#intersect labs

[ikiprian]

Clone’s Best Friend

“Cute dog!” the girl says. “What breed is he?”

“Uh,” blinks Kon. "Are you asking what breed Superdog is?"

“Uh, duh?”

Well. She’ll have to forgive him his stunned expression, ‘cause he doesn’t usually run into other dog walkers on this path. This is, of course, because “path” is used in the loosest sense, the one that connotates direction and not tread ground, and the “walk” bit is entirely inapplicable, with all of them currently flying one thousand feet above sea level.

“Cujo’s a rescue,” she continues, swinging her feet in the sky, “so we don’t know for sure, but my sister thinks part husky, part shar pei. Half-and-half, like me!”

Cujo is also, apparently, half green and half glowing. He wiggles happily in a play-bow. It’s very cute, except for the way he’s the size of a small house.

Krypto’s tough, though. He barks and chases his new friend through cloud cover. Gamely, Cujo flees. They frolic in the chilly condensation, occasionally poking a head out before diving back in, like a fox in a snowdrift.

Neither of them see anything surprising about this. It’s all good fun. And, well. Krypto’s always been a good judge of character.

Kon turns back to the girl and gives her a megawatt smile.

“He’s Kryptonian. Like me. But he looks like a white lab!”

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

For @sketchbookweek Day 6 - Halloween and Day 7 - Alternative Universe

To be honest, this isn't an entry I'm very happy to be making, and that's because I'd been hoping to share a new installment of my Hospital AU for this day. Alas, a combination of lack of time, disposition, and my particular perfectionism towards this 'verse since it means soooo much to me prevented me from writing the fic I wanted to. But don't think you're safe just yet; when you least expect it, I'm taking you all back to the hospital with me 🚑🚑🚑

Oh and please don't look too hard at the goofy ass kids in the paed ward. This ain't about them

(text in the poster that Kaisa covered & ref pictures under the cut)

Did you know? Breast cancer screening should be done on trans women who have been using hormones for >5 years and are older than 50, as well as those with high genetic risk; screening also must be done on trans men who have not undergone mastectomy

[terrasu]

I know it's late, but what do you guys think about my brother's latke recipe he texted me last year (ish?)

[dihalect]

my department is apparently no longer hybrid, but “on-site with ad-hoc remote work”. i’m just gonna see how long i can get away with ignoring that

[rapunzelsunshine]

just remembered i registered for 8 am classes monday through friday next semester,, i fear i might do something drastic

[melonnade]

yeah i love women in stem

stalking torture extortion murder

[mintaka-iii]

man I have Got to go back to living with friends. or even friendly strangers. this living alone shit is *bad for me*

[artbyblastweave]

So with superhero origins, what's basically always been the case is that the writers exploit whichever area of cutting-edge science is currently in the zeitgeist, banking heavily that the audience will be unlikely to understand the actual effective limits of the science under discussion. In the pulp era many of the protocapes are getting whatever "power" they have from souped-up training regimens, healthy living, "Eastern Wisdom," whatever. In the thirties and forties it trends chemical- they're taking "miracle pills" or inhaling weird vapors or whatever, its steroids, they're on steroids, or possibly meth. In the sixties, in the atomic age, its particles, its radiation, its rays. Eventually, you know, it's pretty well understood that radiation can't do that either, so they migrate over to genetic engineering, cybernetics, nanobots. Every cape and their brother was some kind of cyborg or lab experiment in the 90s. These days it's quantum this, string-theory that, dimensional wonkery, cats in boxes. In 20 or 30 years we'll have a better sense of what all of that actually means in practice (likely not much) and then it'll be something else.

I've observed that Dr. Strange and other magical characters are actually basically immune to this treadmill, because they're magic- that's already post-modern and fluid and squishy and immune to the expectation of real-world scientific rigor. They're vulnerable to changing cultural perceptions of magic, the Strange of the 60s isn't interchangeable with the Strange from the 2010s, but it's not as drastic a shift. From the other direction Green Lantern is also kind of resistant to the treadmill because the lantern tech is, and always has been, ludicrously advanced and totally divorced from any real-world techno-logic- It's Clarke's third law shit. Flash was forcibly made immune to the treadmill through the introduction of The Speed Force into the mythos- it's not a chemical accident, it's a higher fundamental power, it's just how this universe is metaphysically structured, now stop asking questions.

In due time I suspect that all superheroic origins will converge on one of these. Unfalsifiable magic, unfalsifiable alien toys, unfalsifiable higher unifying forces. Or else they'll fall into the gaping maw of the secret fourth thing that lurks beneath and intersects with all three of these- that you got powers instead of radiation poisoning from that accident because we're in a story, the thing happened instead of not happening because it was more interesting, because "narrative" is a force as real, if not realer, than gravity. Of course it goes without saying that you need to be really, really good at writing to pull off the secret fourth thing. Start fucking around with the secret fourth thing and the result is either going to be genuinely transcendent metafiction or something so self-absorbed and tautological that it disappears up its own ass.

[grison-in-space]

Hi fellow neuroscientist and animal behavior observer! What's up? It's a weird ass time to be a scientist in the US right now. Like there's the doom and despair taking up most of my brain but also I have a lab presentation in 1.5 weeks and my committee meeting two weeks after that. How do you make yourself focus on lab/science stuff?

I'm so sorry it's taken me a while to get back to you; I've been rotating this ask in my mind for over a week now. I hope your lab presentation went well, and I hope your committee meeting does, too. Bear in mind that I am reeling as much as anyone else, but... well, I have had a lot of things happen during my academic career, and I have had some practice with this by now. I was displaced from my home three or four times during grad school, and all but once that was because of climate change related flooding. (I actually cannot remember offhand. That kind of thing fucks with your ability to reckon in chronological time, which is why no one has been able to work out how years work since 2020 at latest.) I did my PhD in Texas, too, which gave me some exciting experiences around campus violence and guns.

But maybe the biggest thing for me is that I started grad school in 2012, right in time for the government sequester of 2013. That was the year Patty Brennan (of corkscrew duck penis fame) published an article in Animal Behaviour laying out helpful tips in case your research is targeted as "wasteful spending" by members of Congress seeking to reduce scientific funding. Brennan's work legitimately is groundbreaking--I started out close enough to her field to be able to say that almost no one was looking at vaginal anatomy when she started and she's really driven the field of reproductive conflict forward by systematically looking at methods by which females exert "cryptic choice" to control their own reproductive futures. But it sounds silly at first blush in a sound bite, so she immediately became a target when her work went viral. And that paper came out a decade ago, and we are no better than when we started.

I've gotten pretty good at working through grief and fear, and I've tangled with burnout more than once. So how do you handle it when everything is overwhelming and frightening?

You sketch out the work you can do, and you do it as best you can. Same as anyone else.

Here's the thing. You're a budding scholar. Whatever your field is, you probably know more about it than anyone who isn't a scholar in your field already, and you care about broader justice or you wouldn't be asking me this. This makes you a precious potential resource for whatever activist cause is nearest and dearest to your heart. You are placed, as a person whose career is focused on the pursuit of knowledge, in a position of great authority. Yes, even as a PhD student, although I do agree that having the PhD makes the things you say even more impactful. But you'd be surprised how far even just "PhD student" can go when you're making a stand.

You are a valuable voice when it comes to the intersection of your expertise and your community--and by that, I don't just mean your discipline and your geographical location; I mean your lived experiences and your identities too. If you burn out, your voice and effort may be completely irreplaceable. So make sure you don't burn out, but don't waste your potential to speak out, either. You can do that by working out what your "beat" is: pick one to two things you care really deeply about working on in the world, that you want to make better, and focus on those. Use your authority to make changes.

Currently, my "beat" is focused on disability justice (especially in terms of neurodivergence) and sex/gender, because those are communities I am part of and that I think deeply about. My work there can take a lot of forms: shoving hard on the pernicious medical thought process that tends to conceptualize disorder and disease as a deviation from a uniform functional population; pointing out the complexity inherent in sex differences and sex itself; building relationships with disabled academics to make networks for one another so that we can better support trainees as well as ourselves building alliances between disability justice scholars and researchers tackling these topics with an eye towards integrating the comments and interests of disabled people into the field of study that theoretically focuses on us. These are topics that tie into my research interests (context dependence, decisionmaking, strategy, developmental plasticity, etc) but also into my sense of justice and the communities in which I spend my life as an autistic queer butch.

Think about the things you care most about making better, and think about how those things intersect with your research interests. Is there a bathroom bill you could write a deposition for explaining how complicated sex actually is? A local news reporter who could use a scientist talking about the long term climate impacts of the new fracking project up the road? A new policy on immigrant familial separation that is going to lead to kids with major attachment issues down the line and increase the odds of terrible outcomes? Creative ways to send promising undergrads from underrepresented backgrounds on for new opportunities if you live in a state where DEI initiatives have been banned? (Man, that was an exhausting conversation to have with the North Carolina folks at my last conference. And the Floridians.) Where will your voice carry the most weight for the amount of energy you allocate to it?

Here's my best stab at practical advice for junior trainees:

Figure out what your limit for practical engagement is and defend it viciously. The thing about being in academia, and about having the PhD for that matter, is that it gives you a lot of leverage for speaking authoritatively about problems in your field and in your community. This, too, can be a form of activism and shaping the world. But if that's the weapon you are making out of your career, you can't also be an effective organizer on the ground for eight different local causes. You can't do everything at once, so pick a limited subset of things to focus on and work on those. Like academia, public impact will suck you dry if you let it, so you have to set boundaries and you have to be clear with yourself about that.

As always with research, your topic should be something you're interested in. Apply your priorities as a human being to your research. Move your project in directions you really care about and which are aligned with your values. Talk with your mentors about how you pitch that to other scientists in your field, of course, but if you're really shaken and scared by the political climate... well, better to apply that to your work than to not be able or interested in focusing on the work at all.

Look for things to celebrate and militantly celebrate them, even if it feels silly. You submitted a manuscript? Make a special dinner. You survived your committee meeting? Meet up with a couple of friends for coffee and cheering. You need things to cheer about, and your job is not going to naturally provide them, so lay out things you can celebrate and celebrate them even if you don't feel like you really achieved anything. (Your PI should help with this, but a lot of them don't. If your PI is absentee, try to find labmates or colleagues to celebrate when you can.) Joy and pride fuel us to keep going; make sure you are feeding them. You do not need money to make this happen, either: there are inexpensive ways to make things feel special, even if your stipend doesn't stretch nearly far enough.

Especially if your lab isn't full of people in your corner, make some friends who feel the same way you do about your "beat". Fellow activists (or just people who care) about your biggest priority are a great choice. Back in the day, I would have exhorted you to join Twitter to build that network; these days, I think most everyone is on Bluesky or Mastodon. You need people who get you and who are in your corner, and you need people who don't have power over your career to help you weather it when the storms rise.

People in the midst of despair don't know the future, either. There will be victories to come moving forward. It will be impossible to imagine them as you are today. The future is murky and uncertain, and you never know what battles you can win until you pitch them. Don't let anyone tell you a battle has been lost until you fight it, and don't make the mistake of thinking that what you do today doesn't matter intensely.

Life is iterative: it always starts from what you do today, and small aggregate decisions have a lot more power over the whole than any individual large one. If you don't like the direction you're going, you can always change direction for a while and see where you go. The best time to plant a tree was ten years ago; the second best time is now.

Find ways to take breaks completely from the political situation. Currently, I have just gotten into Minecraft for the first time, and I am playing a lot of stupid pixelated escapism games. You have to have time to recharge yourself away from all of it. Whatever that looks like to you is good enough. I need, personally, to get back into going for long walks in the woods; that one is one of my old reliable helpful ways to think without getting overwhelmed about it.

So. I don't know if anything has gotten better or worse for you over the last couple of weeks, but I hope for better for you. As for me... well, it's probably time to go back to my grant. We're short on funding going into this mess and who knows if the grant I'm writing for an explicitly DEI-oriented program will survive the coming hammer blows long enough to get it in. Even if it doesn't, I have a couple of book pitches I'll write up and a couple of suggestions for jobs along the way I can take. I can always redirect my effort to a new direction.

Take care of yourselves, friends.

[cookiescribble]

Flufftober Day 1: Lost Pet Meet Cute

Ship: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: Your cat really likes Steve…almost as much as you do

A/N: Flufftober has started!! Happy Spooky Season, everyone! Enjoy! - Mod Ghost

Click

Click

The only sound that usually happens this early in the morning deep in the outskirts of Hawkins were the occasional rustling of the trees swaying in the leaves. Today was an exception, though, because you were putting up a poster for your lost cat with a staple gun. You hadn’t seen him for a few days, and with all the weird stuff that’s been happening around your neighborhood, you weren’t taking any chances. He was usually back within a day or two anyway, so this was especially strange.

This particular poster was getting pinned down to the big tree that stood at the intersection closer to your house, Kerley and Cornwallis. You’d heard the Byers kid, who you think is named Will, and his friends call it ‘Mirkwood’ a couple times as they passed by your house but you weren’t sure why or what it meant.

You stopped thinking about that now, though, taking a final glance at your poster before you were about to turn back to your bike. You had a car but you were sure you could catch your cat easier if you had your bike. He was a sneaky guy, your cat, and you weren’t fast enough on your own to keep up with him if he made his way into the trees.

“Hey, that looks like the cat that’s been showing up in my yard.” Spoke a familiar voice from just behind you, causing you to whip around.

There stood Steve Harrington, the guy you definitely didn’t have a crush on, who also happened to be one of the few people who lived this close to the lab.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?!” You scold without any real malice, smacking his arm lightly.

“Ow, okay,” he held up his hands in defense, grinning, “Sorry, but I think your cat is at my house. I’d seen him in my backyard a bunch and I didn’t think he had a home so I was making sure he was safe.”

He seemed so sheepish and earnest that you almost felt bad reacting that way.

“Oh…is he there right now?”

“Yeah, I can take you there so you can get him if you want. You might wanna take your poster down first, though.” he gestured to the tree that had your poster that said ‘lost cat, please help’ with all the information on the bottom.

“Right…” you nodded, chuckling as you pulled the poster down, “There’s one thing that’s bothering me about this, though.” you speak up again as Steve leads you back to his car.

“Lay it on me” he opened the driver’s door, leaning on the roof of the car as he watched you walk around to the passenger side. It felt like his gaze lingered a bit lower than it should.

“I have no idea if you actually have my cat”

“…what? I told you I did” You watched Steve’s face scrunch up in confusion as he said this.

“Yeah, but you could be just saying that to kidnap me.” You retorted with a smirk, crossing your arms as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why would I want to kidnap you—No! Okay. Fine. If it makes you feel better, I can bring him here so you can just take him—“

“I’m fucking with you, Steve, I’m getting in.” You popped open the car door but realized that he was still standing there, looking more dumbfounded than confused.

“What?” You ask as you stop, staring at him over the roof of the car.

“I just…I realized that I’ve had a crush on you for this long without knowing your name” Steve mumbled, seemingly not thinking about what he was actually saying.

You felt your heart doing crazy skateboard tricks in your chest as he said that, shaking your head as you tried to get your thoughts together.

“Hold on…say that again?”

“…I don’t know your name?”

“No, the other part”

“…I…have a crush on you?”

“Do you actually?”

“Yeah?”

You both stood there for a moment, wondering what to actually do next. It was you that made the first move, though.

You walked back toward him, standing next to him behind the open car door.

“Steve…”

“Yeah…?”

You paused to kiss his cheek.

“Sometimes, you’re lucky you’re pretty.” You pat the same cheek you kissed before you get in the car.

[chiscribbs]

As promised, to show my thanks for getting Grown Apart AU through to the next @tmntaucompetition round - here's a little bonus treat:

A visual chart detailing all the major character relationships in the AU's first act! Enjoy!

(Click "keep reading" for some additional information on a few of the dynamics shown above.)

Splinter & Mikey - When the boys were still very small, Splinter used to take them with him on his excursions out of the sewers (either to get supplies or to search for the two missing turtles). During one of these trips, Mikey got separated from his dad and brother - they eventually found him, mostly unharmed, but the traumatic experience left a lasting mark on Splinter and he has worried about his youngest son ever since.

Leo & Raph - Leo and Raph are the first of the estranged brothers to meet, face-to-face. Raph finds Leo snooping around Draxum's lab and attacks him. Leo manages to escape, with his newly acquired portal sword, but the lab is destroyed in the clash. The two proceed to fight each other on multiple occasions after this, forming a sort of battlefield rivalry.

Donnie & Mikey - By complete and total coincidence, Donnie ends up saving Mikey's life after Draxum drops him off the roof of a building. Mikey takes this as evidence that Donnie is a good person and decides to trust him (despite Leo's protests). Realizing this, Donnie uses Mikey's "misplaced" trust in him as a ticket into the Hamato residence so that he can hide out there until he's apprehended the oozesquitos.

Raph & BM's Assistant - Although Big Mama and Draxum don't work together often, their business does tend to intersect on occasion. Because of this, Raph has had the odd encounter with Big Mama's masked companion. They've never spoken, though (not that BMA would speak even if they had gotten the chance).

Donnie & Raph - They're aware of each other's existence, thanks to their parents' occasional dealings, but haven't actually seen or spoken with each other. Big Mama largely limits Donnie's interaction with anyone outside of herself and hotel staff, and she's especially reluctant to let him meet other mutants (once she learns of their existence) or Draxum. This hasn't stopped him from listening in on some of her business chats via his surveillance tech and finding things out that way, though. Raph only knows Donnie as Big Mama's mechanic and the one responsible for her criminal empire's recent upgrade in technological advancements.

Splinter & Leo - Because of the incident that occurred when they were younger, Splinter has always had a soft spot for Mikey. Leo doesn't exactly resent this fact, but he does often feel like he gets short-changed on all accounts - when Splinter isn't around, Leo is responsible for keeping them both safe and out of trouble. When Splinter IS around, a majority of his limited attention generally gets directed towards Mikey. Thanks to this, Leo is left feeling both a little attention-starved and desperate for some independence. He's too proud to admit to his dad that he feels unseen, though, so he instead opts for causing a little mischief to get the desired attention.

Raph & Mikey - After learning that Raph is not only a mutant, like himself and Leo, but that they were created by the same person - Mikey becomes determined to befriend him and change his mind about humanity. He considers Raph part of the family - even before finding out that Lou Jitsu is their real father, thus making him their real brother. Raph doesn't quite share the sentiment, though - as far as he's concerned, Mikey's the one who's on the wrong side of the fight and no amount of niceness is going to convince him otherwise. (It does, however, make it a lot harder to hate him...)

Donnie & BM's Assistant - These two have a history that goes back several years and has soured with time...on Donnie's end, at least. He used to be close to BMA, considered them a friend for a little while, then something happened to change his opinion of them and caused him to see them as a rival. But what about BMA? What effect, if any, did the loss of Donnie's trust and friendship have on them? As with all things surrounding this character, it's a mystery...

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Quick world lore question; does the game ever specify what kind of potions/poisons exist in twst? Like, since it's technically a fantasy world, would things like health/stamina potions like you'd see in rpg's exist? Or would it be closer to reality, like home remedies and basic pharmaceutical stuff?

I'm only an EN player and I havent read all the pomfiore student's vignette's so if they answer this there then im sorry for the bother ; ;

Potions aren't talked about in the only Pomefiore students' vignettes! (In fact, if we're talking just strictly Labwear vignettes... Vil and Rook's don't really focus on potions at all; only Epel's sort of does.) There isn't actually a ton of lore about potions, and in the times when they do become relevant, the writing tends to focus more on the ingredients and/or the preparation process rather than what kind of potion would be produced. For example, the entire Labwear series of vignettes frequently brings up rare or dangerous plants that require the application of magic in order to safely harvest, such as the mandrake and the lantern blossom.

I wasn't able to check all vignettes (since that would be like... what, probably a few hundred at this point? If not that, then at least over 100.), but there's definitely mentions of potions with various effects. From all lab vignettes alone and combing through the main story, here's what I could glean:

transformation/transmutation potions (prologue, book 2, Beans Day, book 6, etc; this is probably the most often mentioned type of potion)

voice-changing potions (Leona Labwear vignette)

color-changing potions (Epel Labwear voice line)

plant growth potions (Epel Labwear voice line)

sleeping potions (Silver Labwear vignette)

awakening potions (Silver Labwear vignette)

magic enhancing potions (book 2)

a potion that changes one part of your body to that of an animal's (book 3)

itch-relief potion (Lost in the Book with Stitch)

potion that heals burns instantly (Jamil Labwear vignette)

On the subject of poisons, no specific kinds are mentioned as far as I'm aware. There's a Poison Refining class (Cater Labwear vignettes), but we don't really get specifics. When poisons are talked about, it's usually in reference to the Fairest Queen or the Pomefiore dorm leader being skilled in making potent poisons, or it's Kalim talking about the many attempts on his life and unnamed poison antidotes. There may be more mentioned in other places, but at this time I don't have the capacity to check every single event and vignette. If you know of any more that aren’t listed here, please let me know and I can update the list!!

It should also be noted that "potions" can also be used for other purposes. This includes creating special effects for movies (mentioned in Vil's Labwear vignettes) and enhancing the effects of skincare (book 6, Azul Ceremonial Robes, etc.).

You'll notice that the effects of these potions can also be achieved via regular spellcasting. (In fact, we see Adeuce practicing color changing magic in Floyd's Labwear vignettes + Vil using color changing magic to help himself hide from paparazzi, etc., Jack's/Malleus's/Azul's UMs also allow them to do things without the help of potions.) Because of this, I believe that potions are meant to be an alternative way of spellcasting without actually needing to use magic. This makes already prepared potions usable by mages who don't want to expend energy/build blot as well as by NON-MAGES.

Within the world of TWST, there is an occupation known as the “medical mage”, who appear to combine magic and medicine into their practice. Furthermore, what is called “Potionology” in EN is written as 魔法薬学 (literally, "magic pharmaceuticals") in JP, implying that there is, in fact, an intersection between magic and medicine. This is similar to how "technomancy" is described to be the cross between magic and technology.

In terms of a "healing potion", there are instances which show that a magic potion may heal or at least speed up the body's natural healing process. For example, in 7-68 of the main story, Baur gives Lilia something to drink to help him with the dire blow he just took. It doesn't appear to restore him to full health though, as Lilia states he still needs rest afterward. In EN, they use the term "potion" but in JP they use "薬" (kusuri), which is "medicine". Baur qualifies the character with "魔法" (maho), which is "magic", so the term he's using is "magic medicine". This is probably the closest thing to a "healing" potion that we know of in the TWST lore.

So technically, yes, TWST has "healing potions". I wouldn’t say there is one blanket cure-all potion though; based on what we know of potionology and how it’s very similar to irl chemistry classes, we can assume that there are generalized “healing potions” but that there must also be far more specialized and targeted ones, similar to medicine irl or non-enchanted or non-magic infused medicine. This is supported by Riddle mentioning a potion that instantaneously heals burns, implying that there is no “cure-all”.

I would imagine that, like transformation potions, “healing potions” would have to be highly regulated since they’re basically a drug 💀 (There would probably be OTC types too, given proper governmental approval!)

[historicity-was-already-taken]

Hi! I really appreciate your nuanced and informed thoughts. Apologies if you've already answered something like this somewhere, but I'm only occasionally on Tumblr these days.

My question is what do you think about calls for academic boycotts as a means of protest? (Against Russia and Israel, most recently - curiously, I've never seen any suggestions for an academic boycott against, say, China, due to persecution of Uygurs and Tibetans. Cynically, I'm guessing this is because Chinese academia is simply too big and too financially integrated into global academic publishing profits for anyone to imagine a boycott, whereas Russian and Israeli academics are much less visible and much less profitable.)

I often sympathize with the feelings of those calling for boycotts, but it feels like it's useless at best and counterproductive at worst to cut off potential regime critics from international support, making them more dependent on keeping the regime happy for funding. I've seen some of what happens in an academic community (Hungary) that is poorly integrated with the international academic community when a repressive government start going after insufficiently nationalist research, and it's not great - entire fields of study the government doesn't like pressured out of existence, or only hanging on because of external EU funding. I have trouble seeing how essentially helping a regime stamp out dissenting voices is a good way to protest that regime. I also fear that if dissenters feel that the international community rejects them and views them as no different from the regime that they will be more likely to embrace apathy for survival.

I'm not sure how to respond to calls for academic boycott in a way that opens dialogue about these concerns, and I also recognize that I may be missing something. I'd love your thoughts on this issue if you have any!

imo academic boycotts are the political equivalent of punching parallel/down.

especially, since, as you pointed out, many academics in the boycotted nations are already dissenters. that said, i do think it's bullshit that these calls for boycotts aren't extended to china.

there's another aspect here, though, which i think was best presented in The Good Place: in a globalized economy, such simple measures as not buying that tomato or using that app or talking to that one israeli medical researcher don't have the impact we'd like to think they do. everything is soo layered and interwoven and codependent and opaque, that we can't truly know what decision we're making and what kind of impact it will truly have without expertise in international finance and tax law and supply chain ethical management.

in our world, as it exists, money and hard power are the only things which will effect change. they're the only things that matter. shitting on some russian grad student who just accessed the closed soviet archive of Khanate-era mongolian literature, or the israeli social scientist researching the intersection of public health and addiction won't do anything, except keep the West in the dark about Mongolian literature, and blocking findings valuable for public management of those struggling with addiction.

if universities and 18-22 year olds want to effect change, go for the wallet. research which defense contractors give money to which university labs/departments, target the administration of those departments, and make as big and loud of a stink as possible. i don't think the individuals calling for these boycotts want to do that though. it's dangerous and scary and requires them to actually put themselves at genuine risk. it's easier for them to just attack academics living under shitty governments, harass jewish students, and call it praxis.

but that's just my (cynical, lowkey depressed) take.

[feyhunter78]

I just found your page and I totally didn’t read all of your Miguel O’Hara fics. One I love how you write kissing you caught that spark off a kiss with someone you love in a way most books don’t get right.

I can’t sit here and sing your praise all day but I do have a question. Fully up to you and if it’s just a Drabble that ok but will you ever being writing something else for Side walk kisses? It’s so cute and I can see more moments with Miguel and Y/N just being silly cute mindless college students so helplessly in love. Fluff smut angst whatever you decide to Drabble in I will be fully ok with

(This is the first time I’ve done an ask so sorry I I seem a little over excited)

AHHH I love when I'm people's first asks, it always makes me feel so special!!! I thought I'd try my hand at a bit of angst for you anon!

Insecurities

You know you shouldn’t be jealous. Shouldn’t feel bad about yourself, shouldn’t be debating making up some excuse and dashing off to the humanities building to rid yourself of this pit in your stomach like a snake sheds its skin.

But that would require leaving Miguel alone with Xina, and you think you’d rather die than do that. So, you’re stuck in the courtyard right outside the library, holding onto Miguel’s bicep possessively as you struggle to keep up with the flow of conversation.

Now you wouldn’t say you’re an insecure person, sure you have your insecurities like everyone else, but they don’t plague your mind, or weigh heavily on you as you go about your day-to-day business. Right now, though? As you take in Xina, her long thick dark hair, her stunning almond eyes that sparkle with intelligence, the flawlessness of her skin, the way she so easily keeps up with Miguel as they discuss the intersection between genetics and robotics, you’re feeling pretty insecure.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, when making your calculations you have to factor in the deficiencies in the code, just as you have to factor in potential genetic flaws.” Xina says, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips, excitement clear on her face.

“Of course, with genetics it’s harder to eradicate flaws than in code, but I could see it following a similar pattern.” Miguel responds, nodding at her words.

You’re so lost. If they wanted to discuss the intricacies of the English language or the way philosophers can so heavily affect the development of a nation’s culture you would be there, front row and ready, but science? Science is not your forte.

Xina laughs and smacks Miguel’s arm, pulling you out of your thoughts, Miguel is laughing too so you do the same which draws her attention to you.

“Oh, y/n, I’m so sorry, we’ve been so rude, what do you think?” She asks, and you can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious, or just hates you.

You stumble for a moment, then say, “I agree with Miguel.”

She laughs again. “You think Charles Darwin would be a good computer programmer?”

Miguel joins in, and for the first time ever his laughter sounds sour to your ears.

“Oh, um, no, I just—”

Xina smiles sympathetically at you, but it feels a bit patronizing. “It’s okay, not everyone can keep up with us.”

Okay, maybe running and hiding was a good idea.

“Y/N is actually top of her sorority for GPA, she’s read more books than anyone else I know, and she helps me write all my lab reports.” Miguel jumps in.

“That’s so cute.” Xina coos, looking at you as if you were a kindergartener presenting her with a crayon scribbled drawing.

You give her a tight smile, then squeeze Miguel’s bicep. “Hey, I’m gonna head to class, but I’ll see you later?”

He nods, and lets you go, reabsorbed in his conversation with Xina.

You toy with the bracelet Miguel got you as you sit at your desk, waiting for class to start. It’s a pretty thing, a birthday present, simple and elegant, highlighting your birthstone, the words, mi dulce, engraved on the inside in a small, flowy script. It jingles pleasantly as you mess with it, and glints under the florescent lights.

“The professor isn’t here yet, right?” Kelsey slides into her desk next to you and starts unpacking her bag.

“No, he’s running a little late.” You say, absentmindedly shading one corner of the blank page in your notebook with your pencil.

“Okay, good because I have something kinda fucked up to show you.” She says, pulling out her phone and scrolling until she finds what she’s looking for.

You lean towards her, the thought of gossip perking you up a bit.

“So, you know that Ava girl, the bitch who used to date your man?”

“I wish I didn’t, but yes.” You grumble, feeling that familiar gloom settle back over you.

“Okay well she’s been trying to get with this Kappa Sig, and you know how the brothers are like obsessed with me because my brother is their president and an absolute legend as they always remind me.”

“Yeah, it’s the reason we got into their parties freshman year.”

Kelsey’s brother was a decent guy, all things considered. Older than you two by a year or so, with the charisma of a cult leader but lacking the desire to start a cult. Throughly satisfied with his fraternity and the Fortune 500 company he’ll go on to work at once he graduates. He was nice enough, extending his protection to you and anyone else close to his sister while in the Kappa Sig house.

“So, one of them texted me about her trying to sleep her way through the frat, but then, my brother sent me this video. I gotta warn you, it’s not school appropriate.” She says as she slowly turns the screen towards you.

At first, you recoil. It’s Ava, half naked, and some guy, on a bed that looks vaguely familiar. The guy’s face is out of the frame, but he’s shirtless, his pants pushed down exposing his dick to the camera, Ava’s hand wrapped around it pumping furiously. “Um, what the fuck is this?”

“Just wait.” Kelsey says quietly, glancing around the room to make sure no one else is watching. They’re not, they’re too busy with their own phones or side conversations.

You half watch the video, feeling weird about watching, your idea of a good time isn’t watching your boyfriend’s psycho ex jack some guy off.

The guy finishes, his hips bucking and Ava saying something you can’t hear since Kelsey’s sound is off.

The camera shakes as Ava picks it up and shows off the face of the man. Dark hair, glazed brown eyes with hints of crimson, perfectly formed lips parted. You know that face, but you don’t want to accept it.

“Is that Miguel?” You’re horrified, sick to your stomach, head spinning, every unpleasant feeling and sensation you could feel erupting all at once.

You can see Ava go to grab his face, guide him lower, moving to take off her underwear, and you turn your head, unable to watch any longer.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know when it was filmed, but Darren said he had one of the brothers send it to him yesterday then made all of them delete the video from their phones. He knows Miguel’s your boyfriend, said he was just looking out for you.” Kelsey puts away her phone and looks at you, eyes searching your face, before giving you a one-armed hug. “I’m so sorry y/n, I can ask him to see if he can find out when it was filmed?”

You want to cry, you really, really want to cry. “It looks recent, that’s Miguel’s bed, I’ve been there, I’ve slept on that bed, I—I can’t think about this right now. Thank you for telling me, and tell your brother I said thanks too.”

Kelsey nods and squeezes you tighter before letting go and giving you a sad smile.

The professor finally shows up, and you throw yourself into your notetaking, graphite digging into the pristine white paper as you try to drown out the images in your head with the sound of your professor droning on.

Part 2 here!!!

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho

[honorarysimp]

Epilogue: Heavy with Hoping

series masterlist

(for those of you who want a happy ending)

Two Years Later

The rhythmic sound of the stock room door's latch clicking behind you fades into a soft hum as fluorescent lights flicker to life. A comforting chill greets your skin, a stark contrast to the summer heat outside.

A sense of familiar ease washes over you as you stride through the rows of shelves, boxes in hand. The motions of restocking the shelves are second nature, like a practiced dance. This is your comfort zone, a place where routine and solitude intersect, a silent sanctuary.

The hum of the lights rises and falls in volume as you make your way through the maze of shelves. The air is cool, and the faint scent of medical supplies lingers, reminiscent of countless hours spent here.

Each item finds its place on the shelf, its label facing outwards for easy recognition. Your fingers dance along the edges of boxes, slipping items into their designated spots with an almost unconscious grace. This is a routine you've repeated countless times, and the comfort it provides is grounding.

The repetitive hum of the stock room is interrupted by a sudden gruff voice that echoes from the open doorway. "Hey, quit taking your time in there! We need to get moving or you’ll be late!"

The bluntness of the voice jolts you out of your routine. You glance at your wristwatch, realizing that you've been lost in your own world of restocking, minutes ticking by without notice.

You roll your eyes, a mix of resignation and amusement tugging at the corners of your lips. The final supplies find their places on the shelf, neatly organized. As you dust off your hands and turn to face your boss, Earl stands there, tapping his foot impatiently.

There's no need to ask if he's ready to leave; his impatient demeanor makes that abundantly clear.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you boss”.

You can't help but muse about how your boss, Earl, fits the description of an impatient old man perfectly. As you hang up your lab coat, you hear his gruff response.

"If you bothered to fix that damn car of yours, I wouldn't have to play the part of your personal taxi driver."

Earl's bluntness is always to the point, no sugarcoating, even when he knows it’s not your fault why your vehicle is in the state it is.

You trail behind Earl as he leads the way out of the supply room and through the main pharmacy area. As you walk, you offer a half-joking remark, "you know, if you really hated playing taxi driver for me, you wouldn't insist on mentoring me to take over this store someday."

Earl shoots you a sidelong glance, his expression a mix of irritation and amusement.

The fresh summer air contrasts with the coolness of the pharmacy as you step outside, closing the door behind you. Earl trundles to the car, fumbling with his keys as he walks.

Taking the moment to yourself, you lean against the door and reflect on the journey you've shared with Earl. You recall the countless hours working side by side, his gruff but knowledgeable guidance shaping you into a competent pharmacist.

Never did you think you’d end up here, giving out drugs to people to help them rather than an illegal means of surviving.

So what if you don’t have the schooling or degree? You’re probably the most knowledgeable person in a hundred mile radius that’s willing to be underpaid just to stock shelves.

Or at least, that was how it started, and Earl just… started giving you more and more responsibilities. You never questioned it, and he never brought it up, and thus now here you are.

The trust he must have in you to entrust his life's work is not lost on you, and a wave of appreciation washes over you. Not only that, but the simple fact he took a chance with you what feels like just yesterday.

You’ve spent every day since doing everything you could to make sure he wouldn’t regret that decision. It’s turned your life around for the better, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the old grumpy man.

The low rumble of the engine breaks the momentary silence, signaling that it's time to get going. You take a moment to mentally prepare yourself for the storm of nerves and anxiety waiting for you at the engagement party, savoring the few quiet moments while you have them.

Earl's gravelly voice calls out from the driver's seat, a hint of anticipation in his tone, "you all set, or you planning on standing there all night?"

You roll your eyes at Earl's grumbling, a small sigh escaping your lips as you push away from the door. With a determined stride, you make your way to the passenger seat and slip into the car, shutting the door tightly behind you.

As you buckle your seatbelt, you mutter, "let's get this over with, old man."

Earl grips the steering wheel tightly, his eyes fixed on the road as the car begins to move. A few minutes of uncomfortable silence pass by before he finally breaks the ice.

"So, uh... what are you gonna do when we get there? You know... when you see her?" His voice is laced with an awkward gruffness, clearly struggling to breach the topic.

A soft, almost amused laugh escapes your lips as you look over at Earl. Despite his grumpy exterior, there's a glimmer of concern in his eyes. It's moments like this that remind you that beneath all the gruffness, he does care.

"You're actually trying, huh?" You reply, a trace of humor lacing your words, "I guess there's a heart under all that bark after all, old man”.

Earl grumbles under his breath, seemingly uncomfortable with the compliment "yeah, yeah, just answer the damn question”.

The light of the descending sun on the horizon dances across his aged face as he keeps his gaze fixed on the road, waiting for your response.

You take a deep breath, the air in your lungs becoming heavy for a moment as you reflect on the distance that has developed between you and Mabel over the past two years.

The lack of communication, the infrequent phone calls... it's like witnessing a rare astronomical event in your daily life.

The weight of unresolved feelings and words left unsaid sinks in, adding to the anticipation of the reunion ahead.

You give a nonchalant shrug, attempting to conceal the true depth of your emotions. "I've gotten over it," you assure Earl, though your words are tinted with a hint of resignation, “as long as she's happy, I'm happy for her."

It takes a conscious effort to keep the tone of your voice steady and unbothered, as if the matter is trivial. Deep down, however, the wounds of the past still ache, stubbornly refusing to heal completely.

As you sit in the passenger seat, the landscape of memories plays behind your eyes. The day you decided to let Mabel go stands out like a vivid painting in a gallery of recollections. You recall how she walked away, how the mutual understanding between you had made the decision feel almost inevitable.

Both of you had known that your paths were diverging, that the timing was all wrong. The pain of that realization, the weight of those unspoken words, lingers in your chest as the car carries you closer to the engagement party.

Earl brings the car to a halt in front of a familiar house, the neighborhood triggering a wave of nostalgia. He shifts the gear into park and turns to you, the gruffness in his voice softening slightly.

"You want me to come in with you?" He asks, a hint of concern in his tone. His gaze is fixed on your face, assessing what you could be feeling yet reluctant to reveal.

You shake your head, summoning a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. As you open the passenger door, you reassure him briefly, “I’ll stick with Rach and the boys. Just enough time to not seem rude when I leave early”.

Earl nods his understanding, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. It’s as if he knows the toll this evening might take on you but respects your choice anyway.

Earl fidgets in his seat as you get out, a hint of discomfort on his gruff face. He clears his throat awkwardly and offers a gruff comment, “call me if you need anything”.

You lean in through the roll-down window, mustering another attempt at a reassuring smile. It feels strained, but you hope it communicates the sentiment. “Will do,” you reply, a tinge of resignation in your voice.

You pat the frame of the rolled down window a few times, a silent sign of appreciation for his support, before stepping back from the car. You raise a hand and offer a lighthearted salute as the car pulls away, disappearing down the road.

You take a moment to gather yourself, the silence of the evening sinking in as the taillights fade into the distance.

You stuff your hands into the pockets of your jeans, a subtle protective gesture you’ve always had a bad habit of, maneuvering your way through the open fence gate into the backyard. The sound of laughter and chatter grows more pronounced as you approach, hinting of an animated gathering in progress.

As you step fully into the backyard, you can't help but survey the sea of familiar faces, nodding and responding to the occasional greeting. The scent of the grill wafts towards you, mingling with the sounds of laughter and conversation. It's a familiar scene, but the atmosphere seems different tonight, charged with anticipation, and a hint of melancholy.

You continue to scan the crowd, the flutter of your heart betraying your composure. Internally, you chide yourself for being so apprehensive, but the truth is you're searching for her. Yet, she remains elusive. The unease in your chest intensifies as you fail to spot her among the gathering of familiar faces.

Your eyes land on Nunes, and a genuine smile spreads across your face as you approach him and the lovely woman at his side. The sight of their happiness eases some of the tension in your chest, and you move toward them with a newfound sense of warmth.

As you draw closer, you offer a heartfelt congratulations, “Nunes, you motherfucker! I still can’t get over how great the two of you look together”.

Nunes and his fiancée brighten up as you approach, their faces lighting up with joy. Nunes grins widely and exclaims, "You made it! I didn't think you'd come”.

Without wasting a moment, he clasps your hand and draws you into a quick, warm hug. The familiarity of the greeting is both comforting and bittersweet.

You return the smile apologetically as you pull away from the embrace. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world," you reply sincerely.

His fiancée Jamie, still radiating happiness, steps forward and surprises you with a brief but warm hug. There's a sense of familiarity and acceptance in the gesture, further easing your nerves.

Her cheeks flushed with joy, turns to you and says, "I'm so glad you came. Rachel mentioned earlier that you were coming."

She then playfully smacks Nunes on the arm, likely in response to his light-hearted teasing.

You chuckle and rub the back of your neck, your eyes subconsciously scanning the crowd once more. With a hint of distraction, you offer an absentminded apology, "sorry for being late. I was helping Earl with inventory and stocking the new delivery."

Your focus is torn between the conversation and your search for her presence in the crowd.

Nunes, sensing your distraction and its cause, gently nudges you with his elbow. His expression softens into a sympathetic one, and he utters quietly, "they aren’t here yet."

His tone is laced with understanding, likely sensing your tension and anticipation. The news isn't an unwelcome one, giving you a bit more time to mentally prepare before the inevitable reunion.

You express your gratitude to Nunes with a more genuine smile, and he responds with a reassuring pat on your shoulder.

He and Jamie then move on to chat with other guests of theirs, which you’re happy to exempt out of. Now left alone, you make your way through the crowd, your mind still spinning with thoughts and anticipation.

You're on a mission to find your sister-in-law, Rachel, hoping her and the boys’ grounding presence will help to calm your nerves.

Moving through the throngs of people, you scan the faces, trying to find Rachel. The noise of the gathering seems to fade into the background, replaced by the thrum of your own heartbeat. You're desperate for her comforting presence, a calm in the storm of emotions you're feeling.

Eventually, you spot her near one of the food tables, casually chatting with some mutual friends.

A wave of relief washed over you as you approach, and the moment Rachel spots you, she smiles warmly and politely ends her current conversation. She rises to greet you, wrapping you in a familiar and reassuring hug.

Rachel's arms envelope you in a warm embrace, her presence alone providing a modicum of comfort to your overactive mind. Her smile is genuine as she pulls back, a knowing look in her eyes. "I'm glad you decided to come," she says, her voice a gentle and soothing balm to your anxiety.

You respond with a shrug, your hands instinctively seeking solace in your pockets. However, Rachel catches the action and you quickly cover it, offering a casual excuse, "I wasn't going to miss it."

Her eyes narrow slightly, aware of your nervous gesture. She knows you too well to be fooled by your attempt at nonchalance.

Rachel looks at you for a long moment before saying, "the boys aren't here, by the way. They're staying with their grandma tonight."

Her words hit you like a wave, and your shoulders sag visibly at the news. A mix of disappointment washes over you, leaving you a jumble of emotions.

You pout dramatically, making a sound of mild protest. "Boo, why am I even here then?" you grumble in a playful yet petulant tone.

Rachel laughs and smacks your chest lightly in response, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Stop," she teases, gesturing for you to follow her as she heads towards the keg.

You follow along, Rachel's playful banter helping to elevate your mood. However the habit is hard to shake, and you find yourself subconsciously scanning the crowd again. Your gaze darting from face to face, searching for the one person you're simultaneously wanting and dreading to see.

Your momentary distraction is broken when Rachel suddenly shoves a cup into your hands. A reflexive “shit" escapes your lips as beer foam spills over the rim, splashing your hands. You hiss as the cold liquid dribbles down your fingers.

Rachel continues to serve herself a beer from the tap, her smile full of laughter. She glances at you with a mixture of amusement and sympathy as she questions, "did she not tell you when they were going to be here?"

Her words hang in the air, the implication obvious. She knows you've been waiting for her, and her question gently prods at the delicate nature of the situation.

You switch the cup to your drier hand, shaking off the excess beer from your wet one. In response to Rachel's question, you offer a nonchalant shrug, accompanied by a sarcastic mutter, "what do you think?"

The question is rhetorical, the answer obvious. Mabel's lack of communication in the days leading up to the event is painfully apparent.

Rachel rolls her eyes and lets out a soft huff, her sympathy clear. She knows the strained state of your relationship with Mabel, and her concern for you is palpable. Taking a drink of her beer, she regards you with a firm yet gentle look “you ever going to talk to her about it?"

You remain silent for a beat, sipping your beer. Rachel observes you carefully, her gaze lingering as she continues, "you know she's graduating next week, right?"

You don’t comment on the fact Rachel still keeps tabs on Mabel and how she’s doing.

The mention of Mabel's impending graduation punctuates the tension in the air. There's a loaded pause before you finally respond.

You mutter, "she's mentioned it," your voice tinged with a hint of resignation. Then, the thought of potentially attending the graduation crosses your mind, followed by the uncertainty and doubt, "I don't know if she'll want me there—"

Rachel looks at you with an ‘are you kidding me’ expression, her disbelief obvious. She interrupts you before you can continue your self-deprecating thought.

"Don’t even play with me right now. Seriously?" she inquires incredulously. "Of course she’s going to want you there," her words are firm and confident, as if she can't believe you're even questioning such a thing. Her expression is a mix of disbelief and annoyance, almost insulted on both your behalf.

You can't help but smile, a mixture of bittersweet nostalgia and comfort washing over you. The fact that Rachel still dotes on Mabel after all these years despite everything that's happened, is a bittersweet reminder of the complicated ties that binds you together. It's simultaneously heartwarming and unsettling, the back and forth of the dynamics between you.

About that moment, a voice rings out from the crowd of partygoers, calling out to Rachel. She turns her head in the direction of the voice, her expression conflicted as she glances between you and the person calling out to her.

You take a sip of your beer, offering a reassuring smile and giving a slight tilt of your head, silently telling her to go.

As Rachel backs away, mouthing an apologetic ‘I'm sorry’, you wave your free hand dismissively. She lingers for a moment longer before reluctantly turning to disappear into the crowd.

You shove your free hand into your pocket, subconsciously repeating the nervous habit. Your gaze once again scans the crowd, searching for any familiar faces.

A swear rolls out in a muttered expletive as you start moving through the sea of people. You're determined to find someone, anyone, that you can talk to that’ll keep you occupied.

You force on a few polite conversations, exchanging pleasantries with people you recognize. Your phone feels like a weight in your pocket as you sneak glances at it here and there, hoping for a message that never comes. After about an hour, your social battery starts to drain.

The chatter and forced smiling are becoming harder to maintain, and the waiting game is taking its toll on your patience.

A brief eruption of cheers from your left draws your attention, and your stomach drops as you spot Tom entering the backyard.

And right behind him, Charlie.

The sight of them together has a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins, a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Your breath catches in your chest as you wait for her to follow after, your heart pounding wildly in the silence. A moment passes, then another. She doesn't appear. Confusion and disappointment wash over you, replacing the expectation with a pang of unease.

Where is she?

Your gaze meets Charlie's for the first time in almost two years, and a pang of guilt and regret hits you. Your history together wasn't exactly marked by animosity, you both are civil after everything, but friendship wasn't the most accurate description either. He is dating the one woman who holds your heart, after all.

Your gut clenches, a mix of emotions flooding you as you lock eyes. Time seems to stand still for a brief moment, the weight of the tension hanging between you both.

To your utter surprise, Charlie nods in acknowledgement, his eyes then looking past you as if searching for someone else. The gesture is unexpected, leaving you slightly baffled.

The action leaves you a bit puzzled — perhaps he's searching for someone else, or maybe he doesn't want to engage in a conversation.

You shake off the feeling, watching as Charlie vanishes into the crowd of people. The sudden wave of emotions washes over you, making you feel overwhelmed. You decide to detach yourself from the crowd, taking refuge alone for a moment.

Setting your still-full beer on a nearby table, you quietly slip away, the music and chatter from the party becoming a distant hum behind you.

As you make your way around the house, the sounds of the party fades into the background. The vehicles line the street, and as you reach the front, you find yourself in a familiar place. Your thoughts are consumed by a single, repetitive question.

Why didn’t she show up with Charlie? Where is she?

Your fingers tremble slightly as you retrieve your phone, and your heart thumps wildly in your chest as you locate her contact. The internal debate rages on— do you call her, text her, wait for her to reach out first?

Your heart jolts in your chest as your phone suddenly rings, and a mix of shock and anticipation washes over you. Seeing her name flash on the screen makes your stomach twist in nervous knots— a strange coincidence, as if she knew what you were debating in your mind.

There's a moment of hesitation as you stare at her name on the screen, a battle of hope and fear warring within you.

After what seems like an eternity, you finally swipe the screen to answer the call. Your heart is racing, a million thoughts swirling in your mind as you lift the phone to your ear.

The sound of her voice, her familiar tone, washes over you like a wave. The first words out of her mouth, “took you long enough" ring through the phone, prompting a mixture of relief and disbelief.

A laugh escapes you in response, and almost unknowingly, your gaze begins to sweep the street.

"That's rich, coming from you” you reply, a mix of amusement and annoyance in your tone as you stride across the front yard towards the street. "You're late," you add, the words carrying a hint of tension. Your steps quicken, propelled forward by the mix of emotions that the phone call has set ablaze within you.

The evening air feels charged with anticipation, the sound of crickets and the distant murmur of the party a faint backdrop to the steady thump of your heartbeat. With the phone pressed to your ear, you continue your stride, your gaze still darting around the street, searching for any sign of her.

Her voice over the phone is slightly sardonic, and she responds something along the line “fashionably late, as always.”

You stifle a smile at her cheeky remark, finding it inexplicably endearing. As you step into the middle of the street, the sound of your footsteps on the pavement echoes around you.

You pose the question, curious about her absence alongside Charlie. "So, I noticed you didn't show up with Charlie," you comment, trying to keep your tone casual.

She responds over the phone with a hint of mockery, "Oh, you noticed that, did you?"

A smirk forms on your lips as her sarcastic reply rings out through the phone. Your eyes wander upward, taking in the beauty of the setting sun.

The vibrant colors in the sky momentarily distract you, but her cryptic response snaps you back. You respond with a mix of irritation and curiosity, "don't bullshit me, sunshine. What are you playing at right now?"

Her voice continues on the phone, saying "we have a lot to talk about" at the exact moment you hear a car door open just down the street. Intrigue and curiosity flicker in your eyes as you hear the noise, and without thinking, you pivot your head in its direction.

Your heart skips a beat as your gaze falls upon her, the long-awaited moment finally arriving as you drink in her familiar features.

Those captivating brown eyes and the smile that has haunted your thoughts, it all comes rushing back. She’s as beautiful as ever, and the sight of her makes your breath catch in your chest. It occurs to you then just how much you craved this, how much you missed her.

As the sight of her hits you, your body reacts instinctively— a mixture of relief, excitement, and an overwhelming surge of feelings you couldn’t quite describe washes over you all at once.

Time seems to slow, and for a moment, the world recedes into a blur, leaving you and her alone in this instant. The sound of the party fades, replaced by the rush of your own heartbeat in your ears. It takes every ounce of willpower not to run to her.

Your smile widens as she closes the car door and ends the call simultaneously. The sight of her approach, coupled with the act of hanging up, triggers a powerful mixture of emotions. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, and you feel an almost magnetic pull towards her. Summoning all your willpower, you begin to close the distance between you two, forcing your feet to move forward.

The setting sun casts a warm glow on her figure, emphasizing her natural beauty. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, but even in that casual style, it’s effortlessly perfect. As she approaches, her dimples and freckles stand out against her sunkissed skin, enhancing the natural radiance that seems to emanate from her.

Your arms extend outward, a mixture of disbelief and joy etched onto your face. Your words hold a deeper meaning as you utter "what the hell, dude?"

The phrase carries a heavier weight, beyond just the surprise of her impromptu appearance. It’s a question of all the moments of doubt, the days of missing her, all packed into one bewildered question.

Mabel’s eyes light up with a familiar grin you thought you may never see again, reminiscent of the first time you met years ago.

She almost skips the final few steps before launching herself into your waiting arms. Her legs and arms wrap tightly around you, and you instinctively catch her, holding her close. Being so close to her, feeling her warmth and being surrounded by her scent, stirs up emotions you’d almost forgotten.

Who are you kidding? You couldn’t forget even if you wanted to.

You keep her securely in your hold, spinning around with her in your arms. Her joyous laugh rings out, filling the air and igniting a spark of warmth in your chest.

Holding Mabel like this, you can feel every movement, and it brings back memories of all the times you’ve longed for this closeness. Your chest aches with a mixture of emotions, both bittersweet and exhilarating.

As you slowly set her back down, her hands gradually glide down from around your shoulders and come to rest upon your chest. Her face is flushed, cheeks rosy, and the smile she gives you is significantly softer. Gazing at her, her eyes meet yours, and your heart clenches involuntarily.

Her voice is hushed as she utters a soft "sorry," a simple word carrying an unprecedented amount of unspoken significance.

The memory of all the times you’ve longed for her to come back rushes through your mind, but in this moment, those past years of missed chances and lost contact are suddenly unimportant.

You murmur a response, your voice tender and heartfelt, responding with a simple and honest "me too."

Her lips part slightly as she wets them, a hint of uncertainty in her expression. You can sense her hesitation, struggling to find where to begin. Though amidst her nerves, she surprises even you when the first thing that spills from her lips is, "Charlie dumped me."

The statement takes you off guard, and surprise flashes across your face. Confusion worms its way into your thoughts as you begin to understand why Charlie arrived alone. Trying to make sense of it all, you ask, "wait, what? Why?”

Her fingers absentmindedly fiddle with the fabric of your shirt, an unconscious motion, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. As she speaks, her gaze momentarily averts to the side, her voice far too calm as she reveals, "he broke up with me at the end of my freshman year last year."

The revelation hangs in the air, and your heart sinks upon hearing her words. The fact that she's kept this to herself for an entire year tugs at your emotions.

Why didn’t she tell you?

Your expression softens slightly as you process the information, and you gently urge her to continue with a quiet "why?"

Her hesitation is evident, and you notice her cheeks caving slightly as she chews on the inside of one. She takes a deep breath and starts with, "he was pretty convinced my heart wasn’t in it, that it never would be”.

Mabel’s gaze then meets yours, a quiet determination laced within the myriad of emotions in her eyes. Her voice trembles a little as the final words leave her lips, "he was right."

The weight of her words hangs in the air, and suddenly, everything feels heightened— the sound of your own heartbeat, the feeling of her hands on your chest, the distant background noise— all of it blending into a moment of heightened awareness.

As the pieces fall into place, a sense of both understanding and terror washes over you. Every moment spent apart, every missed opportunity now glaringly obvious.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, your hands moving to cover hers. Your eyes never wavering from hers, a moment of stillness in the midst of it all.

Instead of asking the more important questions, softly, you murmur, "you live, and you’ll say the wrong things… do the wrong things… make so many mistakes, but… people will love you anyways."

Your heart beats furiously in your chest, which you’re sure she can feel under her palm, each word carrying a silent plea for her to understand the depth of your feelings.

The evening air seems to still, a shared moment crackling with intensity as your words linger between you. Your hands encircle hers, a silent reassurance that you are there, that you care. Your eyes locked on hers, searching for any sign that she understood the message behind your words.

Mabel’s eyes, already holding a mix of vulnerability and hopefulness, soften even further as they remain fixed on yours. A flicker of doubt flashes in them, but your words seem to spark some sort of silent realization. A breath catches in her throat, and her gaze trembles with a surge of emotions that she attempts to keep buried.

For a brief moment, you see a hint of understanding, the walls she’d built around her heart slowly beginning to crack. Mabel’s voice is barely a whisper when she finally responds, "I think I was waiting for you, I think I always was”.

Your eyebrows draw together in a slight frown, confusion and surprise lacing your expression. A mix of hope and uncertainty mingles within your mind, and the question escapes your lips.

"What do you mean? Waiting for me for what?" Your voice is softer, a hint of curiosity and bewilderment in your tone.

Your mind struggles to piece together her meaning as she says, "I wanted to finish college first, I didn't want to risk the distance hurting us, now it won’t."

That’s why she didn’t tell you? Or, maybe you should’ve known, but how could you have? Considering how little you two have talked.

The response, classically Mabel, is both perplexing and strangely logical. The reasons she gives make sense, in a roundabout way.

It's a mixture of caution and a desire to find the right timing, and somehow, it resonates with you.

But then the words sink in, rolling around in your mind, and you start to understand. Two years ago, you allowed her to walk away for a reason. You didn’t want to rush things, to risk losing her.

It gave you both the time you needed.

And now, hearing her own reasons, it all clicks into place. She wanted the same thing, to do it right with you. The realization strikes you like a wave, a quiet surge of hope and conviction taking hold in your heart.

Despite the hope and conviction swelling within you, a hint of humor seeps into your voice as you respond, the corners of your lips curled into a smile.

Your voice is soft and bittersweet as you whisper, "that’s selfish."

The words come out slightly broken, tinged with a hint of resignation mixed with affection.

Her laugh, soft and melodic, rings through the air. Her hand rises to gently cup your face, and the slight tremors in her touch send tingles down your spine. As she replies, there's a hint of vulnerability in her voice, but she owns it with a simple admission.

"I know."

The words, spoken with a mixture of acceptance and defiance, hang in the air between you.

Her voice starts to express her apologies, the words of needing you to know and the regret at taking so long flowing out of her. But your hand rises swiftly to cut her off, gently but firmly covering her mouth. The action is instinctive, a silent plea for her to let you speak.

You intercede with a simple, firm response, a playful tone underlying your words as you start with, "don’t."

Before she can say anything more, you give her a playful look, and she instinctively swat your hand away. The gesture is lighthearted, a silent confirmation that she gets it, that she understands not to linger on apologies.

As you continue, your fingers gently brush away strands of hair from her face, a natural gesture betraying your desire to be near her. You casually follow up with “how long will you be in town for?”

The question is laced with a hint of subtle pleading, hoping the answer is not ‘a few hours’ or ‘a few days’.

Mabel’s response hits you like a punch to the gut “just the weekend" she says, and your heart sinks in your chest. A mixture of disappointment and resignation washes over you, the reality of her limited time here settling in. Yet, even as she gives you a somber but knowing smile, you can't help but appreciate her honesty.

Her voice breaks through your thoughts once again, a quiet hope in her question. "I was wondering if I could crash at yours while I’m in town... if that's okay?" Her eyes meet yours, silently pleading for your acceptance.

The request takes you off guard, but only for a moment. Your heart skips a beat, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

This. This is your Mabel. This is who you fell in love with, who you’re still in love with.

In truth, both of you already know the answer before it can even be spoken. The answer is a silent yes, a silent invitation to come closer, to be with you as long as she can, as long as she’s willing to linger.

To stay.

Your hand tentatively reaches out, gently taking hers, and she allows you to clasp it in yours. With a soft tug, you begin leading her back towards the party, your voice breaking through the moment.

"Come on, everyone’s waiting," you say. It's a simple statement, a reminder of reality, but also a silent admission that things may have changed, but life still goes on.

But maybe, just maybe this time, that isn’t a bad thing.

Her laughter rings out, a beautiful and familiar sound, as she easily interlaces her fingers with yours, falling into step beside you. Her voice carries a hint of playfulness as she responds, "can't they wait a little longer?"

The question is light-hearted, a hint of a tease in her tone, and the feeling of her hand in yours sends a jolt of electricity through your veins.

As your gazes meet, a moment of silent understanding passes between the two of you. You can see it in her eyes, a mirror of your own thoughts.

It's almost painful how well you can read each other, how you both just get it, how instinctively you know each other even after so much time has passed. The look, shared silently, says more than words ever could.

Mabel gives your hand the most subtle squeeze, a silent ‘we’re going to be okay’.

There is still so much to talk about, so many things to work out, but at least for now that’s promised. Time has allowed you both to grow, to heal, to find your way back to each other.

But deep down, you knew that was never a doubt, if anything it was merely a matter of time.

So you reply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze that coveys ‘I know’.

____________________________________________

You lay back on a creeper, its metallic frame rolling slightly as you work on the underside of your car. The familiar scent of motor oil and metal fills the open garage, along with the faint sound of the radio playing in the background.

With each movement, you tinker with something, but your focus is split between the task at hand and the subtle but unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

Your heart skips a beat as you hear her distinct voice give a soft "hey" just loud enough for you to catch over the music.

Turning your head, you catch a glimpse of her distinct boots at the front of your car, right where your legs stick out. Mabel’s presence alone is enough to make your heart flutter, and a small smile tugs at your lips.

You should hate how easily you’ve gotten accustom to having her around again in such a short amount of time. But you don’t.

You chuckle softly as you feel her boot nudge the creeper just to the side of your thigh. A moment later, the bottom of a beer bottle suddenly appears in your line of vision, hovering just inches off the ground. She knows just how to coax you out, knows just how to get you to take a break.

With a smile, you give in. Grabbing a bottom porting of the car frame and scooting yourself out from underneath it.

As you stand up, your eyes meet Mabel’s, an instant connection sparking between you. The grins that form on both your faces are goofy, but endearing all the same. As you take the beer, you purposefully stand a little too close, the proximity igniting a subtle current of electricity between you two.

You raise the beer in a silent thank you, your gazes locked on hers. She meets your gaze intently as she taps her bottle against yours.

The gesture feels intimate, a quiet agreement that proceeds to hover between you. You both take a long swig from your bottles, the taste of the cold beer mingling with the undeniable tension in the air.

The last two days with Mabel staying at your place have been a mix of familiar comfort and restrained electricity. There's an unspoken agreement between the two of you not to push anything, a mutual understanding that the timing needs to be right.

However, you’re pretty sure you’re both starting to get impatient.

You both navigate around each other, dancing around the lingering feelings and unsaid words as you both relearn one another. Even the most mundane tasks are imbued with a charged energy, a silent acknowledgement of the connection between you.

Every coincidental touch, every glance, carries a weight of unspoken desire and longing.

Mabel breaks the tension by clearing her throat and gesturing towards your work in progress. Her voice is soft, a hint of admiration in her tone as she speaks.

"It's really starting to come together," she says, her gaze taking in the sight of the car.

The break in the tension is subtle, yet palpable, the small act of interest shifting the focus away from the magnetic pull between the two of you, and towards the tangible thing in front of you.

You take a moment to collect yourself, your gaze shifting from her to the car. You nod in agreement, your voice holding a note of determination and acceptance. "It won't be the same," you admit, "but that's alright. It just makes more room for something new."

Mabel looks at you, her perceptive gaze catching the underlying meaning of your words. Her response, delivered casually with a sip of her beer, is playful, yet hinting at a deeper understanding.

"Does this mean I need to invest in another sticker for your dash?" she asks, a smile tugging at her lips. The comment hints at a memory of a time when even a simple sticker held heavy significance between the two of you.

You look at her, sipping your beer before resting it on your tool bench. A subtle smile plays on your lips as you respond, "well, that depends. Are you reclaiming my passenger seat?"

Your voice is light, but there's a hint of challenge in your words. It's a playful jab, a reminder of the space she once occupied in your vehicle, both physically and metaphorically.

She mirrors your action, setting her beer down and crossing her arms, a determined look in her eyes. In response to your question, Her eyes fix on yours, pinning you with a look and her response comes quick and assured, "well, that depends. Are you coming to my graduation next week?"

The question hangs in the air, a challenge wrapped in an invitation. More so, it’s a silent plea for you to be there, to be a part of her milestone moment.

In the past, you might have made her work for it, given her a hard time for not being explicit. But this time, things are different. You know better now, you've changed, improved. The urge to be playful, to tease her, is still there, but you don't act on it.

Only now, you see past your old charade and respond with "Mabel, you already know that I'll be there” your voice is firm, sincere. It's a promise, a silent affirmation of your dedication to being there for her.

That you won’t make the same mistakes.

Her eyes widen, a soft, vulnerable expression flickering across her face. It's a subtle change, a glimpse into the deeper emotions brewing beneath the surface.

You've noticed it happen more and more as you two are reacquainting yourselves with each other, and the sight of it tugs at your heartstrings.

Or just maybe, she’s realizing more and more just how much you’ve changed, how much you’ve grown.

The vulnerability, the honesty in her eyes, speaks volumes silently, echoing the connection that's reforming between you both.

Your response is laced with honesty as you continue, "I'll be honest, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me there, just with how things were before”.

The words are a direct, candid admission of your doubts about your presence at her graduation. You lay bare the uncertainty that has lingered, a reflection of your complicated history.

Your eyes meet in a moment of intense chemistry, her lips parting to reassure you, but before she can utter a word, you jump in to finish your thought.

"That was before," you say, "but now? Not even God himself can keep me from you”.

Your declaration is spoken with an air of finality, an unwavering promise that no force could prevent you from being there for her.

Mabel's emotions get the better of her as she moves closer, her gaze searching yours intently. In a whisper, she utters words you never thought you’d hear come from her mouth: "I consider myself lucky”.

The words hang between you like a tangible thing, the weight of them echoing in the space around you both and wrapping around your heart. The vulnerability in her voice, the sincerity in her eyes, leave no doubt to the depth of her feelings.

Mabel's voice softens further, the intimacy between you growing like a living thing as she speaks. She draws closer, the words falling from her lips like a benediction.

"Somehow, I manage to exist within your time of being. I stand on the same ground as you. I breathe as you breathe."

The rawness in her voice, the intimacy in her gaze, feels almost like a declaration, a confession of her connection to you, woven into the very fabric of time and existence. Every word is filled with a profound and unspoken meaning.

Driven by the intensity of the moment, you make a bold move. Your fingers find the belt loops of her pants, and with a gentle tug, you pull her forward closer to you. Mabel, in response, smoothly steps into the gesture without protest. The action feels natural, like a dance that your bodies can still remember by muscle memory alone.

She looks up at you from under hooded eyes, her gaze heavy with a mixture of emotion. Her hands come to rest gently on your abdomen, the fabric of your motor oil and grease-covered shirt bunching in her grasp.

It's a gesture filled with familiarity, and from the way her fingers clutch the fabric, it becomes apparent that some things haven't changed. The act of touch, of grounding herself to you, feels natural, comfortable.

Mabel's voice is soft as she looks up at you, her hands idly tugging the fabric of your shirt.

In a quiet, vulnerable tone, she asks, "you gonna to stick by me?"

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of all that's happened and unspoken. It's a question that she's been silently asking all this time, a need for reassurance as she holds your gaze intently.

The question itself is simple, but the weight behind it, the hope and uncertainty, is palpable.

Your fingers involuntarily tighten on her waist, holding her just a little closer. You respond without hesitation, your voice steady "ride or die, right?"

Her lips quirk at the cheesy catchphrase, "ride or die," she repeats regardless, the words carrying a weight you both know all too well. Her hands, still grasping the fabric of your shirt, give a faint tug, pulling you even closer.

Pushing up on her tiptoes, hesitantly grazes her lips against yours, the contact fleeting but electrically charged. Your response is immediate, your lips parting involuntarily, as if they too are responding to the pull of hers.

A rush of thoughts, feelings, and emotions fill your mind– the familiar yet thrilling sensation of her touch, the unexpected tenderness, the connection that still thrums like a heartbeat beneath it all.

She draws out the moment, her lips lingering just millimeters from yours. A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she brushes her lips against yours again, a playful comment falling from her lips.

"If you still taste like motor oil," she teases, her voice a low whisper “I’ll fucking kill you”.

You respond with a smirk, leaning in to fill the gap between you. "You never minded it before," you murmur against her lips, your voice rough with suppressed desire. Your response is instant, a retort fueled by the chemistry between you.

The words are a statement, a fact that holds more weight than either of you can acknowledge right now. Before Mabel can respond, you're unable to hold yourself back any longer. You close the remaining gap between you, claiming her lips with yours after so long apart.

Mabel responds without a beat, her fingers burrowing into your hair at the base of your neck as she pulls you down even more. Her kiss is hard and full of an undercurrent of desperation, as if she's been yearning, aching for this moment.

The kiss is filled with a hunger and intensity that speaks volumes of the emotions bubbling just below the surface for you both. It's a kiss that screams of missing you, of needing you.

The kiss is electric, a rush of sensations and emotions that feels like art made flesh. The taste of her, faintly sweet with a hint of beer, reminds you of a summer rain after a hot day. This kiss, this moment, is the culmination of longing and desire, finally merging into something tangible and real.

The softness of her lips, how her teeth graze your bottom lip, the way her tongue invitingly curls into your mouth. The heat of her breath against your skin is a familiar, yet thrilling sensation that feels like home.

This time, you’ll both get it right.

Because a door means nothing, when a person is your home.

And now? You’ve both come home.

previous.

[merbear25]

Twisted desires (Caesar)

A budding flower of newfound interest quickly grew into full bloom the longer she spent with the man who hired her. Two damned souls with different purposes in life, and yet their paths couldn’t have entwined more perfectly, intersecting at just the right moment. Getting close to a man like Caesar Clown would require a bit of persuasion as Lucille came to realize. However, that wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.

a/n: This is a trade for @luci0elle. I was so excited to do this trade with you! I had a blast writing it. Thank you so, so much for suggesting it. I hope it lives up to your expectations!

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!OC/self-insert (name used for reader), dubcon, drug use, alcohol, vaginal penetration, pegging, cumshot

Wandering behind the buildings of the labs she couldn’t justify calling home, the alleyways paved her road to a future where she’d be offered a blank slate. No ties to the government and none to Vegapunk, instead it would be left up to her full discretion. 

The sun had long since set and the dark clouds casted over any possible navigation by starlight, meaning the pipes that ran above were her only chance of finding a way out of this maze. With residue oozing from the pipes, the dripping substances only further engrained the life she saw for herself.

Ducking out of sight, evading others, eyes set on the target as the sound of rushing water filled the air: Lucille made a break for it just as a security guard spotted her. A leap of faith sent her hurtling into the waters below where her title of government property washed away with the tides.

Since then, she stuck to the shadows and offered the lethal skills infused in her DNA as a service. Although a couple of customers made the mistake of double crossing her, the result was more or less the same—a clear message of what would happen if others tried the same.

Even with operating behind the scenes, word spread among those who were in search of such expertise. Spoiled with choice of who she deemed worthy of her time, someone only familiar by name caught her eye—Caesar Clown. It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Be it led by morbid curiosity of genuine interest, the deal was made and their fates were merged if only by their signatures.

Neither of them were what the other had expected; the dashes of personality that contradicted word of mouth were both refreshing and worrisome. Finding out who they really were while being in such close proximity wasn't something to be taken lightly.

His suspicious sideways glances, countered with her playful energy sent his reservations towards her for a loop. The evident want she expressed to be around him when she wasn’t off on a mission was…unnerving. 

What did she have up her sleeve? was the question that wracked his brain more often than he cared to admit. But still, the bubbly and apparently genuine interest she took in him was received well. After all, how could he resist being fawned over by a deadly force such as herself?

“Come on! I want you to test out one of the cocktails I made!” Luci tugged at Caesar’s coat relentlessly.

His eye twitched in irritation. “I’ve already told you I’m very busy and—”

“You’re always ‘very busy’!” She grumbled.

“And what? I suppose you’re going to say ‘it won’t kill you to take a break’?” He mocked her typically playful tone.

“Is that a challenge?” Luci’s face showed a glimmer of mischief as a coy smile spread on her lips.

A hue of pink dusted his face at his own slip of the tongue. He huffed at her persistent nature, reluctantly surrendering to the silver-eyed woman cocking an eyebrow at him. “Fine. Show me what attempt you’ve made.”

As she led him to the kitchen, his amusement in the confident strut she had made it difficult to suppress even the faintest grin. 

“Take a seat.” She gestured to the sofa.

“You’re going to serve me too? Seems I’m getting the royal treatment,” Caesar chuckled. She gave the concoction in the drink mixer a few more good shakes, while sticking her tongue out at him, earning herself a couple more laughs.

Gently, she placed the fuchsia alcoholic beverage in front of him. The swirls of edible glitter danced even under the fluorescent lights.

“Adding something as gaudy as glitter to the drink? Must have looked atrocious beforehand.” He teased, bringing the glass up to his lips.

“I just know how much you can’t stomach a real drink, is all,” Luci whispered. She leaned in, showing the bit of cleavage spilling out of her top.

His cheeks reddened, so he turned away from her and threw half of the drink back in one gulp. There was lust peeking behind her sultry stare, making him chug the remainder of her experimental talents.

She shifted closer to him, her leg now pressed up against his without letting up on the rising want in her demeanor. “Well?” Her voice trailed into his ear. “What's the verdict?”

The assassin's cool tone as she awaited his critiques was faintly nerve-racking. She gently brushed her chest against his arm, when he began stumbling over a response. “It was deceivingly strong…just a tad though.” He added so as not to give Lucille the satisfaction of being right about his intolerance to hard liquor. 

Clearing his throat, the feeling of her rubbing up against him was causing his mind to go fuzzy. He couldn't think straight, only being grounded by the redheaded beauty's touch. He rubbed his temple, trying to regain focus.

“Did…did you put something in that drink?” He tugged at his clothes, which were beginning to feel like they were uncomfortably snug.

Luci gave him a helping hand by unzipping the front on his body suit. Revealing his chest and slender stomach, she ran her hand over him greedily. The dampened skin heightened her longing to see more of him, to feel more. The shaky pants that passed his lips grew more and more needy as her touch became more assertive.

With no say in the matter, the drug forced his body to release pheromones laced in a nearly sickeningly intoxicating aroma. A deep sigh escaped her as the desired effect took its course on her, as well.

“You drive me wild. You know that, don't you?” Her fingers aggressively tugged down his boxers, revealing one of the side-effects. 

The sharp inhale of his throbbing cock meeting her firm grip only made him more irresistible. Her pupils dilated as she watched the subtle shifts in his facial muscles: reluctance, embarrassment, and finally surrender. The hands of a killer could do more than stomp out the light in her victims’ eyes—capable of bestowing unimaginable waves of ravishment throughout them just as skillfully.

“You want more, don't you?” Lucille nodded, coaxing the same out of him. With a dark smile, she swiftly derobed.

Standing in front of him with smug confidence, the slick arousal between her legs made his heart race. As much as he knew he shouldn’t want her, there were other forces at play, which made his better judgment take a backseat.

His cock twitched as she traced his jaw with her delicate fingers. “I’m going to let you feel every ounce of pleasure you’re burning for, don’t you worry.” A temptress in her own right, he didn’t stand a chance against her dark charm.

She guided him to her bedroom, a domain where she had home field advantage. As she climbed onto her bed, the arch in her back put her wet pussy lips on full display. A suppressed whimper could be heard behind her as she bent over in front of him. His long, lanky limbs caged her small form in. The tip of his cock pressed against her aching core. The close proximity caused the emitting side-effects of the drug to waft over her, causing her patience to wane at an alarming rate.

Unable to wait any longer, she eased herself back on him as far as she was physically able. Tingling sensations of overbearing fervor pushed her into a frenzy. Bouncing up and down his length, the leverage of her on all fours gave each of them rush after rush of pure bliss. Stretching herself out from his girth had her clawing at the bedsheets in a desperate attempt at seeking stability as she plunged him deeper and deeper inside her.

Choked sobs from above gave her more than enough encouragement to keep the fast pace. A large shaky hand gripped at her hip. “F-fuck…” Caesar moaned.

A growl rose from her throat as she slammed her dripping core roughly against him, causing his balls to slap against her clit. With the overpowering erotica flooding his senses, the room began to shift and spin. His body trembled and grew heavy, causing him to slump over on his forearms suddenly. He could barely keep his weight above her.

Cupping his tired face, an unfamiliar warmth emanated from her hand. “You shouldn’t have downed your drink so quickly,” she teased. He groaned from the way her body was still wrapped around him. “Shh, don’t worry. I’ll make things much easier on you.”

When she crawled out from under him, he collapsed on the inviting comfort of her bed. Breathing heavily, the drug's effects were making it impossible for him to ease his swarming thoughts. He watched Lucille carefully, craving more of her but unable to decipher whether it was solely due to the drug or not.

She snuck around him, letting both her hands caress the sides of his hips and waist. His body responded instantly: quaking from the unexpected tenderness in her touch and yearning for sweet release.

“You want it so badly, yeah?” She cooed at him.

He buried his face into her pillow, the scent of her driving him further into madness. A deep gravelly groan was forced into the pillow as he nodded slightly in response.

She chuckled softly. Grabbing a spare pillow, she wedged it under his hips, leaving him in the perfect position for what was soon to come.

While focusing on inhaling the faint scent of Lucille’s shampoo in the fabric of her pillow, the chilled lube caused his body to tense. Her calming voice rocked him back into a trance, and as her slender fingers pressed inside him, his eyes rolled back.

The tip of her strapon buried into him. His hands tightened their grip on the sheets, and he bit her pillow as his body was being forced to accept it at a much faster rate. Strained huffs and cries of euphoria were music to Luci’s ears.

“I didn’t think the potion would have worked this well,” she grunted, wasting no time pounding into him.

The curses dripping from his quivering lips were laced with remaining toxins of the elixir. Caesar cried out for her that further fueled her motions, making each thrust more and more intense. He was close, teetering on the edge.

She reached down to stroke him, rendering him helpless to the paradise she’d bestowed upon him. Each jolt of pleasure raptured his body. The skilled tugs of his painfully carnal urge to give into the temptress who’d successfully had her way with him ate away at every fiber of his self-control.

A wanton soaked shriek was muffled into her pillow as he spilled every last drop of fervor into her hand. The overflow of the pent-up sin cascaded onto her bed and splashed on the other pillow. Choked whimpers were soothed by the tender hand of his hired assassin. Soft hushes and light kisses along his shoulder eased him down from his high.

“If things continue this well, you’ll be ready for more soon enough.” There was a sadistic pleasure she took seeing him completely spent and knowing that she’d get her fix in due time.

He groaned and nodded. Having just experienced an explosive orgasm, there was a part of him that just couldn’t be satiated. Damn her for having made such a lascivious test subject out of him. His eyes rolled back as he began hardening again. He thrusted against the dampened pillow, groaning from the overstimulation. Damn her and the spell she casted on him.