#i should stop now this tag is way too many

[lazywitchling]

So here's the thing, right? I keep looking through my own blog going "Hey! Where's the witchy content?" (the-- the 'where's the cream filling' commercials? anyone? no? I'm just old? okay.)

I've made a few posts over the past little while that boil down to "blogging about witchery gets hard once it gets more specific". At some point, my craft got so personalized to me, interacting with my own familiar spirit, building my own astral space and figuring out a whole paradigm there about bridges and astral space and liminal space and imagination... there's just so much that I can't really *share* and have it applicable to anyone else but me, you know? So in a slow-but-steady snowball effect, I've wound up going pretty radio silent over here at lazywitchling dot tumblr dot com. I'm still witching in a way, but it's been a lot more reading and information gathering lately. Less active work and more passive learning.

It's hard to talk about the information gathering process, especially when a lot of that has moved offline. It was easy to share all the things I was learning when I was first starting out, because all the things I was learning came from here. It was easy enough to hit the reblog button, share a post to my blog, and tag it so I could find it again later. As a consequence, other people were able to find content through my blog too. But now I'm spending more time reading books offline, taking notes in a physical notebook, sitting quietly in the dark with my eyes closed having conversations with a spirit consisting of vague impressions and images, waving a pendulum at a dusty old building corner and asking The Thing That's There if it wants to stay or leave.

So what do I do about this radio silence? SHOULD I do anything about it? The other thing is that I've seen so so so many witches over the years of this webbed site just disappear, then come back years later with a lot of fanfare and "I'M BACK, BABY!" and then they just... stop posting again after a month. So something about making the big "I've decided to post more!" announcement just doesn't work. You gotta have reason to start posting more, not just the desire to, yaknow?

What do I talk about, then? Vague updates about the astral space I'm building? Perhaps a few more stories of the conversations with J (my familiar)? More vague updates of me screeching at witch books? (I know y'all love that last one!)

Something. idk what, but something.

Anyway. Hi. I'm Jes. It's short for Jester. How's it going?

[doeidawn]

doeidawn's kinkmas day nine ❆ mirror sex

KINKMAS 2024 | PREVIOUS DAY | NEXT DAY

getting ready for a friend's christmas party turns out to be difficult when gaz keeps interrupting. 1.5k

❆ pairing: gaz x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; cheeky kyle; fingering; praise; watching yourself/mirror sex

“Kyle, darling, do I look alright?” You call out from the bathroom in hopes that your boyfriend was nearby to hear it. After one too many internal debates about how you looked, you decided it was best to call in the man who never got tired of looking at you. Granted, he’d say you looked good no matter what, but a little confidence boost wouldn’t hurt.

Especially not when you wanted to cringe at the anxiety in your gaze staring back at you in the mirror. Huffing a sigh and running your hands over your dress did little to soothe your raging nerves. It felt like being an insecure teenager all over again—Am I overdressed? Is this too much makeup? Will this still look good with a jacket? The internal monologue was never-ending and consistently annoying. All it did was eat up time that quickly ticked away as the Christmas party grew closer.

The soft patter of footsteps comes from the side before Kyle appears in your peripheral, standing in the doorway to the bathroom. You find his lack of response…odd. Unlike him. Looking over at him, you find his eyes looking at just about every part of you that wasn’t your face.

“Kyle,” you call out again, softer this time, hoping it’ll grab his attention. When he still doesn’t make eye contact, only humming in response as his gaze lingers on your chest, you relent. “Is this…okay? Do I look alright?”

That makes him look you in the eye. He stares at you for a moment before sauntering into the room. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he settles behind you, resting his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder. He holds your gaze in the mirror, soft brown eyes boring into you. 

“Are you seein’ what I’m seein’?” He gestures vaguely to the reflections.

“I think so.”

“Then you should know you look fuckin’ gorgeous,” the last half of his sentence is muffled against your neck as he dips his head to plant a kiss on your soft skin. “You could rival a damn princess lookin’ like this, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well, I don’t know about that. But thank you.”

“Well, I do.” His kisses turn heavier, wet flicks of his tongue, as his hands skirt down to your hips. “I almost don’t wanna leave now. I want my princess all to myself.”

“Kyle—”

“I know, I’m a selfish bastard aren’t I?” His teeth brush against the curve of your jaw, nipping playfully. “But I can’t help it when you look this good.”

“Going to the party was your idea,” you remind him with a playful nudge of your elbow. “I regret asking for your input. Go on, I need to finish getting ready.”

“...What else d’you need to do?”

“My hair’s a mess.” You gesture to your head like the thought is obvious. To you, it was. Though you had a tendency to nitpick your looks in time like these. 

Kyle studies your reflection for a moment, an incredulous look on his face like he can’t figure out what else you could possibly do to your hair. “That’s fine,” he shrugs. “You can do your hair.”

But he doesn’t slip away like you’d intended him to do. Instead, he keeps his hands planted firmly on you, running them up and down your sides, trailing over your curves like he hasn’t touched them countless times before. You stand and wait for him to move away, but it never happens.

“Kyle.”

“Mm?”

“Are you gonna let me finish getting ready?”

“I am letting you finish.” He says it so matter-of-factly. “Go on and do your hair. I can keep my hands down here,” he emphasizes by groping a handful of your ass, “and stay out of your way.”

You didn’t believe that for one damn minute. Staying out of your way wasn’t possible when he got his hands on you. What would start out as innocent touches and “no, baby, we don’t have to fuck, just let me feel you up,” would turn into desperate sex in the blink of an eye. You weren’t very good at keeping yourself from getting distracted, and he was perfect at grabbing your attention. 

…So maybe that’s why you didn’t question it when hands on your hips turned to one dipped beneath your dress. And why kisses on your neck turned to filthy words in your ear. You had barely done anything to your hair before he got you distracted. 

“Ky’...” You whined while trying to keep yourself stood straight. “I need to finish up.”

His fingers ran over your slit, spreading you open as they glided through the slick arousal clinging to your skin. Your clit was already swollen and puffy from where he’d been teasing you while you tried to focus. His fingertips circle your entrance and you nearly feel your knees buckle underneath your.

“‘M not stoppin’ you, love.” He mutters against your temple before kissing the sweat on your brow. 

“Yes you are…fuck, you’re teasin’ me like a bastard…”

“Not my fault you can’t focus.”

Your retort is interrupted by a shameless moan as his fingers slide inside you, embarrassingly easy thanks to how wet you were. You have to lean over the countertop to hold yourself up as your knees go weak. How the hell he didn’t find himself distracting was beyond you; burying his fingers to the knuckle inside you didn’t exactly help you get ready any quicker. 

Looking in the mirror before you, you found Kyle practically studying your face. He watched the way your lips fell open and your eyes fluttered when he pushed deep. It’s almost like he was testing what reactions he could get out of you. Curling and twisting and pressing his fingers, he wanted to see you squirm.

He settles his chin on your shoulder, smiling when you lean your head against his. “Look at you, there’s my pretty girl,” the smooth softness of his voice makes your cunt flutter around his digits. 

His lips hit your cheek in a soft peck, the complete opposite of the intensity in his eyes. You felt like he wanted to devour you, lil you’d never leave this bathroom again if he could have things his way. A Christmas party was the last thing on your mind despite still being dressed up for it. The more he touched you, the insistent pressure against that sweet spot deep in your cunt, the more you wanted to stay home with him. 

“Fuck, you’re annoying, you know that?” You huff between moans. There’s no real bite to it, and he knows that—the tight hug of your slick walls around his fingers proved that plenty true. 

Kyle chuckles in your ear. “Ah, you love it.” You did, but you’d never admit it. Especially not when you were trying to prove a point about wasting time. “Love it when I give my princess what she needs, huh?”

His fingers curl just right, focusing in on that spot that made you jerk on every thrust. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, knuckles white as you grip the edge of the counter to keep yourself steady. If it wasn’t for his hand supporting you, you might’ve stumbled on your weak legs. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, blown-out pupils staring back at you, painted lips stuck under teeth as you bite your lip.

“Yeah, look at yourself, baby.” His encouragement is enough to convince you despite how awkward it feels at first. “Look how pretty you are when you cum for me.” 

You can feel his eyes on you, see him in your peripheral, his gaze branding you like an iron as he worked you over the edge. It was strange watching your mouth drop as a sharp moan poured from your throat, seeing your body quiver as you jerked into his hand. You couldn’t keep your eyes open long enough to watch your entire orgasm hit you, too overwhelmed by the constant fullness that sent sparks through your body. 

Thankfully, Kyle seemed more concerned with making your pleasure last instead of policing where your eyes were. He battered that soft, sensitive spot, groaning in your ear when you soaked his hand in your cum. He kept himself pressed close, an arm wrapped around you to support your weight in case you needed it. 

An almost smothering amount of kisses covered the side of your face, trailing from your temple to the curve of your neck. It was almost like he wanted to keep you distracted with the sensation as he slid his fingers out of you. A soft pat to your thigh and he’s pulling your dress back into place like nothing happened. You stare at your reflection for a moment, noticing the slight smudges of makeup where his lips brushed over your skin and the small red marks he left spackled along your neck.

“C’mon,” he sighs with one last kiss to your cheek. “We better get goin’. Don’t wanna keep anyone waiting, yeah?” He slinks out of the bathroom before you can catch your breath and respond. So much for looking nice.

[steddieas-shegoes]

still believe

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'santa'

all of my holiday drabbles will be from the bear hugs universe. many of them could probably be read standalone, but will make the most sense and be enjoyed best if you read that first!

rated g | 985 words | no cw | tags: established relationship, mall santa, fluff

🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻

The line is wrapped around the building, which is exactly what Steve warned him about.

Steve insisted they go the first week that Santa was at the mall, but Eddie insisted they wait. It didn’t feel right to see Santa before December even started.

Then they got so busy with hockey practices and the baby and-

“How much longer?” Rory asks. She isn’t quite groaning yet, but Eddie knows she doesn’t have much more patience.

Steve is bouncing Sawyer in his arms, raising his brows at Eddie. The I told you so doesn’t need to be said out loud for him to know that’s what he’s thinking.

He tried to time it perfectly between Steve getting off of work, Sawyer’s next feeding time, and their own dinner time, but now…

They’re looking at a catastrophic failure on his part.

Sawyer’s only four months old, and he’s on a very strict schedule. He’s a perfect baby, sleeps almost entirely through the night, only cries when he needs to be changed, and loves when Rory holds him. But if he doesn’t eat on time? Everyone suffers.

They have at least an hour in this line still and they have roughly 20 minutes before Sawyer’s due for a bottle. They have them in the diaper bag, of course, enough formula already measured out for two bottles and a bottle of water just in case.

“Can’t we go to another Santa?” She asks when no one answers her.

“What do you mean? This is the only Santa.” Steve stops bouncing as he speaks, and Eddie feels sweaty all of a sudden. They both thought Rory still believed in Santa. Sure, she was a little old for it, but last year she’d gotten into a fight with a kid at school because she still believed.

“Dad.” Rory gives him one of her be serious looks. “Every mall has one. The real Santa has to stay in the North Pole.”

Steve’s shoulders relax, but Eddie feels another moment of panic. Rory does still believe in Santa. It’s fine, it’s actually great. But a small part of him hoped that maybe she’d just casually stopped believing. Maybe then it would be easier for Steve to accept that their little girl isn’t so little anymore.

“Right,” Steve smiles at her. “But we’re already in line here, so we should just stay.”

Rory sighs, but doesn’t argue.

Sawyer coos in Steve’s arms. Steve smiles down at him and bounces him again.

“You can’t wait to meet Santa, huh buddy?” Steve asks him.

Sawyer’s way too young to understand what he’s asking, but he still gives a gummy smile. He’s got Chrissy’s nose, but it’s a perfect combination with Eddie’s everything else. They all joked that Eddie might as well have carried and birthed him for how much he looks like him already.

“Does Santa already know that Sawyer’s been good?” Rory asks.

“Babies are always on the nice list until they can walk and talk. Then, they have to behave just like all the bigger kids,” Steve explains. “Santa already knows Sawyer’s good.”

“But what if Sawyer was bad?”

“Well, do you think he’s been bad?” Eddie asks, taking Sawyer from Steve to give him a break.

“He did puke on my shirt last week,” Rory’s face twists with disgust. “And he pooped through his diaper that one time and it got on the car seat.”

Eddie’s doing his best not to laugh. “Those are accidents, though. It doesn’t make him a bad kid.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Rory sighs. She looks around the people in front of them as they take a few steps forward. “Maybe we can skip Santa this year? Since he knows we’ve both been good.”

Steve shakes his head. “We wanted to get a family picture, remember?”

“But it’s not even the real Santa!” Rory exclaims, loud enough that the people in front of them turn and scowl at them. Steve sends them an apologetic look and kneels down so he can get on Rory’s level.

“Listen green bean, you remember when you were really little and thought this was the real Santa?” She nods. “A lot of these kids still think that and we can’t ruin it for them. Plus, they’re handing out candy canes, look!”

One of the employees dressed as an elf is walking down the line offering candy canes. A perfect distraction for kids growing impatient in line.

Sawyer gurgles and then lets out a tiny whine. Eddie checks the time on the phone and gives Steve a look.

Steve wordlessly opens the diaper bag to get the bottle ready and Rory rocks on her feet as she waits for the elf to bring her a candy cane. Eddie pokes at Sawyer’s cheek, and his tummy, and his arm, making him let out little bursts of noises that are nearly giggles.

“Not too much longer,” Eddie whispers to the baby in his arms, hopeful that he’s right.

****

Nearly an hour later, they have Sawyer propped in Santa’s lap and Rory standing next to him, talking a mile a minute about her list. They manage to get a great picture– a small miracle considering Sawyer was due for a nap– and head out, not wanting to hold up the line more than it already has been.

As they leave, Rory tugs on Eddie’s jacket and comes to a stop. Steve is too busy babbling at Sawyer to notice.

“Daddy, I lied,” she says and Eddie’s gut clenches. “I know Santa isn’t real. But dad loves Christmas and it would hurt his feelings. And now Sawyer can believe in Santa so I have to pretend.”

Eddie loves this girl. She has always been wise beyond her years, which is why her believing in Santa at this age seemed ludicrous to him.

He hugs her tight and kisses the top of her head. “You’re a good kid, little one.”

[admirationandromantics]

Teacher's Lounge

Another request! I'm thinking about not posting updates to anonymous requests, and instead just pasting said request in here? I'll tag you if you didn't ask anonymously. It's easier and more neat.

🍋‍🟩 Hear me out, Josh becoming a temporary teacher for film with his own office, he often let you study in there seeing as the campus didn’t have enough study space to accommodate everyone and you become quite overstimulated on a normal day (@b3rryb3t)

This is therefore maybe a teacher x student thing, but you're roughly the same age anyway (maybe 2 years difference), since he graduated before you and has already come out with his debut movie. You're still hanging out with the friend group as well.

Word count: 1,6k (Unedited)

It’s hard to find good reading spots on campus. My messy room could be an option, but I can’t get inspired there. I need different surroundings than what I’m used to. Booked rooms are a no-go, especially now that exams are coming closer. They’re always booked, and everyone uses them. I’ve tried going to the library, but if there’s room, the place is never quiet. The librarians don't care. I get it though, everyone is stressed, and the only place you can work on a group assignment is the library. You have to talk, you have to discuss. This means that I’m still left without a spot to study. I’ve tried other libraries, other cafes and even at my friends place. Nothing works. Maybe there’s something in the other buildings? Somewhere quiet where I’ll feel content. 

The first building that comes to mind is the Teachers house. A large building with some group rooms and many small study sofas. Many of the teachers have offices there, but if I'm quiet, they won’t mind. These spots are usually also taken, but maybe I’ll have a chance if I’m quick. 

I walk down the hall, stopping when I see the old abandoned office. This room is usually always empty, waiting for someone to inhabit it. But it’s not empty anymore. The previously collected dust is cleaned away, the wood door has a new furnish and a brand new slide-on plate reads a familiar name. Joshua Washington. 

I widen my eyes in surprise, it cannot be. Why is he here? Didn’t he already finish his degree? He just finished his debut movie, which was excellent. I saw him at one of Emily’s parties too, which was not long ago. About three weeks. He looked good then, very good. Like he felt fulfilled and accomplished. He should feel good about himself. Not many people do that on their first big project. He did talk about a new job he got, but I assumed it was another film-related gig. Was this the job? 

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I carefully knock three times. The sound is beautiful, hard and dark wood which doesn’t vibrate as I hit it. I wait, hearing shuffling and metal clinking inside. 

“Um, yeah, come in!” 

I open the door, holding the handle hard. If I was wrong, then this would be an awfully awkward encounter. The door glides easily without making any sound. They have really improved this place. He lifts his head, meeting my stare as he does. A smile creeps on his face, eyes lighting up by the sight. I stand still, mouth agape and furrowed brows. He’s really here. 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite student” 

“You teach here?” 

“As of this Monday, yes” 

I close the door behind me, looking around the room. It’s cozy, filled with family pictures and a couple of movie posters. His diploma is also on the wall. On one surface are many small film trophies from his childhood, and in front of all of them, the price he got last year for his first debut Hollywood movie. I look around in awe, the yellow light making everything feel so professional and real. 

“And by the way, I’m not your student, I take another course” 

“That can’t stop me from stating that you’re in a superior’s office” 

“How did you get this job?”

“They offered it to me”

“Just out of nowhere? You don’t have experience in teaching. You’re not even a professor” 

“I guess my talent shines through”

I look at him and his smug face. He’s leaning back in the roller chair, feet upon his desk. Everything here is so neat, so unlike him. He also loves being able to joke like this, but honestly, I’m still surprised by the circumstances. He made one movie, and now, the university wanted him to teach a course? 

“If I know you correctly, you’ll probably be fired by the next month” 

“And why’s that?”

I take a seat in front of him, not surprised that the chair is lower than him. Oh, how he loves his power trips. The chair is comfortable, and suits the surroundings, but I feel small. 

“Because you can’t keep your hands to yourself” 

“That’s true” 

“There’s only a question about time, when will you fuck one of your students, and when will you get caught” 

He laughs, shaking his head as he fiddles with an expensive ball pen. He looks at me in disbelief, maybe a little surprised that I said exactly what I thought. 

“Who’s to say I haven’t done it already?” 

“One week into the job?” 

“Maybe” 

“You’re disgusting, Washington” 

“That’s Mr. Washington to you” he corrects, pointing at me with the same pen. I smile at him, almost unable to hide my laughter. 

“I’m not gonna start calling you that” 

“Ugh, damn you” 

A slight silence follows, and analyse his desk. Many, many pens, his laptop, a stack of papers and a couple of memory sticks. Again, everything is so neat. It makes me feel weird. 

“By the way, I actually haven’t had a teacher-student relationship” 

“You shouldn’t” I quickly shoot back. It would not be a good idea. Being in the filming industry is hard in itself, but he also has a shot of doing something more. This was not something to take lightly. 

“At least not gonna with my own students” 

“Jesus Chris Josh”

He laughs again, loving my overdramatic reactions. He knows what gets me to tip over, how to make me irritated and upset. Of course he’ll use it to his advantage. 

“Anyways, what are you doing here? Isn’t your building on the other side of campus?” 

I sigh loudly, leaning back in the chair and letting my head fall back. I’m tired, exhausted even. But just two more weeks, and I’ll be finished with the exams. My diploma isn’t far away. 

“Trying to find a study spot, but everywhere is taken”

“Why don’t you just use your dorm?”

“Easy for you to say, you never lived in one”

He leans back, furrowing his brows and being deep in thought. 

“You could sit here?” 

I look up, surprised by the offer. Is that even okay, am I, as a student, allowed to do that? I think about it, the place is quiet, cozy and a completely different atmosphere than usual. It could work. 

“Can I?” 

“Of course, it wouldn't be the first time you’ve been in my quarters” he teases, leaning back over the desk. 

“Haha, very funny, but are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I mean, my students usually don’t come here, too busy actually understanding the material, compared to some” he points at me and my backpack. I roll my eyes. 

“Well, if getting my degree consisted of knowing the on and off button of a camera, I would excel at it”

“Careful, or you might not get to study here” 

“Okay, okay, sorry. You’re an accomplished producer and teacher who’s totally awesome” 

“And you have to call me Mr. Washington”

I scoff at his request, shaking my head. He’s still smiling, biting casually into his lower lip. 

“I draw the line there”

“Fine”

I take up my laptop, immediately starting to type. This was gonna be great. Might have some negative effects though. We’ve got a history. Too much time spent together has usually led to more uncivilised activities, but that’s not something I have to worry about now. 

***

The weeks pass, and I truly enjoy his company, even if it’s in silence. He’s busy grading papers and making schedules. I’m prepping for my exams, writing, reading, and memorising. Everything was going great, and the day of the exam finally came. 

I took one look over the questions, and my heart fell. What the hell was this? I did my best, drawing out a mind map to help me refresh my memory. It actually went quite well, if I do say so myself. Not the best, but I’m definitely not failing. 

I walk down the hall yet again, not bothering to knock on Josh’s door. His head rises, noticing my presence, and he smiles. God I love how he smiles. 

“So, how did it go?” 

I close the door, biting my lip as I turn to face him again. He looks up expectantly, eyes big and round. He rises, walking around the desk to face me. 

“It went great!” I blurt out excitedly, arms going out. He smiles, meeting me in a hug as I throw my arms around him. His hands go to my waist, pulling me closer against him. I bury my face in his neck, warm skin against mine, smelling his expensive cologne. 

“See, you just needed a place to study”

“I indeed did”

We break apart a little, arms still holding tight so none of us leaves. He leans in, eyes lowering to my lips. I know what’s about to happen, it has happened a million times before. In his bedroom, a couple of random bathrooms, the mountain lodge, but never in an office. My finger finds its way to his lips, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Mr. Washington, what do you think you’re doing?” 

“Just celebrating” he whispers against my finger, hand going up to take it away. He finds his way to the back of my head, tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer. 

“You can get in trouble”

“Never stopped us before”

His breath feels hot against my skin, head getting dizzy and body warmer. How long were we going to keep this thing alive? 

“Fuck it” I whisper against him, capturing his lips on mine.

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

Star does indeed get his meeting with Hashtag he scored with his deal with Megatron. Although, as most things, it doesn't exactly go favorably. The chaos energy shit and his damn 10k layered trauma ratatouille is not exactly making things easy for anyone. I REALLY want these two to reconcile at some point, yet alas, this is certainly not that chapter-

Also--Bee was absolutely about to be baited into fighting Star at the end before Tag interrupts lmao

Previous Chapter: Lingering Ghosts

First Chapter: A Need For Read

Next Chapter: A Broken Boogeyman

Chapter 5: Perception

Starscream had rounded the perimeter of the cell approximately 175 times now. It was a respectable number to end on, so he decided to take a seat against the wall. Megatron was certainly taking his time in fulfilling his side of their deal. Perhaps he had decided to simply forgo upholding his word. That would be disappointing. Although admittedly unsurprising.

His wings perked at the sound of pedsteps through the corridor, but drooped when he recognized that it was his audials playing tricks on him again. 

“Ey what’s the plan commander? I’m dyin’ in ‘ere!” Swindle complained, and the noise made Starscream’s optic twitch red.

“I’m working on it!” He growled. 

“Starscream: Moping.” Soundwave commented just so helpfully as the stoic mech also sat on his aft in the cell across from him.

“I am not!” Starscream’s vocalizer betrayed him with a high pitched squeal, and he cleared his throat. “I do not need to entertain any of you glitches. Just because my processor insists on projecting you, does not make you worthy of my attention. Leave me be and jet yourselves back into space why don’t you.” Starscream waved a servo as if he could send them away with the gesture. 

It only partially worked, as Soundwave’s form found it pertinent to displace itself to a less casual moment in time. When Mandroid had been given free reign to select any one of them as lab rodents to be experimented upon. The blue mech’s servos and peds were tightly bound to leave him splayed out upon the ground for scrambling little human pests to defile his circuits. They hadn’t even severed his sensors for the operation. They’d just popped open panels and prodded around like maggots deconstructing a living corpse. 

Starscream’s frame locked up as his spark felt constricted in his chassis. His vents had stopped. He knew it wasn’t real. Perhaps he shouldn’t have angered the illusion. Now he was stuck rewatching the disgusting scene as samples of the mech’s frame were being sawed off barbarically, the internal wiring being strewn about, and those cursed injections of more than questionable substances. The array of equipment echoed dreadfully in his audials.

Suddenly, the world spazzed again, and one of the G.H.O.S.T agents hovered sinisterly in front of his cell. Staring. Scrutinizing him with an air of hunger on its faceless mask. Like a predacon reveling in the power it held over its prey. Savoring not just its victory over its victims, but sadistically devouring the gruesome process itself. The creature simply found joy in their suffering, and lingered in a promise for what Starscream knew had happened next.

Then, there was Skullcruncher. Starscream heard the croctobot shift in the cell beside him, and his helm was inadvertently drawn to face it. The frame he saw wasn’t right. The lighting wasn’t right. It was dim and hazy, but he vaguely identified Skullcruncher as he shambled towards the barrier separating them. The sturdy beast was painfully caught between his bot and alt modes. Plating bent, warped, and twisted in ways it should not have been able to manage. His faceplate distorted with shadow and melting metal so that his optics and dentas stuck out in an unnerving, unnatural manner. 

The raspy voice box of the creature spoke to him. It sounded like too many different vocalizers at once for him to discern.

“You deserve what has come to you, Starscream. It’s your fault. You didn’t help us. You only helped yourself. How could you?”

Starscream yelped and scrambled back until he hit the opposing corner. His wings vibrated, crimson lightning flickering between them, and he barely registered them scraping against the wall. 

“You did this.” 

The words dug into his audials and he slapped his servos over his receptors like it could save him. “No no, shut up.” Starscream hissed as he glared at his knees, then his vocalizer cracked a chuckle. “You’re not real! It’s not real!” He sang manically. “You can’t trick me. No no no no…”

“You’ll never escape, Starscream. You have no allies that would bother to help you.”

“Hehe-” His vents were cycling far too quickly to aid his addled processor as he muttered, “I’m not listening to you. I don’t have to listen to you. Leave me alone.”

“...Who are you talking to?”

Starscream shrieked and flung his helm backwards in surprise at the suddenly crisp, external sound that questioned him. His optics shot in its direction to see exactly the Terran he so desperately wanted to see. He excitedly sprung to his peds and spread out his servos earnestly.

“HASHTAG!” Starscream greeted perhaps a bit too loudly, then swiftly stepped closer before finding a bit of hesitation and slowing his approach. “I-it’s so good to see you–heh- how-h-how have you been?? After… well, uh–”

“After you stole the Emberstone, nearly killed everyone I care about, and forced Terratronus to start destroying Witwicky?” She finished snarkily with crossed arms and an angry look on her faceplate. 

“Yes… that. But we can put that whole debacle behind us! We each got a couple good jabs at the other– what’s a few bouts of blaster fire between friends, right?” He waved his servos around animatedly and his vocalizer was a bit too high pitched for his liking, but that was a silly concern.

“You’re crazy.” Hashtag stated decidedly with far too much contempt, and continued with bitterness bleeding through her tone, “I can’t believe I ever believed in you! How could you do that!? I see now that you are just– worse than Megatron ever could have been.”

Starscream’s wings flicked stiffly behind him and his widened optics glitched between their red and blue as he took a step back. He was horrified. At what exactly, he couldn’t decide. She hated him– She didn’t understand– She was wrong. His wings shifted up and down erratically to relieve even a fraction of the pent up energy clawing at his spark. His servos shook and his optics darted across different points of his surroundings, occasionally landing on Hashtag before looking away again.

“I- You-!” Starscream had lifted a digit with the intent of confronting the Terran’s accusation, encouraged by that damned chaotic crimson corrupting his vision. But did he really have the right to berate her? A parasite nagged at his impulses that he should crush her voice box for her impertinence. He should tell her just how foolish of a proclamation she had made. Give her a verbal assault equal to the one he’d given Megatron. How dare she turn on him like this.

Yet with his sparing glances at her faceplate, even with the assured determination she held herself with, he saw glimpses of fear in her stance. This deepened the pit in his tank. Was he scaring her somehow? That wasn’t what he wanted. How could he have those thoughts?! Perhaps she did have a right to be angry with him after all…

Starscream in-vented, then tried his best to smile and smooth his vocalizer. “Come now, Hashtag, let’s not be brash.” He chuckled halfheartedly. “I’m sure you don’t mean that! Believe me, it was never my intention to damage you or your terran siblings. All you really had to do was step aside while I– what I mean to say is– i-it wasn’t about you, I just-” Oh that sounded bad didn’t it?

Hashtag scoffed, “Not about me? Woooow, thanks. That totally makes what you did alright. Except it doesn’t. You know, you’re lucky we’ve kept Spitfire and Aftermath from coming in here to give you a piece of their mind! What about what you did to them, huh!? I don’t care if it wasn’t about me, you still hurt and endangered so many people for some stupid power buff!”

Starscream stared at her blankly for some time as her words loaded in his processor. They’ve kept Sprite and A.M. from coming here… that means the sparklings were moving! Of course they saw it fit to come back online as soon as he was out of the picture. He knew it.

Starscream’s grin widened at the revelation, “I KNEW IT!” He said so suddenly that Hashtag flinched in surprise and looked at him with that same strange expression Megatron had worn, paired with a dash of confusion at his proclamation. He straightened himself to regain what composure he could before tilting a servo to enlighten her. “See, I knew those two never required those Embershards to function! I was right! They were just playing a petty, silly little game to get back at me when we were trapped up there in the Titan. Did they just need whatever fuel you Terrans need? Did you somehow collect a higher dose of the chaos energy that I could not? Or did they simply arise after I departed?” He tilted his hip snarkily and crossed his arms. “If that is the case I will have quite the word with Sprite about her rather rude, meager communications she chose to send me instead of contributing.”

Hashtag’s intake hung open stupidly before her faceplate scrunched in bafflement. “...What?”

Starscream thought he had explained himself quite well. He rolled his optics and impatiently urged her to answer his query, “At what point did they decide to come online?”

“Decide?? You killed them! We were only able to bring them back with a crazy idea to toss them into the chaos cloud junk with the spear! Of course anime has never done me wrong and it totally worked– but they weren’t deciding to be dead! What’s wrong with you!?” Hashtag was throwing her servos around in some ill placed frustration as she spouted nonsense.

“They weren’t dead, they were in stasis from their regretable damages.” Starscream tried to clarify. He wasn’t crazy. He knew exactly what was going on.

“Dude you can’t be this delusional. What weird space rock did you eat up there?”

“I’m not delusional.” Starscream snapped with a flash of red in his optics before he reeled himself in again. “If they were permanently offline, then there would have been no possible way Sprite could have pinged my communicator!”

Hashtag blinked and shook her helm as she partially recognized what he’d said. “Sprite…? You mean Spitfire??” She actually looked fondly amused before she forcefully refocused herself, “No– ugh, c’mon man! That makes absolutely no sense. Maybe she was like, haunting you, or something–that would definitely make for some good cinema– but I’m pretty darn sure they were dead-dead for a while there. They looked very dead to me.”

Starscream threw his servos in the air, “Well maybe she was a good actor all along! I’m not crazy!! And I am most definitely not hearing things!!” His wings shuttered as the chaos energy pulled at his circuits. “Believe what you want if you enjoy being wrong–” Lightning shot through his frame and he shook his helm in a hopeless effort to stave the crimson from his optics– “You…You’re just a confused sparkling that doesn’t understand the nuances of the situation– STOP FRAGGING LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT OR I SWEAR I’LL DESTROY THIS PATHETIC BARRIER!” 

That slagger Bumblebee ran up from his post at the sector’s entrance to plant himself between Starscream and Hashtag defensively. “HEY! Cool it Screamer! Don’t make me cut your playdate short!”

The corrupted power of the Emberstone erupted from Starscream’s frame, causing that wretched shaking and haze in his optics. “BUT OUT BUG! This doesn’t concern you!” He growled with a stance rearing for a fight.

“I think it does, actually. Especially with whatever this is.” The bumbling bot whirled a servo in Starscream’s general direction rudely. 

“Oh REALLY?” He laughed darkly, “You honestly think you are of any use here?! You could never hope to stand against me, scout. Now step aside. Or do you wish to come in here and prove what little prowess you might possess?”

The bug scoffed, “I’m not going to fight you right now Starscream.”

“Coward.”

Before Bumblebee could respond, Hashtag frantically yelled: “STOP!!” Once she’d gained their attention she in-vented sharply and placed a servo on the bug’s shoulder plating. “Just- c’mon Bee, this was stupid… let’s just go.”

“WHAT? You- you can’t just leave–” Starscream stressed angrily. How dare she try to walk away from their conversation!

“You can’t tell me what to do!” She snapped at him before stomping away down the corridor. The bug stared at Starscream a moment longer before hopping away to catch up with Hashtag. 

Blue battled for control of his optics and his vents quickened, then he scrambled as close as he could towards them with an extended servo. “WAIT! Wait– please– w-we can- we can still talk about this- I’m sorry I– I didn’t mean it! Please Hashtag, I’m sorry if I scared you, don’t–don’t leave!”

She only spared him one last glance as she tightly hugged her frame, her faceplate full of hurt that he’d foolishly caused. Then the door closed.

“NO! No…no-” Starscream’s servo slowly lowered partway before balling into a fist, “UGH WHY DID I DO THAT?!” He slammed it against the barrier before slumping down to his knees pathetically with a whine. Then voiced Hashtag’s question in a whisper, “What is wrong with me…?”

Nothing about that had gone as it should have. 

Starscream had wanted to have a casual, friendly conversation where they could possibly reconcile. Where maybe he could’ve gotten her to understand, and forgive him. Perhaps even get her to pass a good word to the Autobots! But then he had to go and open his big fat glossia, and say literally all the wrong things. 

When had it devolved so horribly?? He hadn’t thought it was going that bad! Sure, It had often periodically become more confrontational than he had hoped, but he should have been prepared for that. He should have rehearsed his approach better. Why hadn’t he prepared? He’d had the time, hadn’t he?

Yet all he’d managed to do was frag things up more than they already were. Now how was he going to get out of here?! Jump one of the glitches if they decide to bring him energon…? That had too many ways to go awry, but it might be his only chance.

Or… Perhaps, he could get this Primus damned power that infected him to actually be useful…

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 21

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

I can't get over how @garbagemilkshake brought Weak Spot Stockman to life in this week's chapter art!

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

HUGE SHOUT OUT TO @mermmarie FOR HELPING ME FINALIZE STOCKMAN'S DESIGN. SHE PROVIDED THE RECIPE FOR @garbagemilkshake TO COOK!

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

You may have overdone it.

You must have, in fact, by the way your mate was currently unconscious. You had been too just a few moments ago, but you drearily woke from the pressure on your bladder. You were as careful as you could have been as your body cricked to life. Battered was a good word for what you had done to yourself as you slipped Donnie’s legs out from between your own.

You got clear of him and he didn’t wake up even with all your jostling.

You looked over him fondly before you crept toward the bathroom. Your new and frequent pit stop, you relieved yourself before you glanced in a mirror. When he wasn’t acting as your personal massager, your husband had learned a fun fact about all that blood that had been on your mind. In your second trimester, you were pulsing with about three pounds of extra blood flow which was evident on your skin.

All those pressure points you begged him to stain into you had burst into severe bruises. You hadn’t remembered them aching like that when they were inflicted and you tested pressing one. Just as you thought, there was barely a pinch from the mark and it was all because of the extra blood that they blossomed. A turn showed your back looked about the same and back to the front you touched up your cheeks.

There was some darkening around your eyes from neglect.

It all seemed like a moot point in comparison to your past week.

You had been chaining orgasms like you were trying to get a high score in a video game.

They came often and with little effort so you had been addicted to the development. It was an around the clock sort of affair that dodged your actual responsibilities. Whenever you weren’t working or tied to some other necessary engagement, you pulled your mate to bed. He had no problem supplying your whims, but you had worn him out with the many trips to Nirvana. 

You guessed you had done the same to yourself because it was hard to stand at a stove to cook when your attractive and willing husband was right there. There had been a few burnt dishes from coaxing him to mount you and because of that you hadn’t had as much to eat or drink as you probably should have. 

Overall, you weren’t too worried as you were sure to get on track.

You were making up for lost time. 

You would start now and be proactive.

A quick stop by the PC mentioned your last consumption was a while ago and you clicked forward for a recommendation. Something filling and nutritiously dense came up to help offset the gap in your foodstuffs. You thought over what needed to be prepared as you tapped over to a vitamin section. You vaguely remembered Donnie bartering with his cock to get you to drink water. You had relented and downed his offered pills so you were at least still on time for that.

It was a sort of funny cosmic turnabout, you thought as you grabbed a few items in containers. Donnie was the one between you that more often gave into his animalistic needs. His heat was an obvious extreme of that, but he’d been driven to mark you for less. You sometimes had the drive to lead, but rarely was your hunger one that overtook his.

You had laid him out a fair amount of times during your partnership. They were memories you recalled fondly as you mixed together what was essentially a bean salad and warmed up a few components. You watched the microwave round from a safe distance and heard a faint grunt from your mate. You had kept him beneath you for a lengthy period through the day and night before. You were both in dire need of a shower and you watched on for the moment he would realize it.

The microwave dinged done and you waited a few extra seconds. It proved to be worth it as you watched one of his hands trend up his plastron. It groped lightly and, though you couldn’t see his face, you bet it was one of disgust as he felt outward. Digits pawed at where you had once been on the mattress and he surely felt the lingering warmth. His hand spread out, absorbing it with the knowledge of your timeline, before his head finally came up with creased eyes.

Instead of calling your name, he gave a curious mating call.

You returned it cheerily and finally moved to the microwave.

There was a poof of him letting his head hit his pillow. “Your appetite shifted.”

“I could fuck you a few more times.”

He grunted.

“I’m being good.”

“I recall you being more than acceptable.” You could hear his churr from where you were.

“You satisfied, sweet?” You asked as you dumped components into a bowl.

“Very, very.” He had a bit of a whine to him.

“What’s that quote about weak flesh?” You grabbed a fork and took your meal with you as you walked over to him.

“’The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.’”

“Yeah.” You ate a bite as you walked.

“The former is apt, the latter is false.”

“Not weak?” You arrived and looked him over.

“Maybe for you.” His head lolled in against his pillow to look at you with love.

His expression didn’t waver, but it did rove.

He bounced between bruises on your naked form.

“They don’t hurt. Already checked.” You told him.

“The blood.” He surmised and felt compelled to get up.

You drew a little closer so he could thumb over one on your hip. “That’s what I figured.”

“Ice?”

“It just looks bad, right?”

He nodded and tipped to keep examining you.

You rotated for him.

He touched a few bruises on your back.

“I like them.” You told him after a swallow.

He kissed one on your forearm.

“I’m pretty sure I came a few times just from you making them.”  You recalled.

He steered you to sit in his lap.

You continued to eat and offered him a bite.

He took it lazily.

“What’s on the agenda today?”

“It is now Sunday?” His lids closed as he cradled you close.

“Think so.”

“Should be free.” Donnie flicked a finger to bring up a calendar. “Did you log your meal?”

“Yeah, picked it from your meal plan maker.”

He nodded his appreciation. “Schedule’s clear.”

“I’ll need my vitamin.”

“I’ll get it.” He gave a quick peck to your cheek.

You stood before he could move you.

He chased after you to stand. “Shower and we’ll make good on your request?”

“’A few more times?’” You batted your lashes at him.

He bowed his head for his service.

“Works for me.” You gave him a cheeky grin.

“Finish, shower, digest.” He laid out the next few steps for you while he prioritized the middle option for himself.

Your eyes were on his tail and he made it about halfway to the bathroom before a pinging noise sounded. It echoed through the apartment and the bite you had been constructing almost dropped along with your bowl. Donnie pivoted so quickly he almost fell. You had never heard that alarm before and the beating of your scared heart pounded out of your chest.

“Bypass line.” Donnie found his wrist bare and scrambled for his tech gauntlet.

Yours had never made such a noise. “Bypass?”

“Work.” He clarified and reached his device for a tap to activate it. “You’ve reached Donatello.”

“Donatello!” Spencer’s voice came through the speaker.

Donnie’s demeanor darkened. “Spencer…”

“Sunday, I know. The wife glared at me the whole way out this morning!”

Donnie glowered down even though said man could not see him.

“I’ve been basically kidnapped so give me a break. This was the soonest I could reach out.”

“Elaborate.”

“I’ve got paperwork. We need to meet. You and the spouse!”

“Spencer.” Donnie hissed.

“Do you want to know over the phone or in person?”

“Depends on what it is…!” You called out.

“Y/N!? Do you have me on speaker?! This is supposed to be a secure line!”

“It is.” Donnie seethed.

“Okay, okay. Look, I get it. I know what this number is for. We need to meet. All of us. ASAP. How soon can you get to the office?”

Donnie looked at you.

You shrugged.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling in thought.

Spencer, clearly used to pauses, said nothing on the line.

“Half an hour.” Donnie decided.

“I’ll have everything set up. My office.”

Neither man said goodbye and the call terminated.

You stood feeling a little silly with your salad remnants.

“He was without service.” Donnie spoke.

“He’s got paperwork.” You responded in kind.

You both shared a look.

The government had made their decision.

About time, you thought as you looked down at your swollen belly. It was getting harder to label it as a bump. You could almost set your bowl on top of it and, seeing the bits of food left, you ate the last few bites. Swallowing them down, Donnie finally animated and resumed his trek to the shower. You dumped your bowl and followed after him as soon as the water was hot. You pulled back the curtain on him sudsed up and he made way so you could wash your body. You did so in tandem and you saved your head from getting wet since you were in a hurry.

You got out before him and dried off. The moment the water was shut off, you commenced brushing your teeth. He was soon wrapped in his own towel and barely got enough to wick the drips. He was off to get his wraps on as he presumably ached and you trailed after him. You finally got dressed, something almost foreign within the confines of your home as of late and helped him tie off his mask. He finally took to brushing his own teeth and you were catching your breath from getting your shoes on when he met you at the door.

The car was waiting for you by the curb. You thought the car ride might be tense, but you were a bit too used to the sensation. You had fought too hard for your baby at this point to care what the government thought. You would tear them apart with your bare teeth if they tried to do a thing to your mate or your child. They were a paltry thing in comparison to the entity you were growing. Your baby was far better at plucking your nerves and some idiots in office were barely on your radar.

You also had been thoroughly fucked beyond all comprehension, so it was hard to move the needle on your blood sugar considering.

Even Donnie, whose mind was clearly churning at the scant details he’d been given, wasn’t as stressed as you would expect. He was mostly calm, with your wedding band as indication, and he held your hand between the seats. You were both belted in after said upgrade had been implemented by S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and it sat comfortably in the manner suggested to you to protect your stomach.

You arrived at Donnie’s office through what you considered light traffic and buzzed in.

Genius Built was on standby mode for the weekend. You scanned through and the front desk sat empty. The last time you had been here was to desecrate the walls and you chuckled to yourself at the memory. Donnie passed a glance at your levity and got you into the elevator. It was then a short ride to Spencer’s office, where you could tell Donnie wished he could go just a bit faster. He was stuck at your relaxed speed and once through the layers of security, you caught the knob to the door first.

The moment you opened it there was a pop, but you were already behind Donnie.

You blinked into your husband’s back and found he had both his arms backward to keep you safely in place.

Spencer popped a confused vowel. “What are you doing!? Come on!”

Donnie’s displeasure was palpable even though you couldn’t see his face.

You peeked out around his bicep to find the noise was Spencer having popped a bottle of what looked like champagne. “Surprise!”

He had three glasses lined up on his desk and Donnie didn’t stop you as you walked over to get them. “You have no idea what you insinuated do you?”

“What do you mean?” He saved some foam. “This is non-alcoholic, by the way. It’s good though. Tried a few real stinkers before we found this one. Wife’s trying to cut back. You know the deal.”

“Uh huh.” You held up the first glass.

Spencer poured it full.

“Good news then?” You asked as you switched for another.

Donnie hovered near you and took the first finished flute.

“Good news?!” Spencer whooped and barely finished getting the last glass.

The moment he was done, he left the wet bottle on his desk and rounded it for some papers.

“Allow me!” He held up a few pages like a scroll. “After careful review… blah, blah… in light of the unforeseen and extraordinary nature of the current situation, we have reached a determination… yadda, yadda… hereby grant you amnesty in relation to the birth, continued custody, and upbringing of your child!”

Donnie stood a statue.

You raised your two glasses.

Spencer adjusted his handful so he could take one.

“So…?” You spoke in a delighted puff.

“You’re good!” Spencer cheered and clinked his glass to yours.

You moved to share the toast with Donnie who was stuck processing.

“There’s a full cover letter and a couple of identical contracts that you need to sign. I read through them about twenty times while I waited. You’re good. Obviously, the lawyers got their copies electronically and cleared it before I got here. They did send over a shorthand of the contract provisions if you didn’t want to read through all the legalese. They assured me it’s nothing outside the realm of what’s expected of parents in the great state of New York. You can read whatever version you want, but… that’s it. You’re considered an extraordinary case, they’re setting new protocols because of you, and we’ve left them scrambling!”

Spencer took a hearty drink and you took a sip.

Donnie moved and Spencer quickly changed out what had to be a cover letter for a full contract which he handed over.

Donnie almost spilled his drink as he immediately started reading and you saved it from getting on the document.

“You two are not acting how I expected.” Spencer leaned against his desk.

“What’d you expect?”

“Tears?” He spoke instantly with a pursed lip. “Maybe some screaming? A hug?”

You chuckled. “Are we disappointing you?”

“You are, maybe, a little.”

“I’ll shed a tear when I get to go to that spa.”

“Spa?” Spencer’s gaze shot away as he took another drink.

“I got receipts.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

He gave up immediately for a smile. “Yeah! You got me! I know! I just… I’m over the moon! You are bumming me out! I worked so hard.”

“We appreciate it.” You moved to set your glass down.

“Months of work. How far along are you? Since way back before you got your flowers!”

You hugged him.

He froze where his flute was still up.

You felt Donnie look.

Spencer awkwardly patted your shoulder. “O-oh…”

You pulled away. “Thank you.”

The man was further put off by your sincerity.

“We do appreciate it. More than you can ever know. I’m sure I’ll cry or freak out later. It’s just right now I’m so calm and-”

“Say no more!” Spencer quacked out of your hold and adjusted his suit. “Kids! I’ve got ‘em, my wife’s had them. You do not disrupt these moments of pregnant bliss!”

You watched after with metered affection.

“This is good, right?” He held up his drink. “It gets the bubbles without that carbonated flavor.”

You guessed this was the most praise Spencer had ever gotten in his many years with Donatello and thus he was spiraling a bit. “Yeah. I could be tricked, I think.”

“For the cheap stuff?!” The man leapt at the distraction.

“Totally.” You drank a little more. “Tell me more about the scrambling.”

“Oh!” Spencer’s face split. “You should have seen them! They thought they got me out of bed, but I was up early! Got the smoker going, long story. Wait, second thought, we could do dinner…?”

Donnie’s brows twitched.

“Not that close, heard.” Spencer raised his glass to that. “Anyway, I was already up and they had clearly been deliberating. Shark tank tells me this decision was lumped in and holding up maybe a spending bill that would line their pockets, per intel that I shouldn’t need to tell you that you never heard.”

You nodded.

“But they were a mess. There was a general I had seen prior and some other guys who scrambled for coffee. An assistant that was fresh as a daisy brought it. Sweet thing trapped in those dark halls…”

“Spencer.”

“Right!” He chirped. “We spent some time questioning, maybe they were hoping I would let something split that would shift the decision, but no. Our holdings at Genius have been fantastic. We’ve provided all the paperwork they requested in droves. We bowled them over. Cut down and replanted a bunch of trees just to placate them and to piss them off. Make it easy, but do it hard so they don’t want to bother and would rather just say yes then figure it out.”

You tipped what was left of your glass to that.

Spencer had a refill ready. “Anywho, a few hours, I didn’t crack, and boom, I get presented with this. They don’t even want to meet you. We’ll get this looked at by the notary for signing and bing bang boom, you’re all good.”

Donnie snorted sudden hatred.

Spencer rolled his eyes.

You sensed the issue. “Who’s the notary?”

“Stockman.”

“Stockman.”

Two voices spoke with very different inflections.

“The security guy?” Your own anger rose.

Spencer smirked. “You would think it would be a conflict of interest, but seeing as he’s contract, does some government work on the side, and absolutely hates our CEO and creator…”

“He’s…” You looked toward Donnie.

“On premise as we speak.” Spencer responded for him. “Donatello?”

Donnie finished reading and flicked his eyes up toward nothing in particular. “Sound. Pathetic jargon without admitting fault. “

Only you caught the glint of his glasses as they finished processing.

“I abstain from revision.” Donnie adjusted the papers.

“Good. Getting them would have been a pain. It’s a good deal. We can humiliate them later when they come crawling to us for their next tech upgrade.” Spencer grabbed a second full contract and passed it to you. “Want the shorthand?”

“Sure.” You didn’t feel like reading either, but it was there and you figured you could make Spencer feel useful for it.

He passed it over and you barely looked. “I’m gonna finish up here. Tell the lawyers we’re good so we can all get back to a lazy Sunday.”

Donnie dismissed him with a bob of his head.

“You’re not… coming with us?” You blinked and gave up your drink.

Spencer gave a single bark of laughter. “Not my division. You’ll be fine!”

You studied the man, but he didn’t seem scared as much as resolved that he could salvage what was left of his day off. “Alright…”

Donnie nodded for you to go.

You followed with a parting glance to Spencer. “Thanks again.”

“Get me a better bonus!” Spencer yelled after. “I did a lot this year!”

You bet Donnie already had it tallied up. You checked in with your mate to smile at him before glancing at that shorthand document. As described, it was a scant summary of the introduction and a bullet point list that mostly equated to swearing to care for a child. “This looks a lot like the adoption paperwork we saw.”

Donnie was quiet.

You didn’t say much more as you headed toward an elevator.

When you entered, it bathed you in red light before a strange symbol appeared on the panel. Donnie’s mood trended worse, but you leaned up as best you could to examine the little panel. It looked like the image was trying to masquerade as a light bulb, but it was more like a big head wearing a bow tie. The elevator dinged as if a selection was made and you were heading up. It wasn’t any faster than a normal trip, but the eerie light had you tucking into your mate.

His arm came around you protectively and he placed his palm against your belly.

As the elevator slowed, you ran through what you could say for your own form of bottle-popping surprise. You once told Donnie you had choice words for this jerk, but in your current state it was hard to summon much ire. You were more irritated by the waste of time with theatrics than anything else. You, much like Spencer, were being kept from Sunday delights, even if the cause was something you had been waiting for.

The elevator doors opened to a dimly lit hall. It was exactly what you expected a security corridor to look like. Cords ran excessive power to where the interior room glowed brightly with what you assumed were security monitors. As a unit, you felt Donnie move and you fell into step with him. You hadn’t practiced walking like this much, so you moved slowly. It built tension as you made it down the hall until you arrived at what had to be a headquarters of sorts.

The room was nothing like you imagined.

There were no screens in sight. Instead, the light produced was coming from LED covertly tucked into the walls. They perfectly illuminated the tabletops that lined the space. They served a variety of functions with the ones on the right having a long control panel of sorts. The center console, where a chair sat, housed a keyboard where someone was sitting and clacking away. The last wall had a tidy surface where only a half empty blender bottle and some spare mechanical parts sat.

Whoever was typing stopped abruptly and the chair tipped back along with them.

There was a hiss of something disconnecting and the seat promptly spun.

Out of it walked a being that you at first thought was a mutant fly.

Donnie held you closer under your sudden surge of fear, but it tapered off as you studied the being.

You made out what was clearly a human man’s face wearing large bug-like goggles. The red glass domed large and glittered with what seemed to you to be a feed for every tiny inlaid hexagon. His hair spiked up freely where the goggles were only a visor and he had bulky shoulder pads that had a second set of spindly arms coming out of them. Instead of human hands, they bulked out in segments with pinchers at the end that had obvious ports in the crux. That must have been what disconnected and you watched their dual purpose in action as one of the arms shot out to grab the cup and bring it to the wearer.

In another click of mechanics, the goggles lifted and you saw a smirking man’s face. “Hello and welcome.”

“Hi.” You chanced.

“It’s a shame we couldn’t meet in better company.” The man stepped forward and outstretched his real hand.

Donnie pulled you away before you could shake it. “Stockman.”

“Donatello!” The younger man cheered. “You know they always say the camera adds weight, but did you know it also makes one appear to have lost their touch?”

“Harkening back to your streaming days?” Donnie all but snarled.

“Okay…” You pushed against your mate. “I get there’s bad blood. But…” 

You opened your mouth to add more, but you paused on the man’s name.

It was obviously Stockman and you vaguely remembered it had been changed from something else, but both had seemed like last names to you.

“Baxter.” He offered a little more curt than before. “You can’t believe everything that Donatello tells you.”

“Maybe.” You shot him a warning glance. “But I know what I’ve heard, Baxter, which was you threatening my husband.”

Baxter’s face immediately fell. “Heard?”

“The contracts.” Donnie held out his.

You offered yours.

Both crowded Baxter’s person.

He eyed you both before taking them. “Let me prepare.”

You stewed a little as Stockman went to take his gear off and set it into ports in the wall. You sent Donnie concern over having said something out of turn, but he celebrated you. You smiled to yourself at the feeling and his spirit snuggled up to yours amongst your bond.

You were back to a baseline of content when Baxter summoned you. “I’ll need acceptable IDs.”

You and Donnie both rummaged for the necessary documents.

You watched on with waning patience as Stockman took an especially long time looking at Donnie’s. “Hmm… Not sure this is authentic.”

“Must you?” Donnie almost yawned. 

“What was that?” Stockman sent Donnie a seething side eye.

“We can go elsewhere. You waste our time.”

“Sounds like I’m charging a travel fee! All those flights of stairs after I log that the elevator was broken…” Baxter grinned. “These’ll do.”

Donnie looked at you like he was ready to walk out.

You got your ID and shared the sentiment.

You would need to get the contracts.

Stockman was currently standing guard between you and them.

“Is everyone who needs their signature notarized present?”

“Yes.” You spoke first.

Donnie only nodded.

You wondered how you could best distract the man so Donnie could get the pages.

“And now…” Baxter reached into his shirt pocket and held a huge bravado.

He also seemed like he would make his own opening.

“By the powers invested in me by the state of New York!” Baxter threw out a hand and produced what only looked like a cheap self inking stamp.

“Uh… huh…” You drawled.

“My…!” Stockman wilted. “My… stamp… My notary stamp. It’s official.”

“I expected maybe a badge or…?” You sent up a dull stare.

“It’s framed on the wall!” Baxter pointed and you looked.

A plain looking certificate was hung with a few other accolades.

One of which you swore said evil genius college, but you sort of remembered Donnie saying he went to MIT.

That first thing couldn’t have been real anyway.

“It has a gold seal and everything! Real gold leaf! 91.7% pure!” Baxter went on in growing desperation.

“Let’s just… get this over with, man.” You turned back around.

Baxter was more devastated by your lifeless comment than seemingly anything else.

Donnie wobbled as he tried not to laugh.

Stockman rose with ire that had no place to go.

He sent all his anger toward your paperwork and seemed a moment away from crying. “I need to go through the documents! I’m your witness and notary for today, Baxter Stockman.”

You said nothing and that seemed to send him more into a fit.

Donnie was practically vibrating beside you.

“State your full names for the record.” Baxter’s hands shook as he prepared his stamp.

“Donatello.”

“Y/N L/N.”

“A-are you signing this document voluntarily and of your own free will, without any coercion or undue influence?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“And you understand the contents of the document?”  

“Yes.”

“Sure.”

“And you will swear and attest to such?” He laid out both stacks with their blank lines at the ready along with two pens.

You and Donnie approached your respective contracts.

“Yes.”

“Yup.”

“Sign in my presence.”

More than any moment you had been in the room, you felt Baxter judging you as you signed. Your pen wobbled for the scrutiny and you worried what would happen if you needed to re-do anything. You pushed the thoughts away to stand firm. With the pen tightly gripped, you swirled through the signature you had scrawled out on many a document. Each unique, but also unmistakably you, you got it signed after Donnie had long finished.

“I will now complete the notarial certificate.”

Baxter opened a drawer from underneath the workbench. From it he produced a large book where he copied down information such as your name, date, among a few other things. He then separately scrawled out what you saw as charges for his time that looked especially exorbitant before he started to stamp the necessary pages.

He stopped shy of yours. “A question.”

Donnie immediately lit with rage that broiled in your wedding band.

You could have guessed the question without his mention.

“When… could you have heard me…?” Baxter didn’t look at you, but he was oozing malevolence.

Your hand lifted and you felt the collective room hold their breath. You used your palm to press reassurance to Donnie’s arm. You then sent Baxter your best smile that had been trained by the tyranny of working under one of the worst bosses of all time. “I apologize. I must have misspoke. I probably heard my husband talk about it. I mean…”

Stockman was staring at your mouth where your words had died off.

You knew how to drum up your own swagger. “… there couldn’t possibly be a hole in your security otherwise… right?”

You looked straight into his eyes with a crystal clear gaze.

You watched as absolute defeat rolled through his pupils.

You could almost see the tiny flames of hell light.

He would now spend the rest of his weekend and whatever else tearing through security footage.

You had ruined the next few days of this man’s life as he looked for the gap in his coverage.

The one he so clearly thought he couldn’t possibly have.

All because of you and your genius mate.

He stamped your contract with enough gusto that you swore you heard the plastic crack in the cheap thing.

“You’ve interrupted my work long enough!” Baxter swept up your documents and shoved them into you. “We’re done here! Now, LEAVE!”

His roar reverberated off the walls and Donnie swept around you.

You moved with purpose and without his hold as you strolled straight down that hall. You heard the distant sounds of Baxter putting his equipment back on and the clicks of him plugging back into the Genius Built security system. All the while he muttered to himself with ideas about what you could have heard all the way until the elevator doors shut.

Donnie dipped you a little lethally for how large your stomach was and laid a heated kiss onto your lips. You allowed the mild discomfort and cradled him. “’A few times’ has been upgraded.”

“Am I going to make it to work tomorrow?” You giggled against your mate.

“Not a chance.” He churred sweetness against you and you cheered by hugging him close.

(Check out behind the scenes for this fic and more on my Patreon. You can follow me there, here, or the tag #softspotfic for updates)

My present for the holidays is the presence of my betas @tmntxthings and @unrestrainedhotsoup

[waitineedaname]

not romantic or platonic but a secret third thing (bonded pair)

[myriam-draws]

some starfires i’ve drawn a bit over time i miss her (i refuse to read titans 2023)

[tkbrokkoli]

cant believe that after driving the car, riding the train, booking a hotel room, having a nightmare, visiting the father in law, visiting a hospital, making a friend, and escaping an assassin, the incomprehensible Horrors™ are back at it again and harder to bear than ever 🐻

[deus-ex-mona]

such is the tale of a ✨chronically online hypocrite✨

[vampiiric]

slightly serious but its been on my mind so. as someone who went through autism-specific abuse from parents as well as the american school system from a young age, i don't like people using experiences of people like me to discourage self diagnosis. like.

i've seen people in the wild saying that if you self diagnose autism, you're making a mockery of people who underwent the abuse, especially in schools. but the thing is, the schools especially knew i was autistic before i did!! they treated me as autistic long before i was diagnosed, and were in fact the ones who pushed for my diagnosis. i did an entire paper on autism specific abuse for school and did a lot of research into the topic, which is how i realized what i went through was autism specific abuse and how it affects me. and yes it exponentially affects those diagnosed from a young age but it was awful before i got diagnosed and it got worse after!! so a professional diagnosis can hurt people!

if you were able to mask well enough to escape it, i am so fucking happy for you. like. this is incredibly traumatizing. and it's really underrepresented. and if you use the trauma and abuse people like me have gone through to tell people they aren't autistic and are hurting us, don't you fucking dare. you need to be blaming the people who abuse us and who make it hard for the people who are self diagnosing to get the proper diagnosis- and make life exponentially harder for those of us who are diagnosed.

by attacking people who are just seeking help and community and understanding, you aren't helping ASA survivors. you're hurting people (who might even have experienced that!! you don't know!!) who are trying to live their life with the most understanding of themselves.

anyways this blog supports self-diagnosed autistics and autistics who didn't learn until later in life and autistics who masked so well nobody realized and autistics who didn't realize that what they went through was autism specific abuse. i love you guys. we're in this together.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Dorian Pavus

[gorillaxyz]

people on death note tiktok are so stupid. i dont like that ship either because its extremely out of character NOT BECAUSE ITS TOXIC????, DIE

[nonstandardrepertoire]

so we finished watching season 2 of Picard last night, and just. whew, friends, what? a truly baffling array of choices. things i simply cannot get over:

the commitment to doing every Single joke from The Voyage Home while simultaneously Strenuously Avoiding doing anything campy or goofy

like, the reason TVH works is that the main cast are all just Buffoons — Kirk does not know how money works, Spock is dressed as a jogger in a bathrobe, Scottie tries to talk into a computer mouse, and it is all GREAT. in Picard S2, it's like, they say they don't know much about this period in history, but they all seem to click into place fairly seamlessly. in general watching this new era of Trek, it feels like the writers have simply forgotten the pleasure of a good silly camp romp, and constantly referencing one of the best silliest campiest romps in the canon is uh, not helping

the climax of the season revolves around?? Q's character development??? Q???? QUEUE?????? baffling

in general what was even Q's plan here. is he . . . trying to sabotage the Europa mission or not? why is All Of This necessary for Picard to forgive himself, if that's Q's real goal? just like generally this framing does not make sense to me and so resting the entire season on it is. a choice, i guess

also when have we ever been asked to care about Q's interiority before, when have we ever been asked to be On His Side as opposed to whatever human he's fucking with

how are we relating to canon here. h o w. there are some Real deep cuts, but then also some like, fairly prominent episodes that are just?? ignored???

like, ok:

Guinan and Picard have a fairly significant adventure together in 1800s San Francisco (in “Time’s Arrow”). it is canon then that she doesn't know Picard yet. this is an incident she will remember for 500+ years and reference on board the Enterprise D. but in this season of Picard, she appears not to know him at all and to once more be meeting him for the first time. these two first meetings are . . . difficult to reconcile

but we are apparently doubling down on “Wesley Crusher was just the super specialest boy and he managed to transcend the limits of physical reality because of his big special brain”

we are apparently pretending that Robert Picard just . . . doesn't exist? isn't around for Jean-Luc's childhood? this isn't really technically a continuity error but Robert and Jean-Luc's relationship felt real and specific and grounded in the particulars of their two characters whereas Yvette just feels like generic sexist “ooooooh his mother was ~crazy~” schlock, and losing the former for the latter is uh. not an improvement

we're doubling down on Gary Seven, tho! Gary fucking Seven!!!!! remember that beloved character from an episode that was definitely a good idea??? why

actually, specifically, tho: it feels like this is a continuation of Star Trek’s reluctance/inability to grapple with the less savory parts of Gene Roddenberry as a human being, particularly his misogyny. to stick only to the example at hand, he made the “Assignment: Earth” filming experience so miserable for Teri Garr (by, for example, relentlessly shortening the length of her skirt, even over the objections of the costume designer) that Garr has absolutely refused to talk about Star Trek in subsequent interviews. i was obviously not on set, but the vibe i get is extremely that filming that episode would clearly and unambiguously been a hostile workplace environment by contemporary standards of sexual harassment. so i, personally, have a hard time being like “ah yes, ‘Assignment: Earth’, what a fun bit of forgotten canon to incorporate wholesale into our new series without grappling with the specifics of its creation in any way!”. the vibes are just . . . rancid

anyway, moving on from continuity gripes,

it feels like a real missed opportunity to have not cast David Duchovny as the FBI agent. this is really not the showrunners’ fault, but i’m in a hating sort of mood, so i’m going to take off points anyway

“Dark Page” was not a great idea in 1993 and it isn’t any better now

circling back to “covering the hits without any understanding of what made them good”, Raffi’s encounter in a camp of unhoused people feels like a nod to “Past Tense” without any willingness to actually . . . engage with what “Past Tense” was saying. for all that i have some issues with some of its narrative choices, “Past Tense” devotes significant, sustained screen time to characters that society has decided to discard and is relentless in hammering home the message that “this is not just and it cannot be reformed into justness”. here, Raffi stumbles across an encampment, someone immediately tries to mug her at gun point, she beats him up, she shares a rueful quip about “gosh, wild that such a prosperous society can’t be assed to take care of people”, and then we just move on and never mention this again. like, we get Words saying that Homelessness Bad, but what we are shown is “unhoused people are scary and dangerous and it’s ok for our heroes to beat them up”

(i actually think that In General there is a lot of wasted potential with Raffi, altho mostly the fault here lies in season 1. “very competent Starfleet officer who is also dealing with paranoid delusions and falling apart at the seams about it” is an interesting premise for a Star Trek character if done well! and then S1 is just like “oh, nope, actually, she was right about everything, there was a massive, bizarre conspiracy that did exactly what she thought they did, she's fine and correct and everyone who ever doubted her is an ass”)

(i also think that the “love always ends in grief” sequence from Discovery S4, for all of that season’s considerable messiness, is a much tighter and more powerful expression of that theme than the wandering, haphazard approach to it here. i think these shows are meant to be watched in concert, but the back-to-back seldom does Picard any favors)

we continue to lean into Human Exceptionalism and i continue to roll around on the floor going “ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” about it

more elaborate thoughts on that go in my “if i were making Enterprise” post, tho

THAT SAID

on the topic of exceptionalism, i hate the FUCK out of the bit in Crusher’s recruitment speech where he’s like “do you want to be ordinary, or do you want your life to have purpose and meaning?” as tho???? ordinary lives????? cannot have purpose and meaning???????????? look me in the eyes, writers. no, no, look me Directly in the eyes: fuck you, fuck that, i am doing cartoon violence to you. the mindset that only extraordinary lives are worth living is toxic bullshit that distorts so much of our mental, political, and artistic landscape. ordinary lives can have so much meaning and purpose, they can be so very beautiful and rich. ordinary lives can be very good to live. i think Star Trek, in general, focuses too much on elites as The Only People Who Really Matter, but to elevate that to the level of explicit text is just. fucking devastating. unspeakably bleak. absolute philosophical train wreck of a season finale, on a par with Discovery’s “a Starfleet admiral actively and deliberately planned and tried to carry out a genocide and faced zero career repercussions for it that we can see”. clown car nonsense

in conclusion: i have drunk the haterade, g-d this season sucked, i can’t wait to make April 13 “Jurati eating car batteries day” and take it away from the Homestucks

[izzy-b-hands]

Didn't think the 1989 version of The Woman In Black would be scarier than the one with Dan Radcliffe in it

I was Wrong flkjdsafkldsja, but I'm delighted to have been wrong. I had missed getting scared with more practical effects/careful timing of things in the background of shots appearing and disappearing, and this one scratches that itch well.

[winterdusktales]

yg has conditioned ot7 ikon to be a touring group so now even when they all left yg, all they (ikon & hanbin) do is tour and join various music festivals. like i know those guys would prefer inviting other artists to guest in their concert over inviting them for a quick tiktok challenge or something