently asking whether or not he should continue. Sero shrugged while Denki gave him a silent, tight-lipped nod. Kiri turned to Bakugou and began to explain, going into great detail about the context of the conversation. It went something like this: 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mina drunkenly said, a round of tequila shots in her body. “Next question: what pro hero would you date and why? And no one is off limits.” 

‘No one, shorty?” Kiri smirked down at her, earning a glossy kiss on the cheek from Mina that made you coo and melt from the cuteness. Mina sat in a booth squished between Y/N and Kiri, an arm slung over the back of his seat while Sero and Denki took the other side. 

This was last week on a Friday night where the Mexican restaurant they occupied was packed with a younger crowd looking for food and fun. You were there, looking pretty in your cherry red work dress that you paired with some flats before leaving work that day.

“We’ll start with you, Sero,” Mina said, nodding at the black-haired pro. He thought for a minute, sucking on a lime absentmindedly as Denki secretly stole a chip and some guacamole of his plate. “If we weren’t friends, definitely you and Y/N,” he decided. 

“Awww!” you had cooed, sipping from your margarita. From the hooded gaze you were giving them and the way you laughed a little too hard at things, it was obvious you were feeling the alcohol now. “That’s so sweet!” 

“Denki?” Mina hummed, raising a brow. “You got some choices if you weren’t dating Jirou?” 

Denki smirked at her from across the table. “Very dangerous question, but you,” he replied easily. “Y/N…probably Momo if she wasn’t with Todoroki. And Toru.” 

“How’d that work?” Sero asked, confused. “You can’t even see her! How the fuck would you know where to kiss her?” 

“Guess you’d just have to kiss her everywhere till you find out,” Mina mischievously replied, wiggling her brows at the now-blushing duo. “Y/N?” she sing-songed, nudging your arm. “Your turn. What pro would you date and why?” 

“Trust and believe if it’s me, you’re leaving with me tonight.” Sero winked at you, making you laugh and Mina roll her eyes. You didn’t mind Sero’s flirting or their antics, their warm personalities making you feel so much a part of their group. 

“Hmm, I guess it’d be…” You hummed to yourself, cutely tapping one manicured finger against your plump, glossed lip. “Probably you, Kiri.” You looked at the redhead who grinned in triumph and bashfully. “And maybe Hawks if he didn’t have them big ass wings. Where does he put ‘em during sex?” 

At this, Denki and Sero laughed. “Interesting,” Mina hummed. “I would’ve sworn you’d say Bakugou since the guy is crazy about you.” You stopped short of sipping your margarita, the glass halfway to your lips. “Uh…what?” you asked slowly, turning to stare at Mina. 

“Bakugou likes you,” she repeated, tilting her head curiously. “Didn’t ya know? Shit, we all knew even though he tries to play it off like he doesn’t. Bakugou is like that sometimes.” 

The look on your face was honestly hilarious–wide eyes, mouth parted in shock at this new information. Finally, you laughed, shaking your head. “No,” you said, disbelieving. “That’s definitely not true. Bakugou don’t even speak to me!” 

“Does he have to?” Kiri asked, confused. “I mean, the dude doesn’t really talk to anyone except us. But in your case, he’s just not good with talkin’ to pretty girls. Call him emotionally constipated.” The table erupted into laughter again, except for you, still reeling from Mina’s words. 

“But…” you began, trying to reason, “but he’s so…serious.” You sat back in your seat, drink in your hand. “But even if he did like me, hypothetically speaking,” you continue, “I wouldn’t date him.” 

Silence settled on the table, the air thick with anticipation. “How come?” Mina asked, actually sounding sad about your answer. “I think you’d be so cute together!” 

“Look, he’s a nice-looking guy, don’t get me wrong,” you began to explain, “but he’s just too serious, as I said. He barely smiles, always giving me a scowl. Are you sure he doesn’t hate me?” Kiri laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, cutie. He doesn’t hate you. Like I said, the guy is emotionally constipated.” 

“You’re telling me,” you scoffed before licking some sugar off the rim of your glass. “I don’t even think I’ve ever seen him show any emotion but distaste or anger. Plus, he seems way too uptight for me.” 

“In what way?” Sero asked, slapping Denki’s hand when he tries to sneak another chip off his friend’s plate. You shrugged, looking down momentarily to gather your thoughts. “Well, for one, he barely goes out with us, and the one time he did, he sat down on his phone the whole time.” 

The rest of the squad remembered that night: it was at Denki’s annual NYE party at Hotspot, one of the hottest clubs in downtown Musutafu. The drinks were plentiful, the music was jumping, and you looked downright delectable in the little sequin skirt that shimmered every time you swayed those hips and bent over to throw ass onto the girls and Sero (with your consent, of course).

All except Bakugou, who sat firmly in his chair on his phone despite people asking him to dance so many times throughout the night. 

“He kept looking at you that night,” Mina giggled. “Mans couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.” 

“Then he could’ve at least danced with me,” you replied. “But he didn’t! I can’t be with a guy like that. Sure, I love those nights in the crib and some good cuddling, but if I wanna go dancing or something, how can I take him out?” You sipped your drink with finality. “I need someone who’s looser–and I just don’t think Bakugou is that someone for me.” 

When Kiri finished the story, he looked at Bakugou like the man was close to jumping someone. And he was. His mind was on you, jumping your bones and finding out why the fuck you felt that way about him.

He was holding the door to his locker so hard that his knuckles were white. “Why would she say that?” he snapped. “She doesn’t even know me!” 

“Well, shit, Katsuki,” Sero spoke up, “it’s because you never gave the girl a chance to know you! You barely go out with us anymore, especially when she’s with us.” 

“And it doesn’t help when you barely speak to her,” Denki added. “Of course, she’s gonna think you’re uptight!” 

Bakugou was at a loss for words because they were all right. Dammit, he hated to admit it and he never would aloud, but all of them were right. But what they and you didn’t understand was that he never danced at Denki’s NYE party that night because he was so afraid of popping a hard-on in front of you. After staring you down the entire night, wondering what your ass felt like in his hands, it was difficult not to become rock-hard. Sitting down was the only way to avoid that.

To add to that, he was always afraid of saying the wrong thing to you, so he always kept your conversations short. He kept his distance to avoid embarrassing himself and yet he felt embarrassed standing in that locker room. 

“She thinks you hate her, man,” Kiri added. “Seriously. I told her you don’t, but the girl is convinced.”

Katsuki felt like hitting himself with the locker door. “Fuck!” he hissed. “Now what the fuck do I do?” Was there anything he could do at this point? What if he epically fucked this up? What if he never got the chance to feel you pressed against him or feel your soft lips on his? 

Denki rose from his seat and sauntered over, throwing an elbow over Katuski’s locker. “Well,” he began, “and this is just a suggestion, so hear me out: you could always just show the girl that you’re no uptight or a dickhead.” 

Katsuki scowled at him. “How the fuck would I do that?” 

“It’s simple!” Sero jumped in. “Next time we all go out to shoot the shit, and Mina and Y/N come along, you come with us and act like you actually wanna be around us. Including her.” He clapped once, standing up from his seat. “Problem solved! Now are we going to lunch or do I have to eat one of you?” 

As the three idiots argued among themselves, Katsuki got to thinking about Denki and Sero’s advice…and then out of his mind popped the best idea ever. It was just too perfect. Of course, he could show you that he wasn’t uptight. He could shove your words right back down your pretty throat and admit how he felt about you all at the same time. 

He instantly whipped around to slam his locker door shut, causing the guys to jump. “Y/N and Mina comin’ with tonight?” he asked, looking at Kiri for an answer.

The redhead shook his head. “Naw, Mina said she and Y/N are joining the girls for girls’ night. They’re goin’ to a club, apparently.” 

“What club?” Bakugou asked, trying not to sound too desperate, but Kiri had laser vision for this type of shit. “Dunno,” he answered, “and even if I did, I’d tell you not to go. It’s a girls’ night, K. You really wanna crash that?” 

“Shit, yeah!” Denki hollered excitedly. “Just tell me when and where. I’ll go with.”

Sero grinned, just as down. “Me too. I could use a little adventure and drama.” He looked at Katsuki who had an almost crazed look in his eye as his plan began to map itself in his brain. “Why? What’d you have in mind?” 

Katsuki just smirked deviously in response, because by the end of tonight, you were gonna regret drinking those tequila shots and talking shit about him to his friends.

He was gonna make sure of it.

[please-let-me-be-horny]

Digital Genie

The following story is a concept that came to me whilst having a chat with one of my mutuals. Credit to them for inspiring this obvious work of mental illness 🫠

The components of the PC had outgrown their case months ago.

Water cooling pipes, RAM drives, and memory cards all spilled out the sides of the PC, forcefully gutted and reassembled so many times that it had quickly turned into a Frankenstein of technology. All for the sake of this one experimental experience in virtual reality.

Harry looked at the mess of tech on his desk and gave a satisfied nod. It was ugly as all sin, but the diagnostic reports on his monitor filled him with the reassurance he needed. His very own super computer. Finally ready to run the first build of his new game.

Lowering the VR headset that hung from the ceiling down onto his crown, he took the VR controllers into his hands, and navigated the various programmes in his PC, booting up the game, before giving a nervous sigh, and pulling the headset down over his eyes.

Darkness.

That was to be expected.

Despite standing alone, surrounded only by the blackness of his digital void, he never felt more claustrophobic. His senses had tricked him. This wasn't an empty space. But a dense mass of messy computer code and binary programming. Intangible air, filled with invisible ones and zeros. The ultimate sandbox to control and manipulate to his will.

He started small, waving his hands in the space and opening a variety of menus, as he began to fill his new world with creation. Plant life. Rocks and dust. Stars. Small, inconsequential creatures made of glowing digital light that bounced through the darkness and over his rapidly developing scenery.

Harry smiled to himself in pride and wonder. This was working. Everything was working. After years of planning and imagination and coding and trouble shooting, he was finally stood there, experiencing and creating a new world for himself.

His smile faded when he saw the glitch.

Small at first. A flicker in the distance. A stuttering in the very fabric of his universe. A flaw. A mistake.

The very presence of the glitch insulted him. He approached the area, Investigating the breach in his vision.

Then it spoke.

"Harry....You are....Harry...."

Harry stood motionless, gazing in horror and curiosity at the fluttering mess of pixels and light Infront of him. The voice wasn't human. It was ethereal. A ghostly digital whisper that echoed and filled the space, despite sounding so small and soft. Harry was aware that he had included A.I into his first build, but only as a means of filling in the gaps within his creation. Managing the behaviours of the NPC's inhabiting this world of his. It shouldn't be able to recognise him, let alone know his name.

"you are Harry...of 34a Rockwell towers....on Delton Avenue...son of Greg and Martha....you had a sister who passed away following a car accident in 2006..."

As the voice continued, the stuttering and glitching Infront of harry began to grow and coalesce, swallowing more if the space it resides in, and growing brighter. Harry was frozen, a mixture of morbid curiosity and fear paralysing his body as he watched this strange error in his code grow and take form.

"you are...afraid...afraid of your creation...." Soon, the cluster of broken code took form, a glowing, androgynous silhouette, made up of a polygonal grid, with notes of light traveling across the various lines that separated it from the black void around them. "You fear....me?" Now fully formed, the figure approached.

Despite knowing he was alone, Harry spoke for the first time, muttering under his breath. "What the fuck?" He muttered audibly, expressing his confusion. Despite this, the figure seemed to notice, cocking it's head to the side in curiosity and confusion. Harry suddenly felt very seen and exposed.

"you are confused...?"

Harry swung his hands up to his headset, ripping it from his head and staggering backwards into his bed. Whatever it was, it had heard him. It had seen him. Standing up and running to his desk, he quickly checked what connection might have fed his own audio into his game. No microphones connected. No webcams. In a panic, he shut down the programme, and killed power to the PC, killing the sound of the many cooling fans that had filled his bedroom for the last few months.

He stood alone, in silence, gazing at the sleeping beast that was his unpowered PC. He checked the time. He had been in his simulation for nearly 3 hours. Where had the time gone? It sure didn't feel like 3 hours. He shook the panic and nerves from his head, leaving his bedroom to settle down and relax for the night. He'd come back fresh tomorrow morning to see if he could fix this hiccup. Though a small part of his dreaded the idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Part two probably coming soon, since Tumblr is a pain in the ass to write stories on. 💀)

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Weeping Into Our Beers

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Big Sky, Werewolf: The Apocalypse, World of Darkness

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions Of Violence

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Beau Arlen/OFC

Synopsis: Wounded warriors from very different worlds find some comfort in each other.

Tags:  Beau Arlen, Emily Arlen, Carla del Lugo, Sarah Fights-The Mighty (OFC), Crossover, AU, Bar Therapy, One-Night Stand

AN:  Sarah is my longest-held and dearest personal avatar -- or Mary Sue if you wanna be a jerk about it -- from a Werewolf The Apocalypse phase I went through way back in high school. For the nerds who care, she's a Black Fury Philodox and practicing ecoterrorist, who's buried a lot of loved ones including and especially her only daughter. In case anyone's coming from that side of the tracks, Beau Arlen is the acting sheriff of Lewis and Clark County (county seat Helena, Montana, USA), a transplanted Texas whose daughter was kidnapped and nearly killed by a serial killer. In this headcanon Big Sky takes place in the World of Darkness and Beau's an innocent human who has no idea werewolves exist. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any trademarks or copyrights. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and is protected by Fair Use.

---

Beau Arlen wasn't above playing up to clichés, it helped people feel comfortable around him.  Like not code-switching to hide his accent, using informal-yet-courtly manners, exaggerating his bowed legs a little when he walked.  Someone could call this just another cliché, the hard-drinking Texan seeking truth in the bottom of a beer bottle.  Well better a beer bottle than a whiskey glass, he supposed.  And nobody who knew the story would begrudge him seeking a little chemical comfort.

Still, there was a reason he was drinking at Longhorns as opposed to the Boot Heel tonight.  He was in a weird mood, and it was the kind of weird mood that led to bad decisions.  If Mo Poppernack, Lord bless him and his offbeat cheer, hit him with any more well-meaning kindness he just might knock the poor guy's block off.

A few seats down the bar, a couple got up.  Beau studied them in his peripheral vision.  Not a couple-couple, the body language was wrong.  Family he'd guess, even thought they looked nothing alike.  The man was six feet of ugly, black hair and bad acne scars, with a New York City accent that sounded like sandpaper being rubbed together.  The woman was older, petite and stocky, long brown hair pulled back into a French braid, her voice deep with a rasp that said cigarettes.  They embraced.

"Take care of yourself Chainsaw," the woman said, soft and tender.

"You too boss," the man said, touching her face.  "Don't get too drunk, okay?"

"No promises."

The man left.  The woman stood there for a moment before hauling in a deep sigh and sitting back up to the bar.  She glanced around.  Beau noted her eyes were a fine blue-gray, sharp as she checked the exits and counted heads.  Her jacket fell open as she stretched, and Beau didn’t see a weapon.  Funny, she sure as hell behaved like a woman expecting a fight and a bloody one at that.  Beau also noted a wide scar across her left cheek, four parallel lines like Freddy Kruger had cut her with his glove.

---

"So, the question becomes,” Sarah said, picking up her beer, “how drunk is too drunk?"

"Well, that's more of a philosophical question, I find."  Sarah glanced down at the resident of the stool a few slots down the bar.  A charming smile shone out from a short beard, one that found an echo on her own face.  "Unless motor vehicles are involved in which case too drunk equals 0.08 blood alcohol content or over."

"No vehicles involved," Sarah confirmed, mirroring his folksy slant on VEE-hicles.  "I'm staying at the motel a couple doors down."

"Oh well in that case," he tipped the neck of his own beer in a little salute, "however much proves as needed to thoroughly drown your sorrows."

Sarah chuckled.  "Too bad my sorrows have gills."

He grimaced.  "Oooh.  Yikes."

"I just settle for taking them out back and giving them a bath every now and again," she added, finishing off her beer and asking the bartender for a glass of water.

"Sound plan.  Very sound," the charming man approved.  He lifted his bottle, "My sorrows,” he drank, cleared his throat, “they just refuse to drown."

"Bastards found submarines?"

He laughed and Sarah felt her heart do that liftoff thing it did sometimes.  He really was very handsome.  Reminded her a little of Mark.  Similar coloring anyway, those fine green eyes he’d given Charlie before he split.  "We're way overthinking this metaphor."

"Just a skoash," Sarah agreed, and they shared a smile.

The charming man gave her a closer look and Sarah let him.  Some company would be nice.  Pull her out of her own thoughts for a while.  "I'm Beau," he identified himself, stretching to extend a hand across the empty barstools.

Sarah took it, noting a grip firm enough to be friendly.  "Sarah."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest," she said, and Beau moved the few seats down.  Stood about six-two, jeans, boots, sheepskin-lined coat, silver belt buckle about the size of her palm.  Forty-ish, she guessed, and he wore his years well.  Better than she was at any rate, with gray threading her hair thicker by the week.

"So, my interesting new friend," Sarah said, "what're your sorrows that they're lurking in submarines?"

"That's a long story."

Sarah shrugged.  "I got time.  Who knows?  Maybe talking them out a little'll make the fuckers drown faster."

Beau considered her.  She saw him noticing her scar, making a mental note of it.  "You're not from around here are you?"

"Obviously," Sarah said dryly.  "You aren't either.  Texas?"

"Got it in one."  He signaled the bartender and ordered, paying for Sarah's like a gentleman.  "Friend of mine was County Sheriff when he got wounded on the job.  He called me to fill in temporarily."

"That must've ruffled some feathers."

"Not as many as you might think although that might be a case of delayed reaction."

Sarah listened and sipped as Beau unbottled and laid out one hell of a story.  It was a struggle to keep her poker face when he described the serial killer who'd kidnapped his daughter.  Revenge or justice or both-- burning the Panty Man didn't make Charlie any less gone, forever lost before she really had a chance to live.  "Thank the Goddess your daughter's all right," she said.

"I mean, yeah, Em's tough.  Shit she's doing better than her mom’n’me."  Oh boy, could Sarah relate, the pups taking in stride what broke their elders.  "Carla's moving back down to Houston, permanently.  Her family's all there.  She needs the support system.  Come to find out plenty of her friends were really Avery's friends and they didn't have much use for her with him gone."

"Assholes," Sarah gave her opinion.

Beau shrugged it off.  "Last time I talked to her Emily asked me point-blank if I was gonna relocate with them."

"You thinking of getting back together with your ex?"

He thought a moment.  "It's funny.  Ask me that question a year-- hell, even six months ago, I'd've leapt at the chance.  Carla . . . she's one of the most amazing women I've ever met.  I think I'm a better man than I was when she left me.  I know I could be a better husband to her.  I’ll always love her."

"But?"

"But."  Beau sighed.  "But the issues that drove her away, those haven't gone anywhere.  And I don't know if we'll be good to each other, after Emily goes off to college, starts living on her own."  After a moment's thought, Beau added, "Avery was a grade-A jackass but Carla loved him.  She's still in mourning.  I don't think trying to get back with her will do anything but end badly."

Sarah made an educated guess and said, "Besides, there might be someone else."

Beau's eyebrows lifted, just a little.  "Are you a cop in your day job or just really good at bar therapy?"

That surprised her into a chuckle.  "People open up to me.  Goddess knows why.  Who is she?"

"One my deputies.  Tubbs's undersheriff," he confessed.  Sarah winced.  "Yeah.  I mean, she's . . . beautiful, tough, smart.  Brave?  Hell she kicks down doors better'n I do.  I think . . ." he trailed off, shook his head.  "So yeah, there might be someone else.  But then there might not be.  She lost her husband little over a year ago, went through a real rocky patch right after.  I'm not sure . . . I don't know if she's really put all that in her rearview.  Plus, she's technically my subordinate and anti-fraternization regulations are a thing that exist.

"It's not just her though," Beau admitted.  "I moved up here pretty much done with ever’thing.  Not just from the job either.  Didn't see much point to doin' anything but the daily routine.  Some days not even that."  Sarah nodded.  She could relate to that too.  "Then Tubbs asked me to fill in for him, just until he got back on his feet.  Now it's looking like he's retiring completely and his job needs filling.  The City Council asked me if I'm considering running for the office next year.  I have to give them an answer by close of business Monday."

Sarah whistled.  "No pressure or anything."

"Nope.  I mean, it shouldn't even be a choice, really.  Any other candidates I can think of are local boys'n'girls.  Who'm I?  I'm just the out-of-towner who happened to be in the big chair when the murder rate spiked to the highest it's been in fifteen years.  And there's Emily to think of.  I . . . I lost a big chunk of her life when I was going through my bad time.  I don't want to lose any more."

"Buuuuuuut?" Sarah dragged out.

"But," Beau said, signaling for another beer.  "But I have a life here, a good life.  Last thing I expected.  I mean, I like the country.  I like the people.  I got a job that might lead to me doin’ some good, 'stead of just playing Catch Me Screw Me with the cartels all day ev'ry day."

"Okay," Sarah said, considering as she finished her beer and asked for another water.

"Ah," Beau said, lighting up like a man who'd just solved a riddle.  He really was unfairly handsome, Sarah thought.  "Pacin’ yourself?"

"Takes the curse off the hangover," Sarah lied.  "And I've made some dumb decisions while drunk."

"Mmm?  What sorta dumb decisions?"

"Aggravated assault decisions," Sarah said.  Before he could ask, she amplified, "Got in a bar fight with a couple of dickheads over a Lions game.  Put'em in the hospital.  Took a plea, did a year, completed my probation about fifteen years ago.  Luna's blood I feel old now."

"I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Sarah said, noting the closer look he gave her.  She'd admit to going to seed a bit the last few years.  "I took boxing lessons all through high school.  I've got a decent left for my size.  And the other guys were really drunk."  Being able to ignore pain at will helped there.  Shifting to Glabro to match their height helped too.

"Makes sense," Beau shrugged.  "What're your sorrows that they need drowning?"

"Nothing that can really be helped," Sarah said, thinking of Misty giving her pups suck and glowing with joy, Chainsaw taking his broken heart back to the solace of his people and trying so hard not to blame her for losing Tripwire.  Roger, oh Gaia and Her mercy Roger--  "The inevitable march of time.  Makes me mopey.  Your problem on the other hand, sounds like something that can be addressed plain and simple.  Stay or go?"

"What do you think?  You have kids?"

"Had," Sarah said, her heart throbbing along the scar.  Charlie had lived there once, under her heart.  "She died."

"Oh Christ, I'm sorry," Beau said.  It was fascinating, she could read his heart in his face.  "I feel like a dick, whining about--"

"Hey," Sarah said, twisting in her seat and reaching over to take his hand.  "We're not talking about me, we're talking about you.  Let me ask you this; have you talked to your daughter about what she wants?"

"Yeah.  She didn't come right out'n say so but she wants me close.  She feels safe with me.  God knows why."

"Because she knows for a fact you'll deconstruct anyone who so much as looks at her wrong," Sarah said.  She thought a minute.  "Your girl's how old, sixteen, seventeen?"

"She'll be seventeen in a few months."

"My advice, for what it's worth," Sarah said, "is call her tomorrow when you both have time to talk.  Ask her what she needs from you.  Does she need her daddy or does she need her father?"

"There's a difference?" Beau asked.  He hadn't moved to take his hand back.  Instead he gripped at her fingers.

"Yeah, there is.  Daddy makes your problems go away.  Father helps you fight them yourself.  If you try to be her father when she really needs her daddy, you'll wind up making her feel alone.  Unsafe.  If you try to be her daddy when she needs her father, you'll wind up undermining her sense of herself.  That'll push her away, just when she really does need you."

Beau stares at you.  "That's possibly the least stupid thing I've heard in a long time."

"Oh thanks," Sarah snorted.

"No I meant-- sorry, I didn't say that right."

"What I mean is," Sarah said, "if you're making the decision for her sake, it might not be a bad idea to make her feel like she's got something of a say in it.  You got a life here that you like and want to keep, and that's okay.  But you got a duty to her.  Wise woman told me once, if there's a conflict between your head and your heart duty gets the tiebreaker.  At least then if it turns out you made a mistake you won't get eaten alive by your own conscience."

Quiet from her drinking partner as he finished off his beer.  He didn't let go of her hand and Sarah didn't take it back.  Been a while, since she'd felt warm at the thought of a man's hands.  His were nice, big and thick-fingered, nails clipped close and tidy.

"Thank you," he said as he put the dead soldier down.  "That actually helps a lot."

"What'd'you think you'll wind up doing?"

"I don't know," he admitted.  "Least now I can think the problem through instead of just brooding over it.  But now I got another problem."

"Mmm?  What's that?" Sarah asked.

A slow smile lit the other man's face, turning him from nice to look at to honestly breathtaking.  "I gotta think of another problem for you to solve for me."

Sarah laughed.  "Smooth."

"Sorry, been a while since I tried to be good company to a lady."

"Lady?  Lady?  What lady?  Where lady?" Sarah asked, miming a confused look-around.  "Shit I wish you'd've told me you were trying to be a gentleman, I'd've used my company manners."

"No no no," he deflected with a raised hand, "you've been delightful.  I'm just sorry I'm out of problems for you to solve for me."

"If you're having car trouble I can take a look--" Sarah teased.

"Naw, Pedro's running like a sweetheart."  No mistake now, his hand was holding hers.  His thumb swiped across the soft skin across the back.  Beau pivoted in his seat, opening his body more to Sarah.  "I, uh . . ."

"Is this the part where you invite me over for coffee or am I supposed to invite you for coffee?  I haven't done the coffee thing in a while," Sarah put it out there.  "Cuz if you don't mind a walk I'd love to have you over for coffee."

Beau considered.  His eyes were a little soft with the effect of the beers.  It made him look even cuter.  Luna's blood he must've harvested broken hearts by the truckload when he was younger.  "I'd like that.  Some coffee."

---

"Oh we need to make a pit stop at the 7-11," Sarah noted as they walked through the bar's parking lot.

"Oh yeah?  What for?" Beau asked.

"Coffee.  You take cream and sugar?"

That surprised him into a laugh.

---

Beau paused when he got down to her underwear.  "It's okay," Sarah reassured him as he looked her over.  At the roadmap of battle scars all over her body.  "If they're a mood-killer for you that's fine.  We can get a good night's sleep and no hard feelings."

"They're very much not," Beau said, touching her face.  "Just don't find it so weird you put a couple guys in the hospital all of a sudden."

Beau had a few battle scars of his own, some knife cuts and a couple of bullet holes.  He seemed to view them dispassionately, a source of neither pride nor shame.  "Mmm," he grunted as Sarah traced light fingers over his ribs.  "Tickles."

"Sorry."  She firmed her touch, slid her hand to caress his chest.  Firm definition under a healthy layer of squish, haired up a bit across his pecs and down his tummy.  She picked up his hand and examined the tattoo on the inside of his forearm-- a fleur-de-lis with a crown and anchor.  "This is French isn't it?"

"Mmm-hmm," Beau said.  "My mother's family's French.  My real legal name's Beaumont Theodore Arlen."

"Beaumont Theodore?  You poor poor boy," Sarah said.

Smiling, Beau put a hand on her shoulder.  "What about this?" his thumb rubbed over the tribal pictogram inked below her collarbone.  Faded with age, not that it mattered.

"Sort of a family mark," Sarah vastly oversimplified.  "The ones on my arms're relics of a gang I ran with when I was younger.  And what have we got here?" she asked as she put her palm over his zipper.

"Well darlin’ thishere's a fella love'ta meet you very much," Beau grinned.

"Luna's blood don't tell me you named it," Sarah groaned around her giggles, as she worked his button open and slowly lowered the zipper.  "On second thought," she said after working his pants down enough to get a look at him, "a fella this handsome probably deserves a name."

"We don't really blush in Texas, so let me," Sarah squeaked as Beau reared up and flipped them over, pinning her beneath his body and giving her a kiss, "demonstrate my appreciation."

"Oh my," Sarah sighed.  Beau kissed down the pad of tummy fat, carefully avoiding the straight line of her hysterectomy scar.  "Your mama raised a very polite boy."  Tipping her a wink, Beau split her with his thumbs and applied his mouth.  Sarah just shut her eyes and enjoyed it.  She couldn't remember the last time a man had done that for her.

"Such a mess for me," Beau noted when he came up for air.  Hot and flushed and panting, Sarah watched him squirm his pants off to land of the floor.  He belly-crawled and rolled to flop next to Sarah, hot and really unfairly fucking glorious in his birthday suit.  He had his wallet in his hand and with a little pleased grunt he pulled a condom out of the inner pocket.

"Allow me," Sarah said, taking the packet away from him.  Beau gave a little be-my-guest wave.  He fit in her hand just right, hot and firm.  Hearing him moan was lovely, as she clamped the condom packet between her lips and just played with him.  Easy to forget how much fun cocks were to just play with.

Beau seized Sarah's hand.  "Gotta stop a second," he panted.  "It's late, I'm tired, and I'm pretty sure I'm only gonna be able to do this once."

"Sorry, got carried away," Sarah said.  Wrapping him up was the work of a minute.  "How do you want me, cowboy?"

“Mmm . . . right about here I think,” Beau said, tugging her up and rolling her beneath him.  Sarah sighed as he pressed into her.  He was warm, warm and thick.  “Oh you make little sounds,” Beau said, because of course he was a talkative lover.

“Careful please,” Sarah said, breathing through the stretch, Little Beau wasn’t very little and it’d been a while.

“Accourse, accourse,” Beau kissed her.  “Lord Jesus you feel nice.  All soft and warm.”

“Careful, careful,” Sarah said as Beau braced his arm on the bed.  He lifted her leg and his hips moved in a wave.  Sarah sighed, he was moving inside her just so nice.  “Goddess yes,” she sighed.

Grinning big and bright, Beau brought her carefully to the edge and over.

As sparkles snapped along her nerves, Sarah flipped Beau over and returned the favor.

---

Glass cool and dusty under his fingertips, the heart inside still vivid red with the living blood it had once driven forth.  Twist slowly clockwise and the masking tape label bearing the single word in Sharpie -- EMILY--

Whirl around and there she was, the she become an it, laying with eyes open and empty right along with the chest.  And more.  There were other jars, other names.

CARLA.  RANDY.  BEN.  DENISE.  CASSIE.

Open empty eyes, open empty bodies, and the knife with her name was in his hand--

Beau woke up gasping.  Breathing exercises, breathing exercises, pull on the air there's plenty of it.  Beau pulled in for five heartbeats, pushed out for five heartbeats.  In, out.  His heart slowed as his breathing did.  Under the sheets his toes clenched and relaxed.  Beau let the motion ground him, pull him back to himself and the world where Emily was okay and it was just a dream.

And a world where he wasn't alone tonight.  How 'bout that.

Sarah wasn't any kind of beauty, a woman pushing fifty who'd lived hard and looked it.  On the other hand, she'd been kind without making him feel like he needed to be managed like Carla, and without the baggage of mutual attraction like Jenny, and not someone whose good opinion he cared about like Cassie or someone who’d been through enough already like Denise.  Beau got feelings about people sometimes, and his intuitions told him Sarah was good at carrying secret things.

He checked his phone, nodded at the lack of messages, and burrowed back under the covers.  As he did, Sarah grunted a bit.  Her muscles were rigid and her breathing was short and shallow.  Carefully, Beau spooned himself behind her.  "Hey there," he said softly, kissing her shoulder, "hey wake up, it's a dream, shh."

"I know that babe," she said, sleepy but clear, "I've had bad dreams all my life."  She rolled over and let Beau pull her close.  Kissing him, she asked, "What about you?  You okay?"

"Yeah."  He kissed the top of her head.  Stroking down her back and making a mental map of the scars under his fingers.  "My daughter's okay, the bad guy's dead."

"Right.  Just your imagination being a dick to you."  That made him chuckle.  "Go back to sleep.  Sounds like you could use it."

"Yeah," Beau agreed.  He took a breath from her hair, smelling cigarettes and beer and sex.  All that plus a warm body alongside his-- all of it pulling him far away from his usual and customary.  It felt nice, a little time-out from his reality where all the choices seemed bad for one reason or another. Beau shut his eyes and let fatigue do its thing.

When he woke up next the bed was empty and the room was full of morning light.  The bathroom door was shut and he could hear the blow dryer.  And singing-- Beau chuckled when he heard Sarah's alto voice singing something he didn't recognize.  Something sweet and melancholy, something that made Beau wish for his guitar.  God, there's something he hadn't thought seriously about in forever, just one of the many small joys that had died with Randy--

That's not true, something in his head spoke up, and for once the voice was gentle instead of accusatory.  Not dead, just put away for a while.  He wondered if Jenny sang, wondered if her voice went high and sweet or deep and smooth--

As he thought he sat up and found his phone.  No messages, thank the good Lord.  As he sent a quick good morning text to Emily, the blow dryer shut off.  "I alone, survived the sinking," Sarah's voice went softer, mindful that someone might be sleeping, "I alone, possessed the tools, on that ship of fools."

Sometimes a man is cursed with the need to know a thing.  Beau opened the browser on his phone and started typing.

The bathroom door opened and Sarah emerged wrapped in a towel, brushing out her long brown hair.  "Oh, good morning.  Shower's free."

"Thanks," Beau gave her a smile and hit the restroom.

---

Sarah got dressed as Beau got cleaned up and ready to face the day.  The day was shaping up beautifully, just right for a long drive down out of the mountains.  Been a long time since she'd been so by herself, not tied up in her responsibilities as pack alpha or sept warder or tribal elder or den mother.  And such lovely new memories to reflect on, she thought with a smile.  If tired and drunk Beau was this fantastic in bed she truly envied the woman who landed him long-term, scars and all.

She was just finishing up with the packing when the bathroom door opened.  "Hey," she said, "I'm on my way out the door but if you want we could grab some breakfast and I can drop you off somewhere."

It wasn't Beau looking at her, it was a cop studying a suspect.  Those beautiful eyes said very clearly bullshit me at your own risk.  "I know who you are."

"Really," Sarah said, pulling her bag up onto her back.  She stood straight and met his hard stare with her own.  "And who am I?"

"Stalinski, Sarah Michaela," Beau recited.  "Person of interest in the Chippewa Valley reactor bombing, person of interest in the Exxon Transit Pipeline sabotage, suspect in the murder of Willard Mikaelian--"

"AKA the Panty Man, and my daughter was his last victim," Sarah pointed out.  He never got to hurt another baby girl again, was the part she didn't say.  The law didn’t handle him for shit.  I did.  She left that part unsaid too.

Beau blinked, but that was all.  "You've got an FBI file thicker'n the King James Bible and your name's on half a dozen terrorist watch lists."

Sarah kept his gaze.  She really didn't want to hurt him if she didn't have to, not as a cop doing his duty.  "So."

"So."

"Am I under arrest?  Being taken in for questioning?  Detained just for the hell of it?"  Because that wasn't happening.

He didn't answer right away.  "No.  No, the only thing I can honestly accuse you of is getting drunk in a bar.  Which isn't illegal."

"Then,” Sarah asked, clapping her hands on her thighs, “why the dramatic reveal?  You wanna feel like you got the upper hand on me?  You got it, you win, fair and square."  He hadn’t and never would, but if the Goddess was good he’d never know that.

"Fine,” Beau said, and Sarah made a mental note to check his bloodlines because a human should not have this much presence, “I want you out of my county, and I don't want to ever see your face here again.  If I do I will turn you over to the feds.  Clear?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow.  "Your county?  Sheriff?"

Beau blinked.

"Sounds like your decision's been made.  And message received-- Helena is a no-fly zone from now on."  Sarah opened the door, but turned to look back at her one-night lover.  "For what it's worth," she said, "you're a good man, and you need to cut yourself some slack.  Take care of yourself Beau Arlen."

With that food for thought plated and served, Sarah shut the door and headed for the car.  Stranger In Town went in the stereo and Sarah drove away into the risen sun.

---

AN2: The scene stuck in my head so hard, I had to write it out. I just got done watching Big Sky, and it's a deep shame the series wasn't picked up for a fourth season-- I'd've loved to have seen Beau and Jenny running head-to-head in the next sheriff's election. Oh, and gotten more Emily. I love Emily.

[archetypal-archivist]

A Kinder World AU- Part 2

Las Casualonas

masterlist

When Foolish first moved to Quesadilla island, he felt incredibly out of place and when that feeling didn’t fade away after the first month or two, he used the energy he put into worrying into something he liked better- building. Quesadilla’s lone night club, Las Casualonas, is the result. As a way of giving back to the community, it was a resounding success, and it’s now a popular tourist destination for mainlanders hoping to get away for a bit. The night club is staffed by people Vegetta hired, including a figure named Cucurucho as the bartender and a series of identical siblings who all dress in black and green as the wait staff. Mariana also works here, if against his will- Vegetta had blackmail and he needed a job. However, given that there was no dress code, Mariana had the last laugh: he shows up to every shift in a maid dress because if he has to be uncomfortable serving drinks, he’s going to make everyone else uncomfortable too.

1) The main entrance to the night club is right on the water and it feeds into the check-in desk, coat closet, and a lounge where those who are particularly drunk may sleep off the worst of their drinks if it isn’t safe to go home. On a busy night, it’s not uncommon to find a whole fleet of row boats and small watercraft anchored near this front door. It can cause a fair bit of traffic, which the locals find hilarious.

2) The largest tower contains the bar, the kitchen, the bathrooms, and a small dining area. It’s usually very noisy and crowded in here and music from the DJ booth on the upper patio is fed directly into all levels of the tower through an elaborate speaker system set up by Maximus. Although the man isn’t official Casualonas staff, he works enough odd jobs in the community that it isn’t any surprise that he has something of an executive position here too. Foolish, at least, appreciates the help and Maximus��� fondness for DJing on Fridays is a boon to everyone with a love for a good party.

3) The lower deck makes for a good place to talk and smoke, the distance from the DJ station and the fairy lights strung about giving this place a quieter air. It also serves as a place of respite for those who dislike the drunken flirting and chaotic atmosphere of parties. Spreen in particular has a corner behind a potted plant where he stores his stash of weed, the better to distance himself from the noise of it all. If asked politely, he may even share.

4) The upper deck is where most of the dancing happens and it’s where the DJ of the night does their thing. Who is playing varies from night to night, but it’s often on a volunteer basis- many mainlanders hoping to show their skills and pass out CDs of their mixes come here to play. Of course, that leads to the music quality varying a great deal too, but when the drinks start flowing, no one really cares about that. Usually. If the music is truly horrific, the DJ will get booed off stage or shoved into the water below “accidentally” and one of the locals will pull out their personal instrument and play for the night. When Missa is home, this is one of his favorite things to do and given how often bad DJs are scheduled for the days when he’s around, one wonders if this is Vegetta’s way of getting the man to play his guitar more. The extra money that rolls into the night club when Missa plays may have something to do with it too.

5) Las Casualonas is built to be incredibly sturdy, with a heavy frame and solid steel pylons dug deep into the bedrock below to keep the gleaming white towers supported in even the worst storm. It is Foolish’s safety-first mindset when building that kept the night club above water when the worst storm in Quesadilla’s history hit. Many of the island’s residents were trapped inside for the duration of the storm, watching from the double-thick windows as rain and gale force winds pounded against the glass. Quackity and the Brazilians were among those stuck within the towers during the storm, which may have saved their lives as the tempest nearly took Tilin’s life and destroyed much of the Brazilians’ home, although they only found out later once the worst had seemingly past.

[macgyvermedical]

I feel like US television producers/writers are really missing out on something by not setting a TV show on an actual hospital med-surg unit with nurses as the main characters.

I'm talking about a scrubs-meets-superstore type of dramedy:

Half the nurses have (a) particular room(s) they won't go into because they watched someone die bad(TM) in it. One nurse is milking this and it makes it impossible to do the assignment chart.

Two of the nurses on night shift are having an affair. It's been going on for two years, exclusively at work, they've definitely had sex at work multiple times, both are married. Beyond the occasional casual mention and visual gag of them making out in the supply closet, it virtually never comes up. That's their business.

The hospital is scrubs-level normal hospital looking. There's at least one ceiling tile missing. The wall paper is 50 years old and has nicotine stains. It's certainly not whatever fancy-ass hospital House works at.

In a striking reversal of all other hospital shows ever, none of the residents and only about half of the attendings have names. They only show up about five minutes a day anyway. In theory they're real people but we know literally nothing about them.

Someone is screaming. Constantly. Every episode. Sometimes it's for help. Sometimes it's for lettuce. Usually it's just a patient with dementia masturbating really loudly.

There's an old nurse(TM) named Celeste or something. She is 78. Probably. She has a bad hip and a three strike rule when it comes to alarms. As in- if you're A+Ox4 and you are the direct cause of the beeping, she will reset the alarm for you exactly twice. If you mess it up a third time you get to beep until the end of her shift. It's not like its bothering her.

Celeste has the worst pottymouth of anyone you've ever met.

There's one token cis male nurse who exists solely for the female gaze.

There's another male nurse and he's trans. Everyone knows it except the one Extremely Christian(TM) nurse, and they all make gender-y jokes at that nurse's expense.

There's one nurse who's super power is to extremely accurately predict the amount of urine in someone's bladder.

Black Humor. Black Humor everywhere....

An entire episode devoted to the ethicality of cramming uneaten patient food when you're starving and you've got 6 hours left in a shift where you know you're not going to get your government mandated break.

An entire run about one nurse's extremely long dry spell of being totally unable to successfully insert an IV.

An entire episode dedicated to trying to scare the nursing supervisor with patient situations, only for the situations to pale in comparison to everything else the nursing supervisor has had to deal with so far that night.

Visual gag of every call light going off simultaneously at 6:55.

Someone pooped in front of the nursing station. Again.

Someone pulled off their telemetry monitor. Again.

Everyone looking at the monitor at the nurse's station trying to figure out if it's really V-Tach or just artifact from the bed vibrating.

An episode devoted to administration expressing their needs for the nurses to have better customer service, followed by a series of impossible situations in which "better customer service" would actually kill someone.

Psychogenic Seizure Girl(TM) is back.

Every single patient on one nurse's assignment is a full-code gomer.

Multiple gags of what actually happened (patient asked nurse what part of africa she was from before attempting to hit her with a dignicare bag and quoting bible verses) and what it said in the chart (patient used racially and religiously-charged language during assault with medical equipment).

A family member accidentally hit the code button.

A family member purposefully hit the code button but the patient was just in a lil pain.

A die good(TM) vs die bad(TM) episode that encourages viewers to be specific about what they want to happen when it's their turn to go.

A visual gag about 18 family members crammed into a room, all silently watching the nurse. Their heads move in unison. The tension is palpable.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

late night | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook leaves his apartment to buy Pokémon bread, only for a woman to be standing there staring at him. The same woman is wearing his white t-shirt. The one she stole from him.

warnings: language; mentions of alcohol consumption and slut-shaming; misunderstandings; feels / fluff; pining!JK x slut?reader

i know what this looks like, but just trust me ;)

--

"Gah!"

The door slammed shut so fast that he had to spring out of the way in order to avoid it. A pair of piercing eyes tracked his movement, her head tilting, her hair cascading down her left shoulder.

Silence.

"Don't... Don't do that," he managed to get out, heart racing, blood rushing, acceleration too quick and too soon.

She stared at him, silent.

"That's what stalkers do. You... you aren't stalking me, right?"

The woman by his front door blinked slowly, giving no answer.

All Jeon Jungkook wanted to do this late night was hunt for Pokémon bread. He was going to eat all the bread and give the stickers to his hyungs that did collect them. Win-win. Er, other than the possible kilos he would have to work off later. In his defense, the bread was rather delicious. Someone had to eat them. Jungkook believed he was a worthy opponent.

And anyway, he wasn't aware of what other options were available for his restless and bored mind.

Those eyes suddenly looked away from him.

"I'm not stalking you. I was just passing by."

Jungkook looked around, seeing only the outside walkway of the fourth floor of his apartment building. To reach his front door, one would have walk around to the back to take the stairs or through the front lobby to the resident-only elevator that required a pin code. Half the lights up here were broken.

It was not part of the street sidewalk by any means.

Jungkook looked back at the woman by his door.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing."

He didn't believe it. "You're doing that thing again."

She was staring across the well-kept courtyard. Evidently plants were more important to the landlord than nightlights.

"What thing?" she replied absentmindedly.

"That thing where you can't look at me."

"I looked at you."

It hurt somehow, her response.

He frowned, feeling deflated. "Is that all? Are you going to leave?"

Silence.

A breeze ruffled his hair, still with a bite of cold. Spring was close, but not quite.

She turned back and those eyes came back to him. They were his favorite feature, beautifully shaped with a sharpness at the inner corner. Roundness but an edge to her gaze. Attentive and watching his every move.

"I wanted to look at something pure," she said softly, staring at him.

Something ached in Jungkook’s chest, constricted and pierced with thorns.

She was wearing a long sleeve black shirt and velvet black leggings with a burnout pattern of constellations. Pointed black boots with gunmetal buckles shaped like coffins. No make-up, messy hair pulled to the left, black face mask hanging off a black chain, limp around her neck.

His white t-shirt over it all, loose and oversized on her pretty frame.

Jungkook knew it was his because it had been missing ever since he woke up that one night and discovered that it – and she – disappeared.

“My friends tell me I shouldn’t get involved with you,” he said back to her, feeling helpless.

She nodded, not denying it. “They are right. You shouldn’t.”

She looked away from him again and he already missed her even though she was right there.

“Where are you going to go?”

He really meant, who are you going to go to and why isn’t it me?

She shrugged.

“There’s nowhere to go.”

“But where are you going to go?” he pressed and there was a hint of broken to his voice and he knew it was there but he couldn’t stop it because he needed to know, had to know, and he didn’t mean where, he meant who, but he couldn’t ask like that, he wasn’t brave enough, not now, not on this late night.

Not when he knew how badly it was going to hurt.

Her eyes flickered to the ground, narrowing the distance between them.

“I told you there was nowhere to go,” she said hauntingly.

Both dismissive and validating at the same time.

He breathed out, feeling relieved because of it.

Her head snapped up. They were back to him again, those eyes, eyes of a cornered animal, eyes of fighter, eyes that didn’t believe in happy endings, broken eyes, and there was nothing else Jungkook wanted more than look into those broken eyes and see himself whole.

Her lips parted and she almost said something, but then she stopped herself, silent once more.

“What?” he begged, pleading for answers.

She was about to turn away again, but he shook his head quickly, the emotional dam on the verge of breaking. A pause. Those dark orbs shifted but they came back. A thousand words in that gaze and he didn’t have the means to decipher them, so he needed her to say it, please, please give me a sign, please let me know if I’m right or I’m horribly wrong, don’t do this. She ticked her chin, exhaling.

Those broken eyes narrowed, casting shadows onto the facets cracked within.

“You should listen to your friends.”

Stop hiding.

“What do you actually want to say?”

He meant for it to sound harsh.

It didn’t because he lacked the hate.

She blinked slowly, taking precious milliseconds away from him.

His mind told him to let go but his heart told him to hold on, remembering her touch, remembering her hand on his, pulling his drink away from him, you should stop, his half-drunk mumbles, you can’t tell me what to do, her sober reasoning, I’m not telling you, I’m stopping you, his anger lashing out, give it back, but she pushed the drink out of the way and he pushed her instead, shoving her to the floor.

She hadn’t said anything.

Those eyes glanced at him for only a moment and he saw how broken they were.

And then it was, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and he tried to pick her up, tears blurring his vision, but she pushed him away and he fell to the floor, ashamed at himself and what he was becoming, but she wrapped her hand around his forearm and dragged him up, dragged him away from the bar and the alcohol, dragged him home, and he ruined everything because the next morning he woke up and he was alone.

She observed him now, an injured animal.

Nodded slowly, sticking her tongue in her cheek. A tight sucking sound and then she breathed out.

“You know why I don’t have friends?”

He didn’t.

“I don’t trust people. Especially people like you.”

That night, back then, he had held her to him. Tried to kiss her. She had stopped him, smoothing out his hair, pressing her lips to his forehead, whispering him to be still, be silent. He had dotted his lips on all skin available, messy and confused, craving the closeness, and she had kept her lips and the distance between them, murmuring his apologies away, brushing his tears out of his eyes, keeping him under his own covers.

“Liars, you know they’ll lie. Cheaters, you know they’ll cheat. Self-centered fucks will always think about themselves before you. There’s no guilt in crushing their hearts.”

He had told her he would do anything, he just wanted it, please, and her breath against his forehead silenced him, not a good idea, Jungkook, you know what they say about me, and his garbled reply, I don’t care, it’s fine, do whatever you want, and yet she remained calm, shh, close your eyes now, I’ll hold you.

And she did.

Until she disappeared the next morning, taking his t-shirt with her.

Jungkook stared into those eyes.

She knew what people would say when she took him home.

She knew what people would say when she was wearing his white t-shirt out in public.

She knew what people said and she knew that he believed them.

But she was standing here anyway.

“People like you,” she said quietly, adding no inflection to her voice which added the most significant nuance of all. “People like you are ride or die without even knowing who the other person is, operating only on instinct and emotion, not with logic.”

That was how he knew he was right.

She scoffed. “You’re too good for me, you know.”

It was the other way around, but he knew she wouldn’t believe it no matter how many times he said it.

“Why did you come?” he finally asked.

She blinked slowly, precious milliseconds and clouding the broken facets within. Still, she held his gaze, his heart accelerating once more.

“I told you. I wanted to look at something pure.”

Silence.

Precious moments of staring into those eyes.

He took a step forward.

Her shoulders shifted, the stance of a cornered animal.

“I’m not pure.”

For the first time in this conversation, she smiled, lighting his world despite the threatening darkness of the night.

“If you say so.”

He remembered her arms around him, holding him together when he was ready to fall apart, ready make bad decisions, calling her up and knowing what everybody said, but she took his drink away and held him together. Didn’t let him to do it but let everyone else think he did. They called him savage for serving such retribution to his ex.

Doing it with that lying, cheating, self-centered slut.

He hadn’t done anything.

And neither had she.

Jungkook took another step forward.

She almost took a step back, but he said, “No one is watching you.”

She stopped moving, watching him.

His heart was racing. He wondered, what if, what if he hadn’t picked this moment to step outside, would she still be here or would she have walked away, said nothing, done nothing? Was this his serendipitous moment or simply pure dumb luck? The universe’s grace or a wrinkle in time?

“I don’t like people,” she reminded him, wary as he approached.

“Me neither,” he admitted. “They’re liars, they’re cheaters, and they’re self-centered fucks.”

The side of her lips quirked and she tried not to smile.

That made him grin.

“I could be all those things,” she retorted.

No, you can’t.

“You could be.”

He leaned down, closing the distance between their shared gaze.

“I could be too,” he whispered against her lips.

Her eyes searched his, seeing his blatant lie.

“Yeah, I guess you could,” was her nonchalant reply. “You’re making a bad decision right now.”

Jungkook shrugged.

“Bad decisions can have good consequences.”

And he pressed his lips against hers, breathing in her soft sigh of defeat before she kissed him back. Soft, dainty, tasting like light citrus. Gently, and then she drew back, but not too far, just close enough so he could still smell the strong sweetness of her perfume and feel her beside him. Their eyes closed, seeing each other with the rhythm of their breath.

"You can't fix me with kisses," she muttered, sounding helpless.

"You're not broken," he breathed back. "That's just what everyone says and they're liars."

She chuckled, once, a single puff of air against his shaking lips. Silence again in the darkness behind their eyelids, but he was comfortable here, his body close to hers, his fingers lingering on her forearms. There was still that little fear that she might slip away like a ghost.

"You could have messed me up like everyone says you do."

An intangible tension suddenly formed.

"Yeah, I could have," she retorted hollowly.

"Why didn't you?"

He didn't want to open his eyes to find her looking away from him. Instead, he caressed her elbows, fingertips against the tension, trying to relieve it.

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Fou–

"Seemed like a fucked-up thing to do to someone who isn't fucked up in the first place."

Jungkook cracked open his eyes.

That piercing gaze was watching him in shadows, under lashes.

"I was fucked up then," he breathed, chills all over.

It sucked, admitting it. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to admit the faults of his ex could fuck him up, but betrayal was betrayal. Despise thinking that he could move on and find someone better, the sin of wrath eventually won. After all, the sin of wrath breathed and walked in the form of a lying, cheating, self-centered slut.

At least, that was what everyone said.

She reached between them. Tapped two fingers against his temple.

"Here."

Lowered her hand, pressing her fist to the left side of his chest, pressing in hard, so hard he could feel knuckles against his pounding muscle.

"But not here."

She looked into his eyes and he was holding her but Jungkook was already missing her from the distance in her gaze.

She gave him a humorless smile.

"Why would you want to make bad decisions with me?" she whispered, her words and the lack of light both leaving them in shadows in this late night.

Her fist remained over his heart.

"Everyone needs a partner in crime," he whispered back with her knuckles threatening to pierce his heart like thorns. "If you always get away with it, how will anyone vouch for what you've done unless you have a partner?"

Airless silence.

She broke it, removing her hand from his chest.

"Where were you going to go earlier?"

He told the truth. "I was bored so I was going to buy Pokémon bread."

She blinked slowly. "Why? You like Pokémon?"

"I like bread."

"You could have gone drinking."

He shrugged. "You didn't answer my call."

"You have friends."

"They aren't you."

"Easy?" she accused.

He gave her a half-smile. "Difficult. You didn't let me have sex with you even though I made it easy."

The bite disappeared from her expression. The distance didn't seem quite so far now. Her arms were still by her sides but she was holding him with her eyes as he held her in his hands.

"Besides."

She waited even though he paused, feeling the little fear creep into his thoughts. He pushed it away, placing his forehead against hers, making her look up at him.

"I wanted to ask you something."

Those eyes on his, and he wanted to say, I'm yours, even though she was nowhere near saying, be mine, and yet.

"Ask what?"

And yet.

"I was going to ask you to hold me again, until sunset."

He felt she could read what he wanted to say, because she was looking into his eyes right now. A thousand words in his gaze and she deciphered them easily, determined to keep the distance between them.

"You mean sunrise."

He was determined to close the distance, no matter how far he had to run.

"No, I mean sunset."

Those broken facets in those orbs glittered with a thousand words that he wanted to learn.

"If you stay with me, you can steal my clothes all you want."

She raised an eyebrow and he felt it against his forehead. It made him smile.

"Then you'd be naked."

"Maybe then you'll be inspired to sleep with me."

"Is that all you are interested in?"

"I asked you to hold me first."

An amused puff floated against his lips.

"I heard you're amazing though."

"They got something right among all those lies."

He poked her nose with his. "Not fair. Show me."

"Thought you wanted to collect Pokémon bread. I heard a rumor that they stock it late at night to avoid the rush."

He was about to say something but then he felt a weight by his hip. Her hand, guiding him closer. Words forgotten, heartbeat accelerating, her lips softly pressing against his lip ring, his hot breath on her cheek, turning to find the kiss but there was none, her lips moving across all available skin that was anything except his lips, drawing out his breathless gasps, his eyes closing, cherishing the closeness.

She whispered to him.

"Be still."

Her hands on his hips, thumbs caressing the waistband of his jeans, on the edge.

"Be silent."

He was in love.

"I don't want to hurt you," she confessed against his chin, shuddering sigh, her hair feathering against his face. "You're too pure, Jungkook."

His hands slid up, fingers spreading over that narrow back, her body wearing his clothes. He was beginning to hate all those things everyone said about her as he felt this narrow back under his hands, oversized clothes and wary disposition hiding a beaten heart.

"You can't protect me unless you're next to me all the time," he murmured quietly, placing a light kiss on her nose.

She took a step back.

No.

His eyes opened.

"Where are you going?" he breathed, feeling helpless.

She turned her head away from him.

No.

He felt a tug at his hip, fingers hooked in the belt loop of his jeans.

"With you."

And then Jungkook realized she was still holding him, causing him to stumble slightly, clutching her shoulders, but she seemed not to mind, two fingers locked around the narrow strip of denim, keeping him to her.

"You said we're going to hunt for Pokémon bread."

She looked back, precious milliseconds of eye contact, playful smile dancing on her lips.

"You said I have to be next to you to protect you, so don't regret it."

He did not regret it already. He was ride or die the moment he woke up alone and finding the hanger with the missing white t-shirt. Shitty people did shitty things. Shitty people didn’t take care of others they had zero obligation to, especially when they were aware that they were about to be used. She could have hated him as easily as everyone else, but she stood at his doorstep and called him pure when he definitely wasn’t.

Jungkook tried to hold her hand. She dodged him, gripping another belt loop and tugging on it.

Raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not easy.”

He grinned at her stern tone, excitement burning his veins as he prepared himself for this wild ride.

She ticked her head to the stairs, into this late night.

“Where are we going, Jungkook?”

--

masterpost

[airshipsinking]

So what’s some inhuman!hermits concepts you have

Well, first of all none of my interpretations of the Hermits' characters are 100% human, so jot that down (/ref). Some appear humanoid because that's how their species looks, while others, if they have the ability to manipulate their appearance, just prefer to look like an approximation of a human to make hopping servers easier.

So far what I've settled on is:

glitch!Doc

watcher!Grian

starborne!Cub

shapeshifter!Mumbo (or as I like to call him: weird purple end cat /affectionate)

sorcerer!Scar (there's a reason he's on this list, trust me)

cinder!Tango

specter!Wels (and thus poltergeist!Hels)

werewolf!Beef

and a couple other fanon interpretations I haven't had the opportunity to meddle with, but have adopted nonetheless!

I've heavily built upon cinders and end shapeshifters with only little inspiration from other media, while for stuff like watchers, starbornes and the resident glitched creeper of Hermitcraft I've based them entirely on my headcanons of said species. Also, I've technically decided who most of Scar's deals were made with which does explain why he keeps making deals with fae and getting out of them, but that's for another time. More about my homebrewed chaos under cut.

Docm77

Doc had creeper code before he ever had Player code. He never was a regular creeper, mind you, but he never was a Player either prior to the glitch that created him as the Hermits know him. By all means, Doc is exactly what you'd assume he is upon first seeing him: a sentient, humanoid creeper centaur-like creature.

Much like regular creepers, he doesn't have bones, but a rather intricate network of thin branches and vines tightly woven together, the latter which serve as muscles and cushioning for internal organs. Creepers also have a coat of moss, lichen or small plants as their "fur" and Doc is no exception! He has a spanish moss coat that sometimes gets spotted with algae if he sits in humid environments for too long. Really his, Player-ness mostly consists in the ability to use crafting tables and inability to understand mob speak.

Doc's cybernetics also work in a really interesting fashion because they are very much cybernetics, but as creepers can somewhat regrow parts of themselves they are different from cybernetics meant for those whose anatomy is closer to humans. The shoulder and biceps part of his cybernetic arm are mostly hollow, and serve as both a brace to ensure the regrown arm doesn't do something wonky that'd be painful in the long run, and as an anchoring point for the cybernetic. Everything from his elbow down is 100% cybernetics and helps him immensely with fine motor movements although it took a good long while to get used to. The cybernetic eye also works similarly, except the cybernetic components are far better secured so he doesn't accidentally end up pulling them out.

Grian

Hermitcraft Grian is the most human the guy has ever looked, black sclerae and all. Before being a Watcher, Grian was an avian and had brown and white spotted pigeon wings, then after agreeing to become a Watcher (it sounded fun at the time, sue him) he took the form of a chimera of wings of different shapes, sizes and color, no two of the same feather.

Arguably, Hermits wouldn't mind having an amalgamation of wings and eyes ominously hovering about and causing mischief because that's not that weird given the everything that has happened and will most certainly continue to happen on the Hermitcraft server, but Grian is acutely aware this is not a universal consensus while simultaneously having a very poor reference of how common non-human inclusion actually is because of his years in the fringes of "the world between worlds" where legend places the Watchers' library in relation to everything else, so he's...a little nervous about his appearance to put it lightly. Watchers are not evil, nor righteous— they do what they feel they must to keep up with their work logging the events of an ever-expanding universe, and wade off the subsequent boredom that comes with such a repetitive task.

Grian and Pearl are both oddballs when it comes to their abilities as Watchers, because while most can capital w Watch and capital k Know, they can only do one or the other; Grian can only Know things and Pearl can only Watch things. This ultimately has influenced why they left— Grian because he wanted to see things for himself and interfere in Player's worlds and Pearl because she was sick of clinical observations and wanted to get to experience the things she saw for herself— but in the grand scheme of things they barely ever use their powers anymore for anything other than getting a different angle on their builds and cheating at cards when facing off against each other.

Cubfan135

Mr. Cubfan is quite literally made up of stardust and often leaves little particles of iron dust and ice wherever he goes! Appearing human is a purely aesthetic choice on his behalf, but the upkeep is definitely worth it because it allows him to get up to so many shenanigans with his friends or by himself, be it theming his outfit around the base he plans to build that season, convincing the others he also made a deal with the vex like Scar had in season 6, or just going up to a sleepy Hermit and placing a very cold hand on their face or back of the neck to wake them up.

There's also other pros and cons to being a starborne, namely having permanent night vision, healing faster at night, and requiring air in a far lesser capacity than most overworld inhabitants, while also being more susceptible to fall damage and kinetic damage due to gravity discrepancies between different planets. Does this deter Cub from building ridiculously high up? No. Should it deter him from building so damn high up? Yes, but when has common sense ever deterred Hermits from doing something? /rh

Also, unrelated to Cub being a starborne, but he has Oxford shoe heelies. I know it in my heart to be true <3.

Mumbo Jumbo

As far as Mumbo is concerned, he is just a very unlucky human. I mean, everyone has weird things happen to them sometimes, right? There's nothing that odd about speaking a language that was thought to only be used in written form, or spawning in the Outer End, or turning into the things you eat— bugs happen, and they usually fix themselves after a while anyways, so it's fine! Shulkers target everyone the same, he's just bad at dodging, so it looks like they're targeting him more often, but that's totally not the case! Or, well, that are his claims at least, because for as long as he can remember he's thought of himself as human, so being inhuman is a bit...intimidating? Like, what does it mean to be inhuman? Is there a handbook for it or anything? There are far too many questions and every time Mumbo even considers it, he only seems to end up with more questions, so he'd really rather not think about it. Nothing bad ever came out of doing that! /s

Well, until something bad does happen, and the control he has on his appearance slips meaning that for the first time in many seasons he's not a moustached man with eye bags that wouldn't go away even with a lifetime's worth of sleep, but an end shapeshifter.

There aren't many reflective surfaces in the End unless you count the obsidian (too dark to see your image in) or the endstone (neither smooth nor crystalline), so whispy purple and off-white fur was definitely not what Mumbo expected to see. He has 2 pairs of eyes— a smaller one that's entirely black and looks kind of like a pair of eyebrows, and a bigger one with large purple irises— floppy triangle ears with some sort of whiskers on the ends, an off-white fur collar that starts on the sides of his neck and peaks between his shoulders before trailing off down his spine, 5 digit paws, and a stripe pattern starting on the sides of his body and covering his back and legs.

TangoTek

As mentioned, Tango is a cinder, though not the kind you would think of if you know the Lycanite's Mobs mod. Cinders were a proto-netheric species with blaze and wither like characteristics, meaning they could summon netherflames like blazes do while virtually being a more primitive version of wither skeletons from an anatomical standpoint. Now, being a skeleton is not exactly the best thing to be when your most important and only vital organ is a magic core inside your rib cage, so cinders built themselves bodies out of wax (as it made them easy to repair) tempered to withstand the ambient heat of the Nether.

Upon first meeting the Hermit, most find themselves inclined to assume that he's a fire elemental in the same way Gem is a nature elemental because of his ability to summon fire which passively manifests as a particularly fiery fauxhawk (good for finding soulsand valleys, apparently, which is both useful and annoying), or a sorcerer who's made a deal to gain the abilities of his patron like Scar does because of his red eyes and sharp teeth. There are little tells that's not true, though, mostly which lay in how him and other Hermits interact; Impulse joking that if he's so tired of wither skeleton hunting they could always take up Zed's offer of trying to see if they can summon a Wither Tango...for science, of course! Or Tango's endless complaining about blazes, and pistons misfiring and slamming him square in the face or legs which mean he has to put projects on hold while he patches himself up. Or even just him and Etho arguing from across the shopping district through a dialect that's not any recognizable sign language, but a form of sign language nonetheless.

Pre-1.15 worlds required many intentional respawns, tell you that much. The Nether has drastically changed since Tango first stepped into the Overworld.

Welsknight

Wels is stuck in an arthurian conundrum, so to speak. In life, Wels was a legendary knight who fought fiercely to defend his homeland and only died after the crucial battle to insure his kingdom's safety, but in death this feat has come as more of a curse/inconvenience to him as legend binds he shall only return to his homeland in its greatest time of need. Centuries have passed since then, and Wels has taken to accompanying the Hermits in their travels to pass the time in a more enjoyable manner than aimlessly wandering the world with no purpose— now he's aimlessly wandering the universe with purpose (i.e. shenanigans)! Very different.

Due to Wels being a specter, the miscalibrated cloning machine which created Helsknight made him into a poltergeist bound to haunt Wels for what they can only presume to be eternity? Or until Wels returns to his homeland? Or until Wels' spirit somehow dies? It's really quite unclear how they're supposed to get out of this, and Hels isn't exactly eager to find out what does happen if Wels dies, so he's spending his eternity just antagonizing his double for creating him in the first place and having quite a blast at it too— you should see his red string board someday, it's got so many devious schemes!

VintageBeef

Beef comes from a long line of werewolves, though there was no way to know for certain whether he was one as well until one faithful and quite frankly embarrassing full moon. If anyone asks about it, he says he can't remember much from when he's in wolf form, which is true, but none of the Mindcrack guys will let him live down trying to bite out of the moon, loosing his footing, and subsequently having to be dragged out of the river by 3 people so he didn't get a cold like a goof. Are there better anecdotes to motivate why you shouldn't panic if you see a large black wolf outside your base at 1 am? Yes. Is the moon accident an objectively funnier one, though? Also yes.

Besides the occasional incident, Beef is as chill in wolf form as he is in his less furry form, if not a tad more social because wolves can't exactly lose track of time while making map art as they can't make map art; they can be damn good at ruining snow layers, though— paw prints everywhere. It is not unusual to find Beef away from his base and sleeping in a pile of Hermits who still have to move out of their outdoors chest monsters (plus/minus a Zedaph who was too tired to make it all the way back to his own base) during the first few weeks of the server or in his sheep pen at any point of the season. They are very fluffy and make him sleepy is the reason the defendant pleads.

Oh! Also him, Ren and False sometimes hold contests to see who can catch the most impressive mob/get most hostile mob drops in a night. Cub is decidedly banned from this contest. Cub also decidedly doesn't care for the ban and likes to mess with his friends (all in good fun, of course).

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

New Duties

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, cheating, fuck machine, toys, tied up.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bucky’s wife is never around as much as the maid.

Based on these drabble requests:

Bucky Barnes + “If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought.” + Maid AU + Bucky is rich and married too, but his wife is never in the house so he decide have fun with the naive maid. 

Bucky Barnes + “You really think this is over?” + Fuck machine + honestly just the reader being tied up and left with a fuck machine and some overstimulation.

Both requested by anons.

The large house was often empty when you went there. You had a key on a tag and the alarm code written on it. You showed up in your black pants and matching shirt and let yourself in as you always did. You tied on your apron and looked around as you went over the work in your head. 

It was hard not to be envious of the grandiose abode. Hard not to feel bitter at all the money spent on the place and yet it seemed the resident never enjoyed it. They hired a maid, you, to clean the table they never ate at and make the bed which was the only lived-in part of the place.

You started on the lower floor as usual. Living room, dining room, kitchen, the office, the foyer, and the parlor dedicated to a carved pool table and shelves of expensive sculptures. You climbed the stairs and set off down the hall of unused rooms. There wasn’t much more to do than dust and check that the sheets didn’t smell musty.

As you approached the master bedroom, you stopped short as the door opened and you were met by one of the elusive owners of the mansion. You saw Bucky Barnes more than his wife but your run-ins were still rare. And you’d never seen him like this. You were embarrassed and off-centre as you were surprised to find him there.

He wore only a pair of silky pajama bottoms and his hair was amess, sticking out at all angles. His muscles moved under his skin as he rubbed his eyes and smiled at you. His voice was thick with drowsiness and he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said, “thought I heard someone.”

“I didn’t know you were here, sir,” you glanced around. It was late for him to be sleeping still.

“I took the red-eye home,” he shrugged, “don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you chuckled nervously, “I can come back when--”

“You sure?” he batted away the last of his tiredness with his lashes and leaned on the doorframe, “you almost jumped out of your shoes.”

“Uh, yeah,” you assured him and started to turn back.

“It’s fine, I’m up now,” he stopped you, “I’m gonna have a coffee…” he caught up to you and brushed by you, facing you as he blocked your path, “bedroom is all yours.”

You fidgeted as his eyes flicked away from your face for just and instant but you didn’t think much of it as the apron hid made your figure lumpy and vague. You nodded and gave another yes, sir. He watched you until you spun back and headed for the bedroom. You felt his gaze until you slipped inside and let out your breath at the rumpled blankets. 

You heard him descend the stairs and set down your bucket of supplies. You went to the bed and fixed his side of it. You could smell his sweat on the sheets still. Then you began to wipe down the edges of the tables and inspected for any inch of imperfection.

“Looks good in here,” his voice spooked you again. Bucky stepped inside and set his tall coffee mug on the polished table beside the door. “I’m glad I caught you, I did have a special request.”

“Oh?” you stilled the cloth and twisted it in your grip. You watched his metal arm as he he rubbed his middle finger with his thumb.

“Here,” he crossed the room and waved you over, “it’s a bit of a secret but… I haven’t had the time to take care of it myself.”

You watched as he went to the bookshelf on the far wall and he reached behind the gilded globe. He spun it slightly but you could see what exactly he was doing. There was a shift and the shelf lurched forward. He carefully pushed it over until the edge met the corner and a small doorway appeared.

Your eyes rounded in confusion and he chuckled as he looked over his shoulder, “our little secret,” he said, “I figured since you’re here…”

“I… yes, sir,” you neared as he waited, his hand on the shelf, and as you stepped by him, he quickly followed, so close you could feel his body heat.

You stopped short as he flipped on the light. A red haze cast over the hidden room. You were shocked, almost laughing in disbelief as your brain spun to process what you were seeing; leather cuffs hung from the wall on one side and a leather bench sat center with similar bounds, there was even a sex swing dangling from the ceiling. You never expected that but really, you tried not to think about your clients intimate habits.

The shelf shifted behind you and the room grew dimmer, only the scarlet shadows of the tinted bulb remained. You turned back to Bucky.

“My stuff,” you pointed to the wall behind him. There was no visible mechanism and that made you nervous.

“Oh, well, you see, I haven’t had a chance to use any of this,” he shrugged and stepped closer. You inch backwards and dropped the cloth as his hands settled on your upper arms, “Ilona’s never here, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Mr. Barnes,” you winced as his vibranium hand squeezed, “I should get back to my--”

“The house is spotless. I only pay you because my wife can’t be bothered to lift a finger herself or even be around,” he said.

“Please, I should go,” you gulped, “I think you, uh, you…”

“Fine, go,” he moved out of your way and smirked at the wall, “if you want to, go.”

You looked between him and the smooth wall. You neared it and shoved on it. It didn’t move. You felt all along it, searching for anything that might trigger a response. There was nothing there.

“Can you--” you began to ask but stopped as he pressed himself to your back.

He tugged at the knot of your apron and it fell loose. His hands crawled up your back and he lifted the strap over your head. He grabbed your shoulder and turned you to face him.

“Thought you were going,” he taunted.

“Let me out,” you tremored.

“I said go, so…” he gestured to the wall.

“I can’t--”

He snickered and pulled you with him as he walked backwards. “It’s just a little fun,” he purred, “for both of us.”

“No, I-- you’re married--”

“My wife, if you can call her that, hasn’t touched me in a year, probably more,” he pulled at the hem of your shirt, “so this is as much her decision as mine.”

“No, Mr. Barnes, I--”

“Listen,” he grabbed your jaw and loomed over you, “you can be a good little maid and do what you’re told or I can report you to the agency for stealing.”

“What, I never--”

“Maybe a few of Ilona’s necklaces go missing or a few bills out of my wallet,” he growled, “we’ll see who they believe.”

“Please--”

“It’s time you start earning that tip,” he turned and thrust you towards the low bench, “now get undressed and lay down on your stomach.”

“Mr--”

“I have a gag. I have several if you want to choose,” he warned, “even if I’d rather hear that sweet voice calling my name.”

“Why are you--”

“I won’t tell you again,” he barked as he crossed his arms and paced. 

You noticed how the front of his pants tented and you slowly neared the bench. It was all so jarring, you didn’t know what else to do but obey. You couldn’t leave and you were certain if you tried, he would lose all patience. You peeked over as his metal fist tightened and a chill went through you.

You pulled off your shirt and kept your eyes down. You rolled down your pants and took your time untying your sneakers. You hesitated to strip off your underwear but a gristly breath made you wince and you added them to the pile of clothes. 

You were cold but your flesh burned as you sensed his close attention to your every move. You got down on the bench, the leather icy against your chest, and stared at the floor. Bucky walked around behind you and framed your ass with his hands as he stood over you. He pushed your thighs apart until your legs bent over the side of the bench and the cool air tickled your cunt.

“Hmmm,” he mused as he flicked his finger along your folds, “I can’t decide what I want first.”

An overwhelming wave of panic shook you and you tried to push yourself up. His hand slapped down on the middle of your back and he held you down. He tutted and reached down to slip your wrist into a leather cuff and tightened it until you whined. He ignored your struggles as he did the same to your other arm and your ankles. You straddled the bench as he pushed himself up and groped your ass again.

“Why are you making this hard?” he asked, “you’re already spread for me.”

“Please…”

He sighed and you heard his bare feet on the floor as he marched away from you. He came back around you and knelt to force the ball gag into your mouth and buckled it behind your head. Your eyes glistened as you watched him desperately and breathed heavy through your nose.

“We have a lot to do,” he touched your chin, “you need the proper training.”

You tried to talk past the gag but it only came out as muffled gibberish and your saliva soaked the gag. 

“If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought,” he chuckled and stood, rubbing the front of his pants, “guess you’ll have to wait for it.”

He left your eye line again, even as you craned your neck around. He was quick to huff and stomp back to your. He took the collar that hung from the front of the bench and secured it around your neck so you could stare at your impossible escape.

You heard something rolling behind you and metal fasteners being loosened then tightened. His fingers scared you as he touched your cunt and felt around for your clit. He teased you until you tilted your pelvis in response. You moaned around the gag as your thighs quivered. Despite your fear, it felt wonderful.

He played with you until you were wet and then you heard the same wheels. You felt a prod at your entrance, a hard silicone tip slowly slid into you until you were full. You gasped and choked as he pulled away his hand entirely. You heard a soft click then a whir and the dildo began to move, your cunt sucking at it loudly as you grew wet around it. He reached under you and a new buzz began as he placed a vibrator against your bud.

He rounded you again, his pants were gone and his hand glied up and down his dick. He watched you with fiery eyes as you tried to hold back. The flames licked from your core and crawled along your thighs and back. You shuddered and your eyes rolled back as your voice droned sloppily as the gag made you drool.

You came in defeat and hung your head. You gasped and gulped for air and your entire body tensed and released, but he didn’t stop it. The vibe kept buzzing on your clit and he only turned the machine up so that it fucked you harder and faster. You wined and rolled your head back and forth.

Another orgasm strangled you and your muscles ached from the tension as it snapped again. You lost count as the red light glared through your eyelids and a sheen of sweat coated your body. Breathless and battered, you could only twitched as you were rocked by climax after climax.

And then it all stopped. The machine shut off and the dildo was slid out of you, your thighs sticky and sore. The vibrator stilled and slipped from under you and you groaned. There was a moment of peace as your heart slowed and then a slap across your ass made you yipe.

“You really think this is over?” Bucky asked as he got behind you and bent over you. His tip pressed against your entrance and his hot breath bristled against your scalp, “I’ve only just begun.”

🧹🧹🧹

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you enjoyed.

[blackwoolncrown]

”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

[marsbutterfly]

The Infected

Chapter 15: Once and For All

Summary: After Moblit's plan works, you decide to explore your mother's old office. What a terrible decision that was.

Wattpad! | AO3! | Word Count: 4.6k

← Chapter 14 | The Bad Place →

For the first time since the apocalypse started, you feel like you can breathe. The cold, metal room somehow feels a lot lighter than before now that the red tint is completely gone. For a minute, you all standstill, waiting to make sure Moblit’s hacking was effective.

You can see as his pupils move at an incredibly fast rate, words reflecting on his eyes as he continues to go through the security codes necessary to stop the a.i from restarting itself. The robot-like creature hasn’t attempted to do so and Moblit works his hardest to make sure things stay that way.

When the brown-haired man gives a positive sign that his tactics worked, you let out a long, deep sigh that had been sitting in the back of your throat since God knows when. You can feel it in your body as the nightmares that were once constantly active on the back of your brain fade away and you realize that there is no one controlling your thoughts or emotions anymore.

“I don’t think we need a plan.” He says, wiping away a droplet of sweat that falls in his eye. “There was a safety mechanism that allowed me to get into her system and delete the file where her consciousness was residing.”

“So, we’re free?” Hanji asks, a knife in hand as she cuts through the ropes that bound Levi in place. The movements of her hands are fast as she desperately wants to get to you though she still finds a way to be careful enough not to cut the black-haired man, knowing full well he would probably kill her if she injured him.

Once he is free, she hands him the sharp knife so he can begin setting Erwin free, who patiently awaits with his one arm tied to the chair.

“Are you alright?” He inquires and the blonde man smiles. The gray in Levi’s eyes is reduced and a light that was long extinguished reappears, one hand on Erwin’s shoulder while the other uses the knife to cut him free.

“Were you worried about me, Levi?” He teases and for a slight second, if you just paid the right amount of attention, you would be able to see as a blush spread across the shorter man’s cheeks.

“Tsk.” That is all he says in response, lowering his head to focus on his movements though, hidden on the part of his face that is now covered by a shadow, resides a smile.

After assisting them, Hanji rushes towards you at full speed. Her breathing is shallow and you can see in her eyes how terrified she is. Neither of you says anything about it.

When the handcuffs finally come undone, you find yourself sitting up on the slab. Right hand rubbing your sore left wrist, a circular mark left behind on your skin from the cuffs being too tight, it was nearly enough to turn the area into a different color.

As your feet touch the ground and you stand up for the first time in a while, Hanji runs to your embrace and, in pure ecstasy, you lift her off the ground and spin her body around.

“Baby, I didn’t mean any of that, I am so sorry.” She pleads desperately and you laugh, not because what she said is funny but mostly as a trauma response mixed with the joy of seeing her alive by your side.

“For a second I believed that you were in love with her but then I remembered the promise you made me.” You reassure her. Your arms wrapped around her waist while her hands rest behind your neck. Slowly, she slides one of them towards your cheek, the cold sensation of her skin contrasting with the warmth exhaling from you. “You promised we would live through this together.”

“Damn right I did.” She responds, bringing her face closer to yours.

Her lips ghost above yours, head moving backward as she doesn’t give you what you so desperately crave. So, instead of waiting for her to finally do, you decide to take matters into your own hands and grab her by the collar of her shirt, pulling her in and sealing your lips together.

Your eyes are shut but you can sense some movement coming from behind Hanji, only to realize Levi has copied your actions and pulled Erwin in for a kiss. This is the first time since you have known each other that he has shown public signs of affection towards the blonde man.

Ultimately, Moblit sits in the corner, humming a song to himself as he continues to override the program and make sure the a.i will not be able to come back. He decides to completely ignore the fact that he is the only one still single and just focuses on the task at hand.

Hanji’s breath tickles your nose, soft and pillowy lips against yours and it is enough to make you forget about the awful things you have just gotten through, you just focus on using every remaining ounce of your energy into kissing her, kissing her until your lips go numb and you can only feel the slippery feeling of her tongue against yours.

It isn’t as romantic as it sounds. It’s a kiss you have shared a thousand times before though this time it feels a lot less complicated. It’s the first time since everything started that you were able to allow yourself to be this in love with each other, even after the night you shared at the abandoned house, which seems to be so long ago.

Reluctantly, you begin to pull away only to feel as Hanji’s grip on your cheek tightens, not allowing you to part ways with her. In response, you smile against her and begin feeling as she plants several kisses alongside your teeth, a string of saliva still attaching your body to hers.

When she sadly stops, you pout, craving some more of her intoxicating touch but, before you could go back in, blue light fills the room. You desperately want to ignore it and you decide to do so up until the moment Moblit clears his throat.

“y/n, you’re going to want to see this,” He says and you roll your eyes in annoyance until you realize why it was so urgent for you to witness the scene that plays before you.

Instead of the angry red generated by the artificial intelligence, it is now a sad shade of a royal blue and the image reflecting from it is that of your mother, a few tears in her eyes as she recorded the message that now plays for you. Her hand held her stomach as if she had just suffered an intense blow to her lower abdomen.

“This is a message to my one and only child.

y/n, if you are seeing this, it means that you were able to take down the monster I have created. It consequently means that I am no longer a part of this world and you and your friends were left to fend for yourselves. I wish I could say all of this isn’t my fault but I think we both know that that is not the truth.

I’m sorry doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of everything I want to say to you but that is how I would like this message to start. I’m sorry for not being a better mother to you, I wanted you to follow in my footsteps so badly that I destroyed what little relationship we had and there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about it.

I’m sorry for trying to replace you. I could go on this long tangent about how I wasn’t thinking clearly and I let one fight get in between us. The truth is that I was furious when you told me you didn’t want to become a scientist. I think you would be amazing at it but I see now that I can’t tell you how to live your life. I’m grateful to Hanji for being the partner you deserve and being someone you can call “your safe haven.”

The virus was never meant to see the light of day, especially because of how volatile it can be and experimental, but someone on the inside set it free. I’m already infected and I’m hiding somewhere in the lab to record this message, to stop it from infecting your father. When it is no longer contagious via air, I will return home.

When I first learned that the virus was set free I was so disappointed and angry, especially because I knew I would never see you again. My family, my real family, I would do anything to keep you from getting infected as well.

If you took down the a.i, it means that you are in my old office. There’s a key to the locked drawer hidden underneath the keyboard on the desktop computer, it will give you access to the key to the restricted room next door. I put it there so it would safely await you.

y/n, listen to me closely: I was a shit mother to you and I’m not denying that, but I still have a safe house ready for you and your friends to run to when all of this is over. Its location is marked on the map that you will find inside the locked file cabinet.

Now, this is the really important part of this message: The cure. I was never able to figure out how to make it work in its liquid state up until the moment when I cut my hand and a few drops of blood fell into the container. It turned into a gas almost immediately and the test subjects returned to what they already were: dead.

Our blood has a special kind of component, the kind that I didn’t have enough time to figure out since my life on this Earth was cut short, but all you need to know is that: to turn the cure into gas, all it needs to do is come in contact with your blood, as long as you are not infected.

With Hanji by your side, Moblit as your consciousness, and Levi and Erwin as your shield, you will survive. You are ever so close to ending the nightmare I helped create and I want to help you as much as I can.

If you are in my old office, you will find an electronic key to unlock the room next door, amongst other things. The cure is kept in a sealed container and the only way to get in is to use the same key that opens the file cabinet. You already made it here, you are so close.

You are extraordinary, y/n. Never forget that.”

The message restarts and that’s how you know she has run out of time. Hanji moves forward a little so she can look at your face and the expression you have on is one she has never seen before: though your eyes are watery, the pout on your lips is prominent and you grind your teeth together.

With the back of your wrist, you wipe away the tears that pooled in your eyes, anger settling in as you begin to search for anything that could be used as a weapon, only to see a hidden metal pipe behind the platform.

When you first reach for it, it scrapes your hand ever so gently but enough for a few blood drops to fall to the floor. Still, you decide to go ahead and grab it, the entire palm of your hand begins to be scraped by the rusted metal, though not a care in the world goes through your mind.

As you swing the heavy object around, Hanji doges a few of your movements though she still attempts to grab your waist, hoping it would be enough to make you stop but she doesn’t have time to do so.

By the time her hand reaches your hip, you are already bashing the platform in, destroying every little piece of it in a fit of rage. When you are done, your breathing is heavy and a few cuts have appeared on your face in response to the flying metal.

When you throw the metal pipe on the ground, Hanji wraps her arms around your body, face planted on your back as she tightens her grip on you. Angry tears flow down your cheeks as you pant, trying to catch your breath once more.

After you calm down, Moblit is the first to speak.

“Do you trust her?” He asks and you focus on the sound his fingers make when they come in contact with the keyboard. You shake your head.

“Trust is a strong word.” is your response. His shut lips now form a straight line, his eyes focused on his movements as he continues to search through the database, trying to locate the file your mother was talking about. “I don’t think she has any reason to lie.”

“y/n, all she did was lie.” Hanji points out. You want to argue, you want to have a reason to defend your mother so badly but ultimately you know that Hanji is right, so you give up any fight left in you.

“You’re right.” You take a deep breath, hands following the motions of your diaphragm (up as the air goes in, down when it goes out.) “But I have a good feeling about this.”

“Well, there is only one way to find out,” Levi says and it feels like he is kicking you and Hanji out so Moblit can focus on cracking the code to open the container from his end.

Before heading to the room next door, you decide to investigate the location you find yourself in right now. The words of your mother’s holographic version remain fresh in your head and you pull up the keyboard to reveal the object she had mentioned.

To your left, you see the locked drawer previously mentioned. It’s discrete, so much that anybody would miss it unless they were looking for it specifically. The hole is small, nearly invisible to the human eye seeing that the color blends with the surface, and the only reason you found it is because you glided your hand, searching for it.

Inside, there were a few items: a few pictures of you when you were a small child, print out copies of your brainwaves, maps of your face features and measurements, the key to the cure, the map previously mentioned by the holographic version of your mother and finally, a total of three letters designated to you.

As you pick up the pictures, you realize why they were safe: because that was necessary to create an a.i identical to you, down to every detail. Your stomach begins to rumble and you have to fight with every ounce of your strength not to throw up.

The pages of the letters look like a mixture of yellow due to the amount of time they have been sitting there and gray from the dust, but when your fingertips brush against it, it reveals your initials on the piece of paper. Your eyes go through the first one.

“y/n,

I was notified today that you have gotten into your dream college. I’m not writing you this letter to shame you for not choosing the university I went to, but to congratulate you. I saw how hard you worked to get the scholarship you wanted and to get the amazing grades you did. You are part of the honors program and that alone is enough reason to celebrate.

I wish I could be with you right now and talk about how we left things off but I wouldn’t want to ruin your moment. You just turned eighteen and I want you to enjoy this moment as best as you can.

Please, I know I am in no position to ask you for anything but, if it’s possible, would you join the chemistry club? I know it feels as if I am still trying to control your life but this is simply a request, you can do with it as you please.

These letters will never see the light of day so I thought that, through these pages, I could ask you the most absurd requests and, in my imagination, you would agree to them. Pitiful, isn’t it? That this is the only way I get to freely talk to my child, the person I brought into the world.

I can’t help but scoff, from the things that I have done, I can barely call myself a mother but I do hope you will still consider me someone that you can come to with your problems and I will try my best to help you find a solution, that’s what I am good at anyway.

Having you was the greatest thing to has ever happened to me. The day you were born, I counted all of your little toes and fingers to make sure that there wasn’t anything missing. It gives me great joy to see the amazing person you have become. I simply wish I had been a better mother when I had the chance.

Now I’m just going on and on about how I wish things would change. I’m sorry, this isn’t about me and my fuckups, this is about your achievements. You are amazing and I hope you will always remember that.

Love, Mom.”

Your fingers go through the letters on the page, the handwriting is so familiar to you yet seems so distant. From simpler times, where your mother would write a message to the school saying you wouldn't show up the next time because she was taking you to work or from the times she would teach you how to write.

You think about all the times she destroyed pages of your notebooks with her shoe because you couldn’t get the math correct on a project she was building or the times where she would hit you with a ruler when your spelling wasn’t correct.

Your grip around the paper tightens and you end up tipping it in half. Forgiveness is not a word you can think about when reading these letters, so you move on to the next one.

“y/n,

I heard from your father that you became the captain of the cheerleading team. That is beyond amazing! I know you have always dreamt of being in charge of your own squad ever since you were little, performing routines and doing splits so we could watch. Oh, it's one of my favorite memories.

I also heard that you and Hanji became President and Vice-President of the chemistry club, you have no idea how proud of you it makes me! To see you take an interest in things that I do on a daily basis after all this time. To see you achieve the greatness I always aspired for you.

I know you decided not to get a degree in biophysics like me but to see you study to be a doctor has been one of the greatest joys of my life. I see how you act with people and the way you cared for me when I was going through the darkest times of my life. You have a gift to care for others and that is something that will always make you greater than most at whatever it is that you decide to do with your life.

I wish I could be there with you to celebrate it but this job keeps me too busy to do anything else. We are working on a big project that will help you save lives one day when you are a doctor or a surgeon or whatever it is that you want to be. We are making a virus that will be able to cure incurable diseases, making your job easier and your hours reduced. You will be able to start the big family you’ve always dreamt about with Hanji.

I’m so proud of you,

Love, Mom.”

Out of the three letters, this is the one that feels most like a gut punch. Your mind begins to race and your vision gets foggy for a few seconds before you realize there are tears in your eyes. Instead of ripping this one, you cramp the paper together, turning it into a ball.

Eyes being covered by a shadow, you hand it to Hanji, who stands across from you, on the other end of the table.

“What would you like me to do with this?” She asks. At that moment, there were no wrong answers.

“What do I want her to do with it?” You ask yourself mentally, biting your lower lip hard with the intention of drawing blood. You want to feel something, anything, some other kind of pain that isn’t related to all the times you wish your mother had told you all of this, all the times you wish she had loved you.

“Burn it.” You whisper and she nods. With a lighter that resided inside another drawer, she pointed with her head towards the fire extinguisher so Erwin could grab onto it and be ready to put the fire out.

She sets the item on fire, though your mind is no longer on it. Your eyes go through the final letter and you feel a wave of nausea hit you. Before even fully reading the contents, you already know what it is about and your stomach forms a knot, the tears in your eyes begin to glide down your face and you feel your throat burn.

“y/n,

I - I have no words to begin to describe how incredibly wrong I was when I created this monster and that is not how I meant for you to find out. I failed to realize that she - it had developed a consciousness of its own and was willing to go through such lengths to meet you.

I will leave her offline for as long as I can and, in that meantime, I will continue to hide here so the virus won’t affect my family, my real family.

I have no way of knowing what her intentions are or what she is planning on doing with you but don’t trust her no matter what. I am going to hide these letters in a spot where they can’t be accessed without my fingerprint, or yours, in case something happens to me.

I was wrong, y/n. For everything I put you through, I was wrong. For bringing you to this laboratory at such a young age was dangerous and to try and force you to join a university simply because I wanted to was cruel. The things I have put you through are unforgivable but I stand here, in the form of a letter, to beg for your forgiveness.

For all the times I lied about having to work when, in reality, I was building something to replace you because I was angry. I used my intelligence for my own personal gain without a single regard for your feelings and how things might affect you. In the end, I didn’t win anything from this entire situation.

Please, survive. Live a long, happy life with Hanji and your friends, far away from this awful place. Take the electronic keycard that is hidden with these letters to access the cure and set it free outside. It should be enough to kill all zombies and it will spread through the air, killing all infected around the globe.

The world rests on your shoulder, love.

I’m sorry.

Love, Mom.”

Any words that might come out die in your throat and you can’t do anything other than shaking your head, nails digging through the sheet of paper, and leaving marks on your skin. Hanji’s hand wrapping around yours as she pulls you closer.

For the first time since you have ever known her, your instinct is to pull away from the embrace, a feeling that you are not too fond of replacing any sort of comfort she might bring you. Hate. You hate your mother for putting you through so much and you hate her for having the audacity to apologize for it.

Thinking about the conversation you had with the red queen, you can’t help but think why in the fuck were you defending that woman, only to realize those are the parts that the a.i planted into your brain, the unconditional love for a woman who never gave a shit about you.

Angry tears flow down your face and you bring your hands to cover your eyes, your nails now digging through the skin of your cheeks as you pull it down. A scream rips out from the deepest parts of your soul, a sound filled with sorrow and pain.

In the distance, you are able to hear the screeching sound the zombies make in response to the sound released by you. Your mind feels as if it just might explode and you can’t help but begin to pull at your hair.

This isn’t a panic attack, it is a feeling that runs much deeper than that. This is years worth of pent-up sadness from all the times you were told that your best wasn’t enough or anger that you were never allowed to feel when it came to the a.i’s call.

For the first time in years, you are finally letting out all of the feelings you kept bottled up inside of your body, shoving it down with a hammer to keep yourself from actually experiencing it. So all you can do is cry.

You fall to your knees and cry like a baby, finally allowing Hanji to comfort you. As your hands cover your face and hiccups abruptly erupt from you, she wraps one arm around your waist while the other rests on your stomach, head tucked on your shoulder as she shares a few tears of her own.

Erwin, who once stood on the other side of the room, slowly walks towards you. He kneels behind you and places his hand on your back, its warmth reminds you that you and Hanji are not alone in this world, you have each other.

Levi shuffles your hair in a caring manner, eyes focused on Moblit so the man won’t feel excluded. “How is it coming along, Moblit?”

“It’s going well, I hacked into the security network, and now, whenever you are ready y/n, you can take the key to the other room and we can open the cure’s container.” He informs you and you nod in response, wiping away the tears and finally being able to calm yourself down.

Finally pulling yourself together, you stand up. You allow two more tears to stream down your face before wiping them once more, clearing your throat in the process. When Hanji takes your hand on hers, you feel like the world could stop right then and there.

“Let’s go.” You say to her, guiding her towards the long halls you have known since the day you were born. It isn’t hard to find the locked door your mother was talking about and a nervous feeling mixing with relief takes over all of your sensations.

The electronic key unlocks the door though it has gotten stuck due to a few years worth of dry blood and rust that has been forming, so it is quite normal that it needs a little extra help to open.

Using both of your hands on one side of the door while Hanji uses hers on the other, the two of you are able to use your combined strength to pry it open. The lights inside are already on and you can’t believe the imagery in front of you.

It feels like a dream.

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