#to fix the doctor’s programming

[isagrimorie]

Star Trek Voyager 5x11 - Latent Image

Janeway: I've made a command decision for your own benefit and the welfare of this entire crew. I'm not willing to debate it. EMH: How would you like it if I operated on you without your consent or without your knowledge? Janeway: If the operation saved my life? I could live with it. EMH: I don't believe you. You'd feel as violated as I do right now. Janeway: Whether you believe me or not is beside the point. A year and a half ago the only solution was to rewrite your program. I have to perform that same procedure now. EMH: That isn't fair. Janeway: You're malfunctioning, and you need to be repaired.

Latent Image Gifset series Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

oh i was just reminded that u can go to school abroad

[ayakashibackstreet]

My favourite moment when writing the article was desperately trying to get the Loveletter worm to work in the VM I made specifically for it. Also getting Loveletter into the VM in the first place as Windows Defender continuously tries to thwart my attempts

[oldmanyaoi-jpeg]

ko-fi is still in the works btw i'm just getting my ass kicked by god

[babisawyer]

the problem is I watched buffy the vampire slayer during my formative years and now buffy summers makes up for 90% of my personality.

[the-music-keeper]

Objectives #11, #13, and #18 are all done! I didn't finish everything I wanted to while I was at work and right afterwards, but to be fair I did finish a lot of it.

[bunny-jpeg]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3

[ms-demeanor]

Hi, I share your strong pro-medicine, pro-vaccines, anti-woo beliefs. I also have chronic digestive issues and insurance that won’t cover the useful specialists. The gastroenterologists I’ve encountered are helpful for making sure my insides look okay but they don’t seem to have much training around nutrition and food science. Nutritionists are unlicensed and I find them about as trustworthy as chiropractors, and I can’t get insurance to cover a registered dietician. The internet is saturated with pseudoscience junk and “miracle cures”, and in moments of desperation I’ve fallen for some of them. Luckily I haven’t been harmed by anything so far, but I don’t think they helped much either.

I was wondering if you or your followers have any resources on IBS and/or GERD that are scientifically sound and written for a general audience? Or advice for identifying when pop-sci-style “food science” articles are a scam?

I deeply regret to inform you that I was so annoyed by this exact problem that I literally went back to school to start working on getting a degree in nutrition and got two and a half years into a second bachelor's degree before realizing I wouldn't be able to get into any programs in my area that I could afford because the local state schools aren't accepting second bachelor's applicants. (Cal State Chico, I love you and you are too far away, it's not meant to be)

Nutrition information online is completely infested with woo and I am hesitant to point people toward one of the good resources I used to reference because it is politically batshit.

If you are looking at a food science article on the internet and are trying to figure out if it's a scam the big red flags to look out for are:

anything claiming to be a silver bullet; there are no silver bullets, no magical treatments, no one weird food that will fix the problem or one weird supplement that will make everything better.

Over-emphasis on a specific type of diet (diet as in "all the food that a person consumes" not as in "weight loss tool") for a general population. It's irresponsible to recommend a rigorous, restricted diet to a wide variety of people because people are so different that one diet that works for one person (say a vegan diet) might be unhealthy or difficult to manage for another person who would thrive on a different diet (low fat, low carb).

Anyone who tells you to cut out an entire food group or macronutrient is a liar who is trying to get your money. Unless it is your personal medical doctor who is saying "you need to stop eating grains" you do not need to stop eating grains and should not stop eating grains. You also do not need to stop eating fat, or eat only protein, or cut all fruit out of your diet. (caveat: there are some conditions that require a very low fiber diet, but even on that diet there are some fruits you can eat)

Beyond that, what you can do to make sure you're getting the best information possible is:

look up the author of any article you're looking at and see what else they've written; check what their qualifications are. See the people they interact with or have collaborated with. If they work heavily with people who are, say, antivax or proponents of raw milk, you should not trust their work.

If you see something that claims to treat your condition or help with nutrition, search "[subject] research study" or "[subject] scholarly research" and see what comes up. Read at least a few papers on the subject and see if there's a consensus or if there are broad disagreements. Get into the habit of looking up the impact scores of journals and researching the history of the journals.

Learn to recognize the woo keywords with your particular illness. For celiac that's "leaky gut," and any article I come across that discusses "leaky gut" gets extra scrutiny because sometimes there are legitimate reasons to describe a "leaky gut" but more often there are woo nonsense reasons. One really good way to figure out what the woo keywords for your illness are is to search "[your illness] + [woo huckster]", so "celiac + joseph mercola" or "celiac + the food babe." (those are good starting places to see what woo is popular around anything nutrition based, really; nothing those two say is trustworthy) you can also try "[your condition] + [specific type of medical woo]" with, like, "chiropractic" and "homeopathic" and "holistic" in the second box.

Be wary of positive assertions without evidence. If someone is making an affirmative statement and they aren't providing a citation, be suspicious.

Anyway. Good luck. It sucks out there.

[keferon]

Part 3! Ratchet and Deadlock time.

The ray of sunshine has left, leaving us in the cold dark of the angst.

Ratchet works through some stuff.

———————————————————————

Ratchet hadn’t actually meant for the conversation to start with Roddy.

The medic had wanted to fully explain why he’d left the Mecha Program for awhile. His outburst earlier cementing the fact he needed to get it off his chest, or he’d start lashing out at the wrong people.

Again.

The Kid deserved to know what staying with him could drag him into. Ratchet kept his hands busy cleaning his bowl in the shop sink.

Hot Rod, Ratchet realized, was a good enough bridge into the topic. Someone Deadlock could put a face to. Not just nameless pilots upon pilots.

“There’s a condition called Congenital Insensitivity to Pain. CIP for short. The abbreviated explanation is sometimes humans can be born without the ability to feel pain or that the sensation of pain doesn’t translate correctly to the brain. It’s a very dangerous condition to have since it means that the person doesn’t get the usual warning signs that’s something’s wrong.”

The bowl was completely clean but so long as Ratchet didn’t turn around, he could pretend he was just training a med student.

“So that question about “weird pressures”. You were checking for damage Hot Rod doesn’t know he’s sustained due this CIP condition?”

Kid was smarter than he gave himself credit for. Ratchet thought for not the first time. He almost got it right.

“Hot Rod doesn’t have CIP. Not actual CIP.”

Ratchet put the bowl down, his hand not moving from the faucet after turning it off.

“He wasn’t born with it. Because I caused it.”

—————————

“I was so damn proud.” Said Ratchet.

At the time, he was. The integration process for recruits to become pilots was horrific. Excruciatingly painful. And something out of a science fiction movie.

In order to condition the human nervous system to work with the mecha neural interface, it necessitated mapping out every nerve and neuron in the pilots body.

While conscious.

Orion came up with the best analogy for it once: You could create a perfect 3 dimensional map of an entire ant colony’s nest. Provided you poured enough molten lead down the hole.

Ratchet wasn’t one to standby watching friends or strangers suffer, so he rolled up his sleeves and set his mind to fixing the whole damn thing.

On the line between man and machine, Ratchets role in the mecha program was right on the fence.

Specifically, he’d started very close to the fence on the side of the machines, and during the course of the program, picked up enough extra PHD’s to hook a leg over said fence to reach across and start smacking the shit out of some particularly stupid doctors handling the men.

Ratchet worked for years along side Pharma and Shockwave to make the integration process less permanently damaging.

Common long term side effects were: Blurry Vision Jazz, Disassociation Swoop, Memory Loss Sludge, Paralysis Snarl, Nerve Damge Slag, Internal Hemorrhaging Grimlock, Altered Personality Shockwave, and Brain Death Orion.

There were dozens more faces Ratchet could pair with any given symptom.

Eventually, Ratchet got his lucky break. A fresh batch of recruits to try his tweaked integration process on. Hot Rod was one of them.

Ratchet had thought he’d hit a breakthrough. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t publish it yet. Not until he was sure.

Hot Rod aced the physical and mental exam. The rest of his test group did pretty well too. They weren’t cream of the crop. The higher ups didn’t want to risk loosing more valuable pilots to an experiment. When Pharma had already established an “acceptable level of care” that nicely suited them.

Ratchet personally watched the lot of them like a hawk. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn’t come. Hot Rod was fine. The whole group was fine.

He was so damn proud.

The pilots went straight into mecha training and then-

They dropped like flies.

It was on the bad end of the bell curve for pilot fatalities. Ratchet thought it had to be the new series of mecha that had been built at the same time. He’d switched into engineering mode to rectify that. They had glaring safety issues where the flamethrowers and thrusters intersected. Plus, it wasn’t unusual for the mecha program to just have particularly rough seasons. The tentacled fucks were out in swarms. And by god was that a bloody summer for everyone.

It happened three days after the last big fight. Pretty much everyone who came back alive came back with some sort of injury. Except for Hot Rod, who Pharma gave a clean bill of health.

Ratchet was in his corner of the medical wing, looking over his proposal for the new integration method when Jazz dragged Hot Rod into his office.

Red flag number one: Jazz was a nightmare patient who avoided the med wing like a bear trap.

He tried. Goddamn it if Jazz didn’t try, but he was physically incapable of getting through medical procedures without being heavily sedated. The last time Ratchet tried to do minor stitches with only a local anesthetic, Jazz panicked and damn near broke his arm.

Jazz and Hot Rod were both wearing shorts, t-shirts and sneakers. Judging from the smell, they had just gotten here from the rec room. Probably basketball or maybe dodgeball.

Ratchet had gone through a full medical checklist before they finished coming through the door. Neither looked sick or injured. Nothing was obviously wrong beyond the clear look on Jazz’s face that said “Something is actually very wrong.”

Jazz wheeled Hot Rod in front of Ratchet.

“Show him.”

Hot Rod looked more embarrassed than in desperate need of medical attention.

“I’m fine Jazz, I probably just need to stretch.”

Jazz waved his hand cutting him off. Ratchet would usually start telling them off by now but something stopped him.

“Hot Rod raise your arms above your head. Both of them.”

The red headed pilot reluctantly obeyed. His right arm lifted straight up above his body. His left. Hot Rod made a face of concentration, as his left arm refused to go any higher than his head.

Three days.

Hot Rods shoulder had been dislocated for three days and no one fucking noticed.

Ratchet chewed out Jazz at first thinking he’d caused it. Then he chewed out Hot Rod for not coming to medical as soon as he knew about the injury.

And then, something very cold settled into his stomach the more and more Hot Rod swore he didn’t notice. That it didn’t even hurt.

“Ratchet, I’m fine!”

He should have been in pain. In agony after three days.

Later, Ratchet would go through each medical file of every pilot he had been responsible for. They had all had ailments in their files. Minor visible injuries that were all taken care of. Major ones went surprisingly smoothly. Patient notes praising the med staff for keeping them so comfortable. Praising him. Not one pilot had made a single pain med request since going through the integration process. On his files, there was one surviving active duty pilot from the same integration process.

Ratchet’s integration process.

————————

“Hot Rod said he forgave me.” Ratchet laughed. A little too wet and little too rough.

“Just like that.”

When’d he start shaking?

Ratchet still didn’t, couldn’t look the Kid in the eyes. “I left, not long after. There’s so much fucking more that was happening. That was the last straw, because when I told Shockwave and Pharma, those heartless fucks wanted to make it standard across the board. Soldiers that can’t feel pain? Of fucking course they wanted that. Didn’t matter the fatality rate was nine times as high.”

Ratchets voice was getting worse. But he couldn’t stop. “I thought I could fix it all from the inside. I thought as long as I stayed I could be some, fucking moral compass to a bunch of greedy, prideful, fucking deranged people. I was an egotistical IDIOT that thought I could somehow save every doomed kid tricked into walking into that “necessary evil.” I actually believed I could-”

Ratchet was abruptly cut off from his ranting as two massive hands grabbed him around the waist and deposited him on a ledge, at eye level.

“Kid, what-“ Deadlocks eyes looked shiny.

“I-I can’t keep looking down at you.”

The two of them sat in silence.

Neither seemed to know or want to start talking again right away. Ratchet was used to stewing in regrets on occasion. That had felt more like putting those regrets into a blender and then forgetting the lid.

Deadlocks plating was pulled tight. Ratchet had almost forgotten what he looked like when he was stressed. He wanted immediately to take it all back. Make it better. See him laugh drunk and cozy again like yesterday.

“Kid, I’m sorry. That- that was too much to put on you.” Deadlocks hands weren’t gripping him anymore but resting on either side of the ledge. Ratchet pet small circles on a thumb that twitched slightly under his hand.

Deadlock straightened and looked at him with a steely expression, mouth tense, eyes determined.

“You are one of the most intelligent, stubborn, and caring people I’ve ever met. Nope.” Deadlock corrected himself, lifting a hand. “THE most intelligent, stubborn and caring person that exists.” He dragged out the syllables of that last word.

“You!” He poked Ratchet in the chest. ��Saved me. And I’m fragging terrible.”

Ratchet took offense to that, “You’re not terrible and you’re worth saving!”

Deadlock grinned, “The worst thing you can possibly say about yourself is that you care too much to put up with some kind of slagged up torture facility. Which, by the way, I am still fully offering to blown up.”

“Still full of innocent people kid.”

“Okay kidnapping then. I say we nab Hot Rod first.”

Ratchet leaned back against the wall and made one of those desperate chuckles you only hear when someone has their face buried in their hands. “Kid. The quintessons.”

That took a little wind out of his sails.

“The system is fucking broken and trust me I want to see it all burn someday. But we’re in a goddamn war. And as much as I hate the mecha program, it’s the best shot at survival we have.” Ratchet watched Deadlocks finales pin back again.

He offered a palm to Ratchet, who after a moment’s consideration, not very gracefully scooted on. Instead of lowering him to the floor, Deadlock brought him to his face. His eyes closed and he gently bumped his medic with his forehelm.

“Whatever you need. Just ask. Please.”

Ratchet sighed and rested his own forehead against the cybertronian. “I want you take care of yourself. I told you all that stuff so you understand why I’m fighting giants here and you can decide to back out. They can hurt you kid. Kill you. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if Shockwave found you instead of me.”

Deadlock snorted, “Please, do you think any of those suits could handle me?”

Ratchet tapped his hand to put him down, which Deadlock obliged. He hummed.

“Well I can think of three candidates off the top of my head, but one got lost in space and the other might technically be a zombie.”

“What’s the third?”

Ratchet started shrugging on a coat, “Hot Rod.”

He smirked a bit as Deadlocks finales snapped up in offense. “What? Absolutely not. No fragging way that little rust spot can beat me in a fight.”

Ratchet began packing a go bag of medical supplies, “Well I was going to keep it to myself, but part of the reason I brought him in was because I asked Hot Rod to look out for you where I can’t.”

He slung the heavy bag over one shoulder. “Plus, I knew Hot Rod was going to love you. He sees the best in people. And kid?” Ratchet paused at the door.

“You’re someone special.”

———————————————————————

It’s always darkest before the dawn. This…has become a four parter. Dang. Good news is the ray of sunshine will return in style next time.

Some extra tid-bits, I got a head canon that the main side effect Jazz got from the integration process (other than PTSD) is blurry vision. He can see fine while hooked into a mech but can’t get his eyes to focus properly as a human. So Ratchet whipped up a visor that tricks his eyes into thinking he’s still looking through a mecha so he can see normally.

Also, a lot of you guys guessed correctly what was going on with Roddy! Good job everyone!

Lastly I have nothing personal against the dinobots if you love them I’m very sorry.

The next (last?) part will be much brighter. Because the suns coming back.

- SSTP

Oh.....oh fuck....wait WAIT THIS HAS SO MUCH MORE LAYERS THAN I WAS EXPECTING OH MY GOD

I was like. Okay huh. So Roddy can't feel pain right? He must be having this rare condition and? I don't really see where this is going? Huh. Guess it's time to find ouUUUUUH FUCK.

Please. Oh my god. The fact that Ratchet was the one who made him to be like that??? This gives both of them and their dynamic more layers than in a freaking onion. And Roddy didn't just suffer from Ratchets actions. He forgave him. Because OF COURSE he did, he's always giving everyone a second chance I LOVE THIS CONCEPT SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA

[pathologicalreid]

pyrophoric | s.r.

in which Spencer seeks the help of a chemist to help with his research into white phosphorous

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: fluff content warnings: chemical warfare, WWI, willie pete = white phosphorous, spencer and chemist!reader's first meeting, i love them so hard, in 10x16 "derek" the show tells you to use copper sulfate but that's literally wrong don't do that, flirtiiiingggg, spencer reid is sooooo sexy in a lab coat word count: 2.65k a/n: the idea for this fic was sitting in my brain and then it turned out the information in the show is literally wrong so i had to cancel spencer reid, but here we are now. i fixed it, don't worry. tumblr user sunshineduda if you're out there this is for you.

pyrophoric - liable to ignite spontaneously on exposure to air

The knock on the door made you jump. Your face warms as a result of your nerves, acting like you haven’t been expecting someone to show up at the side door. In fact, you were the one who instructed him to go to the side door, and he’s just following your orders.

Sliding off of your stool, you make your way to the side door, undoing the lock on the crash bar and opening it. He was wearing a pea coat over what looks like a suit, which is maybe a bit overdressed for your lab, but you weren’t going to say anything about it. “Uh,” you finally speak, “You can hang your things up over there,” you nod to the corner of the room.

Once he’s properly hung up his coat and messenger bag, he comes back to you, standing dutifully in front of you, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid,” he introduces himself.

You nod once in response, “Right,” you introduce yourself in kind, “You can just call me Y/N, though.” You feel no need to use your honorific with other academics, it’s easier to just go by first names. Pointing to a new corner of the room, you lead him in that direction, “I made sure we had a lab coat available for you. I wasn’t sure if you had one of your own,” you explain to him grabbing your own white coat from the locker and pulling it on.

“Thank you,” he responds, taking the spare that you left out for him and tugging it over his sleeves. His hair seems shorter than it was in the pictures you’ve seen of him, which is mostly just what pops up with a quick Google search, but there was something about Dr. Reid that is very unlike any other academic you’ve met before.

You watch him pull the cuffs of the coat over his sleeves, pulling the lapels closer together in front of his chest. “How long has it been?” You ask, handing him a pair of goggles and making a note of his discomfort in the sterile polyester.

He looks at you, big brown eyes with his eyebrows raising up in curiosity, “Pardon?”

Gesturing to the lab coat, you shrug slightly, “How long has it been since you’ve been in a lab?”

“Nine years, three months, and five days,” he answers, barely giving it a second thought as he adjusts his collar.

He has an eidetic memory. That information also shows up when you look him up on the internet, “Right well, I’m sure it’ll be just like riding a bike.”

Spencer gestures for you to lead the way back to the lab, and you take him to your station. It wasn’t clean enough to eat off of, but it was certainly clean enough for the two of you to begin a research plan. “So,” he begins, looking around the lab like he’s casing the place, “You went to Princeton?”

Nodding apprehensively, you wipe your sweaty palms on the fabric of your jeans, “Oh, yeah. For my doctorate at least.”

Spencer takes a seat on the lab stool across from you, nervously adjusting a few of the things in front of him, “Right, Johns Hopkins for your bachelor’s and master’s.”

It seems that someone else has been doing opposition research—Spencer Reid had googled you. “Well,” you tell him, turning on your computer, “It’s no CalTech.”

“Princeton has a great chemistry program,” Spencer points out, protecting your alma mater despite his lack of connection to the school.

Your face warms again, “Oh, I know. It’s just,” you look over at the genius in the room, a shy smile reaching your face. “I’m used to the dick-measuring contests, so I thought you might have a similar preconception.”

Spencer frowns at you, “You thought I’d want to have a dick-measuring contest with you?”

At this point, your face might as well be on fire, “When you put it together and say it like that it sounds awful.” You want to bang your head against the table. Even better, you want to go over to the rinse station and just let the shower head wash away your humiliation. “Can we just talk about chemistry? I’m good with chemistry,” you ramble, focusing your attention on your computer monitor.

“I was joking,” Spencer clarifies.

You swallow thickly, “I know.” There was no explanation in the world that you could give to yourself that would resolve this, so you elect to move past it.

Spencer hums next to you, placing his hands neatly in his lap while he waits for something to do, “So, the interaction that chemicals used in warfare has on modern medicine?”

Your head snaps over to him, your eyes looking at him widely, “You read my dissertation?”

He chuckles at your shock, the sound easing some of your nerves, “I’ve read it a few times now. How did you think I found you?”

Scoffing in response to his question, you shake your head, typing in your username and password, “I just thought you went skimming through the white pages until you saw my name and thought ‘She’s probably available on a Saturday morning.’” Once you’re in the system, you turn back to face him, a slightly less timid smile now on your face. “So, what’s your interest in chemical warfare anyway?”

“I just… I’d like to try something new, and I was looking through one of the recent government reports, and your dissertation was cited at the end, so I decided to reach out to you,” he explains himself to you.

You nod in understanding, “You work for the FBI?”

Spencer’s head bobs, “Yes, but my work for the FBI and my interest in chemical warfare are not intertwined in the slightest.”

You raise your eyebrows in suspicion, “Did your boss tell you to say that to me? Was there an NDA I was supposed to sign?”

He laughs again and this time it makes your heart soar, “No, I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Couldn’t you get in any other lab and just do the work yourself?” You inquire, getting up from your stool and starting to get things out of the cupboards, stirring rods, beakers, and anything else you thought you might need.

Considering it for a moment, Spencer walks up behind you, grabbing a flask from a shelf that you were trying to reach and setting it down for you, “You already have the majority of the research done, and besides, most of my chemistry application is in analytical chemistry, yours is in biochemistry.”

Thanking him, you set everything down in your workspace, careful not to drop anything on the floor as you did so. “So, you’re just curious and you decided to reach out to me to do some experiments over the weekend?”

“I wanted to have your expert opinion,” Spencer tells you, watching as you make your way to the storage area, you type in your PIN and open the closet, setting everything you need on a tray before bringing it all back out to Spencer.

You smile when his eyes go wide at the sight in front of him, the rush of being in a lab hitting him for the first time in almost ten years. “So, Dr. Reid, tell me what you know about white phosphorous.”

He leans back in his stool as if he’s been waiting for you to ask this question, “White phosphorous is an inflammatory allotrope of phosphorous, it’s commonly referred to as the ‘devil’s element’ because it glows green in the dark and is pyrophoric—it’s liable to ignite unexpectedly when exposed to air.”

“I know what pyrophoric means,” you tell him, trying to hide your recognition of just how smart he is.

Spencer holds his hands up in surrender, “Militaries frequently use it to illuminate battlefields, cause smokescreens, and act as an incendiary. Once it ignites, it’s very difficult to extinguish, and it sticks to surfaces like skin and clothing,” he continues, glancing over to the small amount of white phosphorous that you’ve allotted for your experiments today. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Spencer was nervous around the phosphorous.

You nod at him in confirmation, “We store it underwater because it’s barely soluble, and the smoke from burning phosphorous can cause damage to the eyes and respiratory tract because of the acids and phosphine.” Your tone is deathly serious, which seems apt for the situation you’re in, “White phosphorous can penetrate through bone.”

“Did you have a liability waiver that I’m supposed to sign?” Spencer asks, taking his eyes off the chemical and looking over at you again.

Smiling, you let out a breathy laugh, “Did you just make a joke, Dr. Reid?”

Obviously proud of himself, he beams over at you, “Spencer,” he insists, “And yes, I did.”

Your head bobs at his insistence, “Right, Spencer. So, we’ll take what we already know about Willie Pete and use that prior knowledge to give us a few things to test. Obviously, I don’t want to blow up my workplace, so that limits our ability to have a controlled experiment. Once we have your options, we’ll put some protective gear and get the white phosphorous out.”

“Is that why you did your dissertation on mustard gas?” Spencer asks you, starting to look through the chemicals in front of you, “Because white phosphorous is so unstable.”

Humming, you get your notepad out and flip to a fresh page, “Partially. It was that and the fact that I was obsessed with World War One when I was a child, so mustard gas made the most sense to me.”

“A chemist with an affinity for The Great War,” Spencer muses, glancing over at you as he portions copper sulfate into a beaker.

Hiding your smile as you portion out silver nitrate into a graduated cylinder, Spencer adds water to his beaker, dissolving the copper sulfate, “If I hadn’t gone into chemistry, it would’ve been history.”

“You still could,” he says, using one of the stir sticks to get the rest of the compound to dissolve.

Laughing, you shrug in response, “Not everyone’s meant to get multiple PhDs, but sometimes I think about taking history classes here. I can take them for free because I work for the university.”

Once your test subjects were ready, the two of you put on protective gear, protecting yourselves from the deadly chemicals, “Next time someone tells me my job is dangerous, I’m going to tell them about you.” He sets his watch on a stool, not wanting to let it get damaged while you experiment.

You swore Spencer was nervous, holding his breath as you portioned out the white phosphorous in your controlled area, “So now we light it,” you tell him, and a rush of air later, the allotrope ignites on the fake human skin.

Carrying on the experiment, the two of you sat there for hours trying to set fires that wouldn’t lead to serious bodily harm. The best you find is Spencer’s copper sulfate solution, which reacted with the white phosphorous in a way that made it easier to see, which could help with the debridement of burns. “Why did you agree to help me with this?” He asks nervously, watching you scrawl notes on your legal pad.

You hum, “It’s related to my research, and I’m not in the middle of any other campaigns right now. Why did you send me a letter in the mail asking for help?”

“I don’t like email,” he responds as if it should’ve been obvious—and maybe it should’ve. “Only one more,” he tells you, “Test number nine, silver nitrate, point-two Molar aqueous solution,” he recites for your records.

Most of the experiment had been going so poorly that you half expected it to go up in flames. You took the stirring rod from the graduated cylinder and placed the clean end in your mouth before going to apply the solution.

“What are you doing? Don’t put that in your mouth,” Spencer scolds, taking the stick from your mouth.

You frown at him, righting your hand before anything has the chance to spill, “The chemicals are on the other side.”

He looks at you incredulously, “My point still stands.”

Pausing for a moment, a sly smile grows on your face, “Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes,” he admits, “Anyone who puts silver nitrate near their mouth rightfully makes me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes, you watch him put the stirring stick in its proper home before you apply the solution, your eyes going wide as you watch the reaction. Neutralizing the burn, “Oh my god, Spencer!” You exclaim, turning to look at him, you don’t even think before tossing your arms around him.

For just a moment, he hugs you back before looking at the result of the experiment. “So, silver nitrate is the best treatment we’ve found for white phosphorous burns, but if someone doesn’t have silver nitrate, then copper sulfate would also work.”

You nod in agreement, writing something similar on your notepad, “Yes, but the use of copper sulfate can also cause intravascular hemolysis and renal failure, so silver nitrate is the best conclusion that we’ve drawn.”

“You do realize that the people I’m sharing this with have never and likely will never encounter white phosphorous in their lives, so they don’t really care about the nuance,” he explains to you.

Rolling your eyes, you sit back in your stool, “Well I care about the nuance. What if this was something I wanted to publish someday?”

Spencer smiles at you, there’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite name, “You want to publish an article with me?”

Before you get a chance to answer, a spark goes off from one of your bigger failures of the day, causing you to jump from your stool, leaving you falling to the floor and your seat clattering on the linoleum.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asks, clambering from his stool to offer you a hand, which you accept gratefully.

Nodding, you stand in front of him, “Yeah, just my bruised ego.” Not to mention the bruise on my tailbone, you think to yourself. Looking over at the time, you sigh, “I should start getting everything back in order for Monday.”

Once the last of your mess has been properly cleaned up, you watch Spencer shed his lab coat. You were almost disappointed—it was a good look on him.

“Thank you again for helping to clean up,” you tell him, hanging your jacket in your designated locker. “You really didn’t have to.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “It was my pleasure, and besides, it’s a small thank you for giving up your Saturday just to quell my curiosity. It was nice to work with an expert in the field.”

Laughing nervously, you pull a cardigan on over your arms, “Right, shame I didn’t get to ask about the vapor-liquid equilibria of alternative fuels,” you jest.

“You read my dissertation?” Spencer’s question is an echo of the same one you asked him that morning.

Your face warms as you nod slowly, “The chemistry one was digestible. I tried my hand at another one, the non-obvious relationship factors using cluster weighted modeling and geographic regression,” you rattle off the title of his engineering dissertation. “I couldn’t quite get through it, and I didn’t bother with the mathematics one.”

Spencer falters for a moment, studying your expression with something that resembles wonder, “I mean, I could explain them to you sometime. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’d get it if you had someone to walk you through it.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “I’d like that.”

The smile on his face is worth all of the nerves you’ve ever felt, “Do you drink coffee?”

A small giggle escapes your lips as you hold the door open for him, “Habitually.”

[isagrimorie]

Star Trek Voyager 5x11 - Latent Image

Seven: When you separated me from the Collective, I was an unknown risk to your crew, yet you kept me on board. You allowed me to evolve into an individual. Janeway: You're a human being. He's a hologram. Seven: And you allowed that hologram to evolve as well to exceed his original programming. And yet now you choose to abandon him. Janeway: Objection noted. Good night.

Latent Image Gifset series Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

[honestsycrets]

Stung | [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | after a discus malfunction, you're bitten by an anomaly and refuse medical attention. you're in a state that you refuse to show to miguel-- at all costs.

❛ tags | NSFW, sex pollen, mention of a wound, slight chase, miguel o'hara doesn't like to be ignored, cum eating, creampies, abnormal amount of fluid, venom bite, slapping, some insecurity, spanish is not translated, sexual memories.

❛ sy’s notes | my obligatory ABO-sex pollen fic for ATSV. i usually make a ABO/Sex Pollen piece per fandom I write in, so here's one for Miggy 🐝

“All done!”

You slipped out of HQ’s packed infirmary with a jaunty bounce in your step. Crispy, coppery blood was matted onto your forearm concealed behind a hastily tied bandage. You weren't concerned about it. It would resolve within the hour. Likely less. As would your elevated body temperature. Despite the doctor's prattle about the benefit of further testing, you found their concern to be a non-issue. These things were virtual non-issues, even if the doctor and your man thought otherwise. 

The hallways at HQ were like any other day in your city. Congested with the coming and going of spiders in their daily lives. A glimpse at any group might reveal decadent flirting and haughty laughter. Some were in a rush to their own worlds, but most were completing work assigned by the Spider Society. The one you were looking for reclined against a wall with his arms interlocked one over the other. His displeased rumble prompted you to his presence above all other voices in the crowd. 

“You should have let them run the tests.” His voice was teased with concern but became mild, little more than a drab sigh at your refusal. You blew off his concern with a shake of your hand, gone yellow and bubbly behind a bit of ineffectual gauze. His eye glazed over the wound. You couldn't tell what he was thinking behind his mask, but you didn't need to. You only needed to convince him you were right.

“It’s stopped bleeding, Miggy. It’s just a scratch,” You held up your arm, flicking it with emphasis. His eyebrows raised for a moment, then flattened, staring at you with a dull rictus. “It was just a brief malfunction of the discus.” 

Technically it was more of an impalement, but if Miguel wasn’t going to ask, you weren’t going to invite him to delve deeper. Otherwise, you might spend the next few hours of your life fixing a wound that surely would have closed up by the time results were back. The injury site mildly itched. That was all. Never mind, the slight, honey-colored rash migrating from the puncture site to your elbow. Or the referred pain. Minor things. 

“You’re being stubborn.” 

“You’re the one to talk.” You snapped the discus free from your sash and chucked it toward Miguel.  He caught it with an unsurprising amount of ease, claws clicking in unison against the ineffectual metal.

“¡Qué problema!” he mocked, his voice dry and absent of discernible emotion. 

You closed the distance between your bodies to slide your arms around his broad neck. His other hand came to your lower back. It was warm, the way he touched you, from the bundles of affection that fluttered in your belly to the heat dappling across your chest. You missed this every day. It made fleeing the infirmary all the more worth it.

“I put the anomaly in another discus. One that actually works, no thanks to your programming.”

“That’s what happens when you take things without asking.” He flicked the discus between his thumb and index finger, waggling it for emphasis. It was true that there had been nights that went with banging, clacks, clatters, and the occasional outburst when things weren’t quite going his way. There were a few discuses on his desk. You just so happened to take the one that malfunctioned. “I was working on it. ¿Qué era?” 

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Just some stingy bees. What harm could they do?” 

His eyes roamed your wound. You couldn't help but look down too, both horrified and fascinated by the way the rash had moved in just a brief few minutes. The colour had begun to fade. You glanced up, flattening your mouth into a slight, forced smile.

“Fine. If you're sure.”

To be fair, you secured many anomalies with and without the help of others. They all went into their cozy, temporary forcefield homes until they could be fairly redirected to their appropriate dimensions. In the downtime, you could help or hinder Miguel's progress. Then, your watch would alert you to another disturbance and the cycle would continue. 

Until that morning. 

Your watch blared, and blared, and blared some more. The early morning sun began to rise and cast offensive beams of light into your room. Usually, it didn’t bother you. But this morning, everything offended you from the scratch of silky sheets on your naked body to Lyla illuminating what darkness was left, all golden and cute. You wondered if that was how Miguel felt when you forgot to pull the curtains, strung out on the bed after he finished with you.

“Woah! Oops!” she turned, covering her eyes with her spindly fingers. A growing ache throbbed between your legs. It wasn’t quite the same dull soreness from Miguel’s late-night visit last night, either. “Sorry, sorry. Miguel--”

“He can handle it,” you bit out, snappier than you intended. It wasn't like you. “Or-- Jess. No, Gwen. Gwen can do it, she loves--” 

“He asked for you.” 

Of course, he did. You scrunched a pillow over your head. Your Miguel couldn’t see you this. Absolutely not. You debated getting up, ignoring what you called a negligible ache that was quickly morphing into a terrible pounding. You can't believe how quickly the thought fell apart, pushing yourself to sit up in bed. The ghost of his scent floods your nose, flashing memories of the night before.

Something at work set him off. Something that commanded no intimacy, but the mechanical release of his rage that wouldn't destroy precious resources. He sat on the edge of the bed, driving your mouth onto his cock with the aid of your hair bundled around his fist. You recalled the shakiness of his thighs under your fingers, his firm legs spread wide fucking your mouth with cold abandon. He chased his own orgasm selfishly, needing the release, needing to see your body painted by whips of his cum sprayed across your exposed breasts. He pulled you off in silence, inspecting the drool and cum that spilled down your chin and throat in rivulets. "What--"

Your face tightened, glancing down at the growing tension in your belly. Everything began to annoy you, especially the scratch of the sheets against your skin, your bed empty of his presence. How could you tolerate that uniform plastered to your ass? You buried into the offensive bed. This was fine. This was normal, recalling what you'd done last night. Surely, the burn had to do with the whole being launched through not one, but two crumbling buildings the day before. The dust and rubble. Were you close to your cycle?

“Tell him I’m dead,” and without another word, you resolved the call. Within seconds she popped up again, bent at the waist because this was your life now. Never could you just… take a day off. There was always something. You muffled your screams of protest into the mattress and dug your feet in, kicking off the sheets, the blankets, the pillows, all of it.

“Is this a fit? You’ve never had a fit before,” Lyla noticed. A fit? She thought the burning of your body was a fit? Damn AI. Resolve. 

Resolve. Resolve. Resolve.

It became cathartic after a good while. Or it would have been if not for your senses hyper-fixating on every minor change in your body.  Despite your apprehension, you knew. What was once a dull pain radiating from your forearm morphed into something much worse. Something you couldn’t blame on the rather average experience of being pelted through the average event of windows and concrete. It was more than a tingle. It burned as it coursed through your body. 

You stumbled over the bundle of bedding into the bathroom. It was there that you realized that to your horror, you weren’t just lubricated, now you were soaked. Your fluids coursed down your thighs as you dabbed the region clean with a bundle of tissues. It did little good. Touching the area exasperated the issue. Maybe you needed an orgasm, maybe ten. An hour or so later, you slammed the heel of your palm into the mirror, fracturing it into shards of terrible glass that crumbled onto the countertop. Beads of blood dabbled onto your reflection. 

“If you d--” resolve.

So not a reaction to your average bee sting. Correction. A great, big, fat colony of hissing, buzzing bees. The act of recalling information was like jamming your hand into fluid water to snatch a tiny hair tie. No matter how many times you tried to recall the information, you couldn’t quite grasp it. It was there, floating around your head, but inaccessible. Your mind traveled back to Miguel. How gentle his lips could be, trailing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder when you rode him in reverse. How deep he'd go. 

"Fuck off!" Your watch blared again. Its beeping filled your bathroom, echoing over and over. You reached behind the door to pluck a silky white slip from its hook and dragged it over your head. You were about to resolve the call again when the hot timbre in his warm voice saying your name gave you pause. Your Miguel, popping up in a golden haze. You found yourself gazing at his full lips, full and plump. If only he was here. He could have his lips on your--

“What are you doing?” 

Lost in thought, you failed to realize that Miguel had been calling you by name again. You shook your hazy mind free of the thoughts that formed a swirling cloud over your head. You slumped down the wall and onto the floor.

Help was what you failed to say. As your mouth opened, nothing came out. The words were not wording. The vulnerability of asking for help was palpable. You soothed yourself by shifting your hands underneath your skirt. What would he think if he saw you here-- ripped asunder by your own biology? Whore. Miguel lowered his gaze, his eyes squinting at the sweat dabbling down your neckline as he looked you over. He wouldn't want you anymore.

“Are you listening? ¡Coño! What is wrong with you!?” 

Resolve.

You resolved him. Your Miggy-- resolved. Oh, you swallowed dryly. He wasn’t going to be happy about that. It wasn’t a matter of if Miguel would come for you. It was a matter of when. When he had time to separate himself from trashing-- whatever was the closest object to him in the lab-- to take out his rage on you. You reached for your medicine cabinet. You had more important things to worry about. First on the list? The searing heat.

Your watch was better off tucked away in a chest in the closet.

Night came with no solutions. You crouched on your window sill, chest rising and falling. You sought to stare at anything but the mindless buzz of the tv screen inside. Even with light pollution, some stars winked in the distance. Your body was a bundle of warm heat, buzzing with irritation after a fruitless day of soothing your body. You grew accustomed to your pert nipples against your silky slip, the lubricant coursing down your leg. At first, denial. Now, acceptance. You thought tomorrow might be better.

You felt his presence before you heard, smelled, or saw him. Through the sea of scorched sensations battering your senses, there was one that stood apart. A tickle that niggled at the back of your head. It could have been anyone, but you didn’t have to guess to know who it was. “Lyla." 

“You haven’t called him all day,” Lyla squeaked. 

“Called all-- I answered his call!” Your dress was matted to your body, cloaked in an abhorrent amount of sweat. It was only minutes ago that you retrieved your watch confident that you could bullshit something, anything, for a few days of reprieve. You jammed your shaking finger to resolve the call. 

“Not all of them. Miguel was worried.” 

“Worried! Lyla, that is not worried,” you spat. That was your Miguel, scaling the side of your apartment. His talons cracking the siding of your apartment. The reverberations spiraled up your legs, sending waves of anticipation lapping at your core. After your long day, you weren't sure how you were still somehow upright. With every crack of his talon into the brick siding, you were running out of time to come up with an excuse.

In a bid to escape, you fell into your room. The hard floor knocked the breath out of your dry lips. You stumbled onto your feet and supported yourself with a bookcase of less than half-read books. “Lyla, he can’t see me like this!” 

“Then tell me what’s going on,” she popped back up. “C’mon, you can tell me, it can’t be that bad.”

If her tone was playful in some half-baked attempt to neutralize your fight, the threat was imminent. Your hand connected with the top of the window, applying pressure to close the window. A hair too late. At the same time, Miguel’s clawed hand curled around the bottom of the window sash. You were too slow for the man who excelled with power, speed, and efficiency. You weren't going to win this fight. Not with your body threatening to crack at the very sight of your man's strength.

Though you saw him nearly daily, he always took your breath away. His sinewy body was always a sight, his suit accentuated his thick and fine cut. You moistened your lips, longing to run your fingers through his thick dark brown hair as you did every night. You caught his sharp gaze a second longer than you should have.

 “Open up,” he whispered coolly.

He was a distraction. The wind was not on your side either, blowing wisps of his scent into your overwrought senses. His natural musk mixed with the sweat of a hard day's work. Somewhere in there, bitter blood. You could smell the caramelized scent of the flaky, buttery empanadas and hot coffee you shared the day before. It gave you pause, his intoxicating smell and the sultry trill of his voice. But you couldn’t let him see you, not like this.

“Oop, there he is. Just checking on you,” Lyla chittered. Resolve.

“Miggy, please go away,” you sobbed in frustration, shifting to shoulder the window. “Why are you so stubborn!?” 

“It’s who I am.” 

The window cracked all at once. With mere milliseconds to respond to the sash careening into the upper rail, you whirled past the bedroom door. Miguel broke into a run behind you with long strokes of his legs. He made contact, sending you barreling into your lazy sapphire couch from the impact. You saw stars for a fraction of a second before you lurched on your palms and elbows, scrambling off of the couch and across the floor. His hand caught your ankle and dragged you underneath his body.

“¡Ay!” you bit out. “No, no no no. Miggy!” 

“¡Callate!” 

His hand wrapped tightly around your throat to force complacency, pinning you back to the hardwood floor. Your palms slammed onto his chest, drawing lines down his chest. Bits of pathetic electricity fizzled on his broad, muscular chest, a consequence of your fading focus. That focus was eviscerated when Miguel threw his hips flat against your core. Your frantic fidgeting against Miguel soothed some of the terrible, buzzing pressure rattling between your legs like warm honey on a sore wound. The ache for his relief became more important than the impulse for substantial breaths.

“Don’t move. Why are you--”

“I can’t help it,” you cut him off, straining against his large palm to stare at his crotch. His gaze fell on yours, following the path to his soft cock. His eyes widened with the sudden attention. Tears threatened to spill over from your eyes, pricked with spikes of pain. "It's too much!"

You ate your shame with his body crouched between your legs and his large palm choking the air out of your throat. The influx of air not only brought your scent, but your day-long desperation to fix what you believed was wrong. He could smell it now. He could see it now. He could hear it in your voice. He knew why you failed to answer his calls. The violent jabbing of the resolve button. Throwing your watch into your cramped closet to ignore the calls. The pheromones that soaked your apartment. It was unavoidable.

“You can’t help it,” he repeated. Miguel considered you with razor-sharp eyes, nearly as sharp as the talons that rescinded into his arms. 

"I'll see about that." His hand left your neck to reveal bundles of bumpy shivers that soared across your skin. He raised his finger to wipe away the wet tears that fell from your flushed cheeks. Then dropping lower, Miguel chased the thin straps of your gown with his claw and slid the offending fabric off of your breast. The nub was as hard as it had been hours ago when you twerked the nipple between your fingertips and dreamed of Miguel.

“You’re...” he cupped your breast in your palm and massaged your nipple with one sharp twist of his thumb. The gasp that left your lips wasn’t one you were proud of. Your undulating hips that ground down on his cock weren’t entirely unwarranted. You needed it. "Hot. As if you're in heat."

This couldn’t be happening. From a ball of rage to one of arousal, he released a tiny amused chuckle. You spent much of the day in different parts of the apartment with your hand, toy, ice, and water into your body to soothe this terrible ache. So Miguel wouldn't see you like this. It was this moment you sought to avoid after your long day: The moment of Miguel's disapproval. Now he laughed at you.

“Happy?” you sobbed into the forearm that kept Miguel stable. “Go away, someone else could use your stupid help.”

“Don’t you need me?” Miguel dipped his head down. Strands of his dark hair tickled your hypersensitive skin. With the lightweight fabric of his suit, pressing your cunt back against his clothed bulge felt wonderful. You bit your lower lip and watched his cock jut against its fabric. You lifted your puffy eyes to his gaze and found a wicked gleam there. He knew it wasn’t enough contact for the pressure and painful spasms to abate. Deep down, you knew that Miguel was your only hope for relief. Who else could, or would, you call in this condition? Mostly because Miguel always fixed everything.

"Miggy," you murmured. After this pitiful display, he wasn't rejecting you? Your mind flowed weightless and light. The terror of your day faded under his careful caress. In its place, comfort that he would take care of you.

“Don’t you?” His hand snaked between your folds and found it soaked wet, the low throbbing of your pussy palpable. He retracted his fingers and spread the sticky fluid between his thumb and middle finger. At some point, silence became better than an answer. Miguel brought his hand down on your cunt for a sharp slap. Bundles of nerves cried out under the abuse. It shook free a squeal from your lips, bitten raw by the pressure of the day. Your head bobbed into a mechanical nod as to save yourself from another slap.

“You know how to ask. It’s si Miguel, por favor Miguel.”

You needed the warm sensation of his cum. But making those words proved too difficult. Your canines pierced bloody holes in your lower lip. You clawed up his forearms, trying to leverage and force him closer. Miguel grabbed your shoulders and thrashed them back down onto the floor. You felt bad for the downstairs neighbors. 

“Say it.” 

“Miggy,” you looked into his eyes. They were blown wide, nearly fully black with a thin outline of scarlet, chasing the outline of your exposed breast. For all his talk, you realized he wasn't immune. Even with his face tight, his eyes focused on the same thing you needed. Maybe, all this time, you were baiting Miguel with half-assed answers. They were invitations. Invitations to come to fill this need you had. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t what you wanted this whole time. Finally, you had him where you wanted him. 

Miguel broke eye contact first. He cupped his plush lips around your nipple, suckling the breast taut and wet. You cried out in surprise and arched into Miguel’s mouth, enticed by the fangs that grazed your nipple. As quickly as he came, he was gone.

You lurched up, palming Miguel's dick through his pants. His hips bucked into your palm. He refused to make any sound as he considered your next movements, releasing Miguel’s cock from his suit. Impatience and need coalesced into your brave movements, sliding your palm against him. He was impossibly thick and hard, dribbling at the tip. Miguel huffed a small noise as your palm ran over him. You dared to call it a moan.

Miguel sneered and shoved you back onto the floorboards. “I’ll only tell you one more time. Ask me properly.” 

"You do too, don't you?" You giggled. A noise that grated his ear. With the belief you wouldn’t bolt, Miguel shifted back onto his knees. You wouldn’t. There was nowhere left to run. Not that you even wanted to, fat and hungry off Miguel's growing desperation.

"Come here." He snaked his hands underneath your knees, dragged you close, and pushed them to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut. Moments later, the sensation of his thick dick sliding against your engorged folds forced them back open. It gave you just enough relief through the pulsing pain to look at him with your hazy eyes. From this angle, you appreciated how large Miguel had gotten. His round cock-head bobbed and crested over your mound as it rubbed against your aching clit. His face was trained, focused. He wasn't going to relent first.

The nagging pressure never abated. You sought something more, something better, the sensation of being filled. With every glide, you squeezed your walls in protest to his absence. Your hips protested the restriction of your movement, shimmying against the firm hold he had that kept you in place. You wanted more than that. You wanted true relief from his teasing. Miguel drew back to inspect the fluid over his fat shaft as held you down. You gave in, whining at him like a brat.

“Por,” you scratched his forearms. “Por favor, Miggy. You don’t know what it's like.” 

“All fours-- face down.” 

The cacophony of desire battered and overcame any other human emotion you could have. You complied, crawling onto your fuzzy indigo rug for what came next. Miguel’s gloved hand skimmed across your ass, middle finger skimming toward the center. He followed up his gentle touch by reeling back his hand and cracking it across your ass, searing the nerves alive. Once, twice, and then a third. Tears pricked your cheeks again, a consequence of your nerves being overwrought and now assailed.

“Miggy!” 

He shushed you with fervor, another thwack beating the jiggling flesh hot and red. Your legs trembled under the weight of his slaps. “Ignore my calls again and you’ll get much worse.”

“I didn’t-- you wouldn't want me,” your lips parted in defense of what you’d done. Miguel dipped down to spread your folds, rolling his index finger along your pulsing walls. Your body drew him in, squeezing and urging him forward. Your swollen walls were impossibly tight, straining to bring him in more and more.

"You know I do."

The need for more devoured any other thought, any threats of what he’d do next time. You rolled your hips to ride his hand. In place of a slap, Miguel slid another finger slid in beside the first to stretch your walls open. He faltered at your next words and slid his fingers free.

“Not like… not like I need you.” 

“Who decides that?” he pressed on your upper back to force it down. You complied. Miguel stumbled forward, finally pressing his thick head to your pulsing entrance. His round head pressed, just barely, into your wet hole. You clenched down, inviting him into your warmth. You weren’t sure he’d actually give it to you. It was so damn close.

“You do, Miggy,” you murmured, pushing back. He watched as his shaft slowly disappeared into your body, your apprehension of retaliation rendered you too slow to finish.

Miguel snatched your waist and forced you to take the rest, a soppy squelch lubricating his shaft. The sound that slipped from your lips was entirely uncouth, punctuated by his unforgiving thrusts. Your walls strained around his cock. No matter how many times you took him, the drag of his cock and slap of balls against your body always felt somehow like the first. It filled that ache-- the consistent burning need to have him here, inside of your greedy body, scratching something that you could not itch all day. It’s what you wanted. 

“That’s right, I do.” Miguel rumbled, short, punctuated thrusts beating your clenching cunt into complacency. The pleasure ruptured through your cunt-- battering his dick in response. He let loose a sharp grunt followed by a string of curses. Your sweet release spilled over his dick and balls, dripping down your thighs. Your legs threatened to shook, but Miguel was unwilling to allow your trembling legs to give out.

"Ah! Miggy!" His fangs punctured your shoulder to force you to stay in position, his pelvis stuttering against yours. His growl punctuated the warm, soothing cum that soothed your walls like warm honey over a wound. Your walls milked him free of his cum, spasming in response to his orgasm. He pieced himself together against your back, pulling his fangs free and settling a soft kiss over the burning wound on your shoulder. As if he hadn't been the one to tear his fangs into the crook of your neck.

“You’re not letting go,” he hummed in annoyance. He turned his attention down to your ass, ghosting his fingers over the healing bruises over your backside. You squealed, jerking forward. He followed you forward, punching a hole in the floor by your side. “Fuck, don’t move!” 

You cast your attention back toward Miguel. He huffed forcefully out of his nostrils. He motioned toward your ass as if it were obvious-- your walls were clamped over his cock, unwilling or otherwise unable to let him go, as if he had any more cum to give in that current moment. You took it all.

“I. I didn't-- I can’t--” 

“Yeah, I know. That Bee venom does that. Mine should neutralize it.”

At some point, you murmured. It sure as hell wasn’t doing it now, keeping him seated into your cunt that bubbled with the mixture of his and your release. “You knew about it? I could have died!” 

Miguel chuckled. 

“You wouldn’t. You’re too stubborn to die,” he sighed, fiddling with his watch. The tests-- that you never had ran. Ones that he suggested. Ones that you refused quite openly. “Why would I deny myself the fun?” 

His cock slipped free. Your hips dropped and fell slack against the floor. You weren’t proud of the cum that oozed out of your ass over your decimated room, nor the fact that your useless neighbors hadn’t called for help once. Not that you needed it-- but still. You palpated your stomach, slightly distended. Miguel bent down and gathered the mixture of your bodily fluids on his fingers, suckling his own fingers dry. You watched his wet tongue swirl around his fingertips. It wasn't fair.

“Fun? What fun!? Do you know how long I-- You’re a mean man, Miguel O’Hara.” 

He lurched over, his breath tickling your lips. He kissed you, salty and sweet. Your nose scrunched up, pouting against his lips. He left the room for the kitchen, fetching a wet cloth to clean his body with. He zipped himself back into his suit shortly after and dropped the sodden cloth by the cum puddling under your ass.

“Never said I wasn’t.” 

[bi-bard]

Taste Test - Rafael Barba Imagine [Law & Order: SVU]

Title: Taste Test

Pairing: Rafael Barba X Reader

Word Count: 1,075 words

Warning(s): none that I'm aware of

Summary: The SVU detectives go to visit their favorite ADA at his office. They end up finding out more about him than they ever planned to.

Author's Note: I needed something fast and cute to give me a break from some of the longer stories that I'm working on (there is a doctor who oc story and a grimm story in the works right now). I'm also on the tail end of my master's program, so it's all a little bit hectic right now.

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I rarely ever had the time to visit Rafael at his office.

Even without considering his frantic and busy work schedule, mine simply never allowed it. I owned the bakery that my dad had opened years ago. I took over after his retirement and I hadn't stopped moving at top speed since. It was always looking at the menu or staffing or some crisis that needed to be fixed right then and there.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I would have a day where I had enough people and a slow enough flow of customers that I could pack a little bag of treats and a few drinks and go see him at lunch.

Today was one of those very lucky days.

Rafael's office door was slightly open when I got there. I knocked on it lightly, pushing it just enough to peak my head through.

"Hello- (Y/n)." he stood up as soon as he saw me. "What are you doing here?"

"Slow day," I replied with a shrug. "Thought that I could tempt you into a break with some food and coffee."

"If there's a day that I say no to that, assume that someone has replaced me with a clone."

"Noted," I chuckled, placing the bag and the drink carrier on the round table in the corner. I handed him one cup. "Here, try this. It's a potential drink for the summer menu."

"Alright." he took a small sip of the drink. He nodded. "It's good. What is it?"

"It's basically a latte but made with rose milk and rose foam."

"How... How do you make rose milk?"

"Shh, don't ask questions," I said as I sat down in one of the table's chairs. Rafael chuckled as he sat next to me. "Do you really like it?"

"It's great," he promised.

"Good," I mumbled. "I was a bit worried about it."

"You have reason to be." Rafael grabbed my hand over the table. "You are a genius when it comes to making up drinks."

"I hope you feel the same way about my ability to make up food," I replied, reaching into the bag that I had brought with me. I put down a napkin and plopped a muffin on the top.

"Oh, absolutely," he let go of my hand to pick up the muffin. I chuckled as he did. He took a bite and hummed. "This is a winner."

"Glad to hear." I leaned over and swiped some crumbs off of his chin with my thumb. "But you do praise all of my food."

He hummed again as he took another bite, nodding before he was able to speak, "Because all of your food is amazing."

I grabbed my drink, taking a sip before changing the subject, "How has your day been? Anything important happening?"

"Not yet-"

"Barba-"

We both looked to the door as a group of people walked in. There were three of them; two women and a man.

"Perfect timing," Rafael mumbled to me. I would have chuckled if I hadn't been so caught off guard.

"Hello," one of the women said.

"Hi," I replied, standing up as I did.

The woman looked at Rafael. "I didn't know that you had a meeting."

"It's... It's not a meeting," I explained quickly. I always spoke quickly when I was nervous and having three people suddenly walk into the room with no warning made me very nervous. "I was just stopping by for lunch."

"Detectives," Rafael stood up behind me, touching my back. "This is (Y/n). My partner. (Y/n), these are some of the detectives from the S.V.U. Olivia Benson, Amanda Rollins, and Sonny Carisi."

"Nice to meet you all."

"You too," Olivia nodded at me. "I hope he hasn't been hiding you from us."

I chuckled. "No, no, not at all. I- I own a little bakery and cafe place not too far from here. I tend to be pretty swamped, but I had some downtime, so I stopped by for lunch."

"I thought that I recognized you!" Sonny pointed at me. "I've been by your shop."

"Oh, good, hope you liked it."

"Oh, loved it," he said. He turned to the other detectives. "There was this awesome sandwich thing on the menu during the fall. I've been craving it for months."

"I'll make note of that, so I remember to bring it back this year," I promised. "In the meantime, I'd be happy to treat you all to some food and drinks. I'm starting to sort out the summer menu; you should all come over sometime and test out some of the ideas I have."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to," I stopped Olivia in her tracks. "You guys work with Rafael so much that we might as well be friends. Plus, I need some other guinea pigs than just him. I'm sure Rafael would be more than happy to sort out a night for you and anyone else on your team to join us."

He looked over at me, pausing before he replied, "Over the moon."

"See?"

"Alright then," Olivia nodded. I glanced over to see Sonny trying to subtly celebrate the good news.

"I should get out of the way," I touched Rafael's shoulder as I spoke before going to grab my drink. "I'm sure whatever you all need to talk about is more important than my seasonal menu."

"I'll walk you out." Rafael guided me to the door.

We walked together to the point where we were just out of view of the windows in his office. I turned around and placed a quick kiss on his lips.

"I'll see you tonight," he muttered.

"Can't wait," I mumbled back. "Don't forget about the little tasting event that we're hosting."

"I won't," he promised, leaning over to kiss me again. He added a second kiss to my temple. "I love you."

"Love you too," I said before pulling away properly.

My phone started ringing as soon as I started walking out.

"I'm already on my way back," I answered before any question could be asked.

"Thank God." I heard from the other end. "Someone is promising to come back and have a stern talk to you."

"Great, sounds fun. I'll be there in a few minutes."

I let out a huff as I hung up and started jogging down the street.

Sometimes these short lunch dates were the only thing keeping me from running for the hills.

---------------------------

Author's Note: The drink I described is actually an actual drink at local coffee shop in my area! I am not clever enough to make it up myself.

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Everything - @geeksareunique

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[bluelotuswrites]

2024 fic rec list :)

So here's a list of fics/authors that I read in 2024! A lot of them are Batman-related, and Jason-centered :P

Six Degrees of Separation by @oliocelottafanfics. It's a Criminal Minds crossover with Batman, where Penelope Garcia is the one to find Jason after his resurrection and adopts him. This is one of those fics where I didn't know I needed it until I saw it, and now it's stuck in my brain.

The Right Substitution is Key by Addicted Apple. A fun what-if story where Batman and Nightwing go missing, so Robin recruits Red Hood to fill in as Batman while completely oblivious to the fact that Red Hood is Jason Todd.

Five Reactions to Pepper's New PA by @gladdecease. Short, but Bucky ends up becoming Pepper Potts' personal assistant. It's very funny and wholesome.

@cdelphiki's Three Terrors Cinematic Universe is a top fic that many probably already know. Talia tried to escape the League with Jason, Damian, Anathasia, and Mara al Ghul. She didn't make it, leaving Jason to be the one to protect them.

Along with that is cdelphiki's The Time Before. Jason got sent back to the past by Black Mask, who wanted to kill him before he became Red Hood. Jason goes to Bruce for help and ends up healing and learning more about Bruce.

A League of Her Own by @comebackolivia. Immediately after the UtRH, Talia finds Jason in the rubble, kills to Joker, and takes him back to the League, where they try to take over and rebuild it with Nyssa. Jason becomes one of her generals. You might recognize them for their work on Not-So-Outlaw :)

VermillionFlame is another more recent author that has been working on Arkhamverse Jason. For Want of a Savior and Hold Fast (Don't Let Go) are two of my favorites.

For Want of a Savior has comic Jason wind up in Arkhamverse, and saves AK!Jason. He then helps him heal and the Batfam is in a panic after realizing Jason may be alive.

Hold Fast (Don't Let Go) is another AU where Jason shot Deathstroke while working on his revenge plan that would be seen in Arkham Knight. He then shows up at Wayne Manor for protection, throwing the family's peace into chaos as so many things come to light and people butt heads.

Echoes of Future Past by orangesky37 on AO3/ @kindlingkeen. Immediately after Jason's throat got slit in UtRH comic, he gets yeeted back to the past and is found by authorities. James Gordon brings Batman onto the case, not realizing Batman is Bruce Wayne. He gets protective of Jason when he tells Gordon that 'his dad did it.'

Going Down Like the Titanic by @sunnylighter A shortish Arkhamverse AU where Joker succeeds in getting Bruce to succumb to the Titan virus by showing Jason still alive in Arkham Asylum.

Bruce Wayne Must Die by @reginalusus. Jason wants to kill Bruce, only to find out that he's missing. He teams up with Harvey Dent to find him, and there's father-son bonding vibes between Harvey and Jason.

Do Unto Others by @romiress. Arkhamverse again (listen, I'm a sucker for that storyline when it comes to Jason. It's maximum angst potential). Khalid Nassour (Doctor Fate in DC comics) worked at Arkham Asylum under the payroll of Joker, albeit reluctantly. He was brought on to fix up Jason, and eventually he sneaks him out to help him heal.

Don't Let Them See You Cry by @daisyapples. Oh my god, you guys. Let me tell you. This series is vibrates in my brain to an insane degree. Shortly after Bucky breaks free from his Winter Soldier programming, he finds Jason and adopts him. It's so good, y'all. I literally drop everything to read this whenever it updates.

The Glue by sleepynarwhal. Daredevil is the one to mentor Spiderman instead in the MCU and it's very adorable how much Matt goes from reluctant mentor to embracing it, as well introducing him to the other Defenders.

the road home by @drakefeathers. Jason is homesick during his Lost Days Era world murder-tour and ends up returning home.

I'll Catch a Break Someday by @victory-in-the-skye. Fullmetal Alchemist crosses over with the MCU. It has Fem!Ed, which might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it definitely contributes to the story in a way that makes it interesting. The author does a fantastic job of capturing Ed's voice, even in first person! It's a series, but it hasn't been updated in a while and I hope the author is doing okay!

Arkham Compendium by @lananiscorner. If you're a fan of Arkhamverse, I cannot recommend this series enough. Focusing on Jason before, during, and after Arkham Knight, the author does a fantastic job of delving into Jason's psyche during the course of his life. Ill Weeds Grow Apace is my favorite of the series, focusing on Jason healing after Arkham Knight, and slowly reconnecting with his siblings. Lanani also has many other fantastic fics in DC, especially with Jason. While the author might not be in the fandom anymore, I will always be grateful for the fics that were written because they are masterpieces.

(If you're one of these authors on the list and I missed your tumblr @, let me know and I'll edit them in!)

[magicicephoenix]

Hey, I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but is it ok if you can just give me a quick explanation of dca who? au, or just send me the link to your explanation of it? I kinda just got tired from trying to find explanations of lots of aus... sorry.

hi i’m going to use your ask as a rough masterpost until i manufacture a permanent one

The DCA Who AU is inspired by the show Doctor Who. That’s why it’s called that; DCA replaces Doctor for a silly play on words. pretty please do not call it the “Who AU”, that’s not what it’s called. and you can refer to specific characters with the acronym “DW” (ex. DW!Moon, DW!Sun)

here are the designs for our main trio! the Moon and Y/N had a quick redesign so direct your attention to the second image for them. note that Y/N also wears pants and other things i just felt like giving them a skirt here :)

the Moon was inspired by the Doctor, and the Sun was inspired by the Master. and Y/N is the Moon’s companion.

Brief explanation for those who don’t know Doctor Who (but in the terms of the AU): the Moon and the Sun are of an ancient race called the Time Lords, who oversaw all of time and were very powerful. Some time ago, there was a giant battle called the Time War, in which all of the Time Lords were wiped out… except for the Moon. the Moon stole borrowed a special device called the TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimension(s) In Space), which is essentially a spaceship that is also a time machine. Years pass, and the Moon spends his time traveling from place to place; occasionally he comes across trouble, and he is one to help those who need it. The ‘start’ of the AU is when the Moon comes across Y/N during one of these bouts of trouble, and one thing leads to another and now Y/N is traveling alongside the Moon in the TARDIS!

the Sun comes much later in the story, once the Moon and Y/N become closer. he is a key antagonist and hates the Moon’s guts. why? unknown at the moment.

established lore (at the time of writing this):

the Time Lords are partly inorganic, partly organic. not just animatronics. They can open their mouths (though do not need to in order to speak) and eat. They don’t need to eat in order to survive, but it’s good for them. they also have fangs because fangs are fun. and retractable claws too.

in Doctor Who, Time Lords have a special ability that allows them to “regenerate” upon death, restoring their body with a new face and personality. in the DCA Who AU, this is replaced with a special program called the Regeneration Protocol, which kicks in when a Time Lord is fatally injured. it does a quick, barebones fix of the Time Lord’s body so that they won’t immediately die, and then initiates a mode where the Time Lord isn’t really mentally present as their body searches for materials to repair itself until they’re stable again. they will use anything (anything) in reach to do this. afterwards the Time Lord may suffer some negative effects, as running the protocol is harsh on the body & mind.

the Moon and the Sun used to be old friends. they have special nicknames for each other: “Moondust” and “Sunshine”. however, once they meet again in the AU, the Sun refuses use of his nickname. additionally, the Moon gives Y/N the nickname “Star” and also “Starlight” occasionally, and the Sun (upon meeting them) nicknames them “Dewdrop.” these names have out-of-universe significance :)

i’m using their full titles here but the Moon and the Sun are good to just be called “Moon” and “Sun”! doesn’t matter to them.

Y/N is in their 20s, lives alone, and is somewhat distant from their family. they don’t have much to return to.

the collars around the Moon and the Sun’s neck are a special cloaking device! it’s for if they time travel to a point where cyborgs/animatronic/the like aren’t considered people or are disproved of. it works as a sort of perception filter that forces the brain to gloss over the non organic parts of their appearance, essentially accepting them as whatever form of being would make sense in the scenario (ex. on earth surrounded by humans? must be human! on mars surrounded by martians? must be martian! though it usually defaults to human for simplicity’s sake, especially when the Moon’s with Y/N)

playlists

Main playlist; songs are arranged in chronological order to the AU :)

Sun's playlist; no particular order

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jamil Viper - Nightmare Suit Vignette

”From all the children to the witches flying through the sky”

[Halloween Town – Dr. Finkelstein's Lab]

Jamil: Sally-san, I've made a dish sample. Could I ask you to taste test it?

Sally: Of course, I don't mind at all. In fact, I was waiting for you to say something, since it had been smelling good for some time now…

Jamil: Is that so. Well, I do hope it suits your taste… Try it with this sauce here.

Sally: There are a lot of finely chopped ingredients in this sauce. I wonder how it will taste.

Sally: …Oh, this is delicious! You really brought forth the flavor of the herbs.

Jamil: That's right. Do you think the others in Halloween Town will like it?

Sally: I know I like it. But hm… I think the folks in this town would prefer it to be a little more acidic.

Jamil: A little more acidic, I see. Should I add more vinegar, or add fruit to the sauce…?

Sally: There was that one plant with the huge leaves, remember? What if you were to chop up the stem and cook it together?

Jamil: Huge leaves…? I think I know which ones you're talking about, but just in case, can you point out…

???: Sally, help me out here. At this rate, I'll lose my head.

Sally: Jack…! You look so troubled. What's going on?

Jack Skellington: No matter how much I think about it, I can't figure it out, so I feel like I'm going crazy. I need your advice.

Jamil: …Looks as though this is a serious matter. I'll leave you two be.

Jamil: Now that I have received Sally's thoughts, I'll proceed with fixing the dishes. The two of you should have a good talk together…

Sally/Jack Skellington: WAIT!!

Jamil: Eh?

Jack Skellington: I'd like you to listen to what I have to say too, Jamil-kun. I need to figure out a way out of this funk.

Sally: I'd like to ask your help as well. There's no way we can leave Jack like this. Please, help him.

Jamil: …O-Okay, then. If both of you are going to insist like that, I'll join in.

Jamil: So, what's the issue you need help with?

Jack Skellington: It's about the Halloween preparations. I heard that in your world, you guys do some sort of "illumination" event.

Jack Skellington: So I had this thought… What if the Jack-o'-Lanterns light up right as I appear?

Jack Skellington: Wouldn’t it be grand if the lanterns lit up one by one as I walk forward!?

Jack Skellington: …Only, I just can't figure out how to get the timing of everything being lit up right.

Jamil: Wait, so you've already decided to do it!? Shouldn't you determine whether it's actually feasible, first…?

Sally: This is how Jack always works. Once he comes up with something, he won't back down.

Jack Skellington: Sally, Jamil-kun. Please, give me some good ideas!

Sally/Jamil: …...

Jamil: Well… An illumination would definitely liven things up.

Jamil: Back in our world, we have certain programming…

Jamil: We generally have people with specialized knowledge use specific tech to control that sort of illumination.

Jack Skellington: Well, that's wonderfully useful to know. Is that something we would be able to do, as well?

Jamil: I wouldn't really know how to do it. Even in our world, there are only a handful of people who would be able to pull it off.

Jack Skellington: Hmm… I wonder if there's any way we can make it happen.

Jamil: Right… What if you were to ask Dr. Finkelstein?

Jamil: I hear he's an excellent scientist. He may come up with a good answer.

Jack Skellington: I see, you're right! I wonder if he's at home right now.

Sally: No, he's out, helping with preparations. I think he should be in the town center…

Jack Skellington: Alright. Well then, I'll head off to find him!

Jamil: I do hope you find a solution. And with that, I'll go back to finishing my work.

Jack Skellington: What are you talking about, Jamil-kun! You're coming with me!

Jack Skellington: I have no knowledge of how things work in your world. I need you to explain things to the Doctor for me!

Jamil: No, wait, I need to finish preparing the food… Sally-san, can't you back me up here?!

Sally: Once Jack starts saying something, he doesn't listen to anything else.

Sally: I'll let Trey-kun and the others know, so… Please take care of Jack for me.

Jack Skellington: Thanks, Sally. Okay, now that that's settled, let's go right now!

Jack Skellington: COME, COME, HURRY, HURRY!

Jamil: Fine. I understand, I'll join you. …Why am I always resigned to the same sort of role wherever I go?

[Halloween Town – Center]

Jack Skellington: Alright, we made it to the town center. The Doctor should be setting the decorations up around here somewhere.

[nyoom!]

Jamil: !! Jack-san, stand back!

[thud! roll, roll…]

Jamil: Why did half a pumpkin come flying at us!?

Jamil: Oh, it's been sliced so beautifully… Wait, I mean, what just happened?

Halloween Town Resident: Huh? Oh hey, it's Jack and Jamil! You guys just showed up out of the blue, that surprised us!

Jamil: We should be the ones saying that! Was it you who threw that pumpkin at us?

Halloween Town Resident: No, not at all! We didn't do anything! It was all because of this big guy slicing that pumpkin in two.

Jamil: This big guy?

Jamil: Are you talking about this thing with the huge cutter? It just looks like it's a sharp blade held between two long poles.

Jamil: They're using something this big just to slice pumpkins in half? Or maybe… nah, it can't be.

Jack Skellington: Oh, is this your first time seeing something like this? Then, I bet you don't know about this huge box with all these spikes inside.

Jamil: This big box…? I'm afraid I don't. What is it used for?

Vampire: It's to squeeze the life out of… fresh juice! Heeheehee!

Jamil: Ach! He just popped out of nowhere, said his piece and then left again…

Jamil: But seriously, juice? I feel like this would be pretty difficult to use to squeeze fruits… I think I won't think further about it.

???: Ah, Jack-san. So, you were over here. I've come to collect you.

Jamil: Jade? What do you mean collect him?

Jade: As soon as he heard of the concept of illumination, he said, "This won't be enough!" and ran off so forlornly…

Jade: And so, were you able to concoct some brilliant idea, Jack-san?

Jack Skellington: Well, that's… Not yet. I haven't come across something that just screams "This is it!" yet.

Jade: If you find yourself in a quandary, please don't feel the need to keep it bottled up inside yourself. Both I and Azul would be happy to be of help.

Jamil: Hey, don't try to peddle your business here of all places. Seriously, you Octavinelle folk are always on the lookout for opportunity.

Jamil: We're actually searching for Dr. Finkelstein to ask for his advice. Have you seen him at all?

Jade: I'm afraid I haven't. Vil-san should be helping out nearby, perhaps you could ask him?

Jamil: Vil-senpai…? Oh, that might work! Jack-san, what if we were to ask Vil-san for his thoughts?

Jamil: He's an actor… He has experience in working on projects that garner a lot of attention, so he may be helpful for not only the illumination, but also on various ways to implement it.

Jack Skellington: Is that right? I might be able to really learn something by talking to him. Let's head over to Vil-kun right away!

Jamil: Vil-senpai, thanks for taking the time. We were hoping to get your take on something for Halloween…

Jamil: Jack-san is saying that he'd like to appear before everyone in a very flashy manner, with a resounding illumination.

Vil: The most important scene to prepare in any production is when the main character appears, yes. I support your plan to enhance that moment. However…

Vil: Halloween Town doesn't have any sort of specialized equipment of that sort… I feel as though it would be difficult to set up some elaborate lighting scheme as of right now.

Malleus: There's no need to use any human-made equipment. I can enhance Skellington's appearance with my magic.

Jamil: Right, using this guy was also an option, hm.

Malleus: Would you be wreathed in light? Shall we raise fireworks into the sky? Ah, or perhaps we could make it snow.

Jack Skellington: Oooh…! That's amazing, Malleus-kun! I bet you could even make it rain bugs to frighten every…

Vil/Jamil: ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vil: You want to rain down bugs? Absurd! That idea is the worst thing I've ever heard.

Jamil: YEAH! …Ahem. Pardon my outburst.

Jamil: Jack-san, you're the Pumpkin King. Should you not rely on your own strengths to give your townsfolk a scare, instead of using bugs?

Jamil: Even if we were to secure Malleus-senpai's cooperation… This is the only time we'll be able to help you with this, Jack-san.

Jamil: Next time, you'll have to bring about Halloween by yourselves, just like your previous years.

Jamil: If we were to implement a method that can even be executed by the others in this town, then it can be utilized for future years down the road.

Jack Skellington: Jamil-kun… You're an inspiration! You were not only thinking of this Halloween, but for the next ones, too.

Jack Skellington: I get it. I won't rely on magic or bugs. Let's think of something that all of us Halloween Town residents can do.

Malleus: Hm… It seems I am unneeded. Call me if you change your mind.

[Malleus leaves]

Jade: Oh, my… Is he sulking, now?

Vil: He isn't that much of a child… I'm sure. Come now, let's get this discussion started.

Jamil: So, we need to come up with a method to give him a grand appearance without any specialized equipment, or using magic, huh…

Vil: Yes… This may be a cliché, but what about an entrance while riding something?

Vil: The higher up one is, the easier it would be to garner the attention of others as opposed to simply walking. We can even make sure the spotlight is on one focal point.

Jade: That's a good idea. Just like how the tales of the mermaid princess even tell of how her father, the king, would appear before everyone on a chariot pulled by dolphins.

Jamil: I actually was reminded of the legend of the princess of the oasis that's prevalent in the Scalding Sands.

Jamil: With golden camels, peacocks, and various other animals and dancers in tow…

Jamil: A young man presented himself before her in an extravagant parade.

Jamil: Hmm, a parade…

Jamil: Jack-san, I've thought of something good.

[Halloween Town – Center]

Jamil: Jack-san, I've thought of something good.

Jack Skellington: I see that gleam in your eye… You look pretty proud of yourself. What kind of plan do you have up your sleeve?

Jamil: We should throw a parade.

Jade: A parade?

Jade: Back at Night Raven College… At our school, we tend to have one as a finale on Halloween.

Jamil: That's right. We tend to have one at the start of our feasts in Scarabia, as well. …More often than not.

Vil: A parade would definitely be grand and lively. It's not a bad idea to keep the audience's attention.

Vil: However, wouldn't we require a large number of people to put on a parade?

Vil: Do you intend on having the townsfolk learn how to parade march?

Jamil: Not at all. The only one who will be in the parade will be Jack-san.

Jack Skellington: Just me?

Jamil: Ah, well, of course, we'll still need all hands on deck to help…

Jamil: All the townsfolk are looking forward to seeing how you'll arrive on Halloween day.

Jamil: We couldn't possibly ask them to march behind you in the parade!

Jamil: Instead, we need to make sure your gallant appearance is firmly burned into their mind.

Jack Skellington: You're right. It's just like you say, Jamil-kun! I want all my fellow residents to see me clearly.

Jamil: And so, that's where Vil-senpai's earlier idea comes into play.

Jack Skellington: His earlier idea…? Oh, you mean where I arrive while riding something.

Jack Skellington: Jade-kun mentioned the story with the dolphin pulling the chariot. And what was it Jamil-kun said again…?

Jamil: Ah, I hadn't actually mentioned what he rode, right. That young man presented himself riding in on the back of an elephant…

Jack Skellington: An "elephant"? We don't have such a creature in Halloween Town.

Jamil: An elephant is an extremely large animal with a long nose, magnificent tusks, and large ears.

Jack Skellington: I can just imagine something utterly frightful just from that description. I'm getting chills.

Jade: Well, we can't have that. I suppose we should hurry and find an elephant and bring it here to Halloween Town as soon as possible, then!

Jamil: Hey, don't just throw that out there!

Jade: What do you mean? I am simply attempting to accommodate Jack-san's request.

Vil: Jamil's doing all he can to wrap this up quickly, don't cause any unnecessary issues.

Jade: But it would be no fun if the plan were to go off so smoothly without a hitch.

Jamil: It's not like someone like you from Octavinelle would do something without taking a fee, anyway. So, shut up and just let me deal with this!

Jack Skellington: Hey, what are the three of you whispering about over there?

Jamil: We were simply discussing his idea on bringing an elephant into town.

Jamil: As a concept, I don't think it's terrible. However…

Jack Skellington: Oh, is there something problematic about it?

Jamil: Jack-san, you said that you'd want everyone to be able to see you clearly.

Jamil: But if you were to ride on the back of a large elephant…

Jamil: Wouldn't there be people who wouldn't be able to see your expressions, let alone your silhouette?

Jamil: And we want everyone from those brats― I mean from all the children to the witches flying through the sky to see you!

Jack Skellington: Oh no. So if I do that, not everyone will be able to enjoy themselves…

Jack Skellington: I would have loved to have seen an elephant, myself… But I suppose we should leave that for another time.

Jack Skellington: Ahhh, we've come full circle… Urgh… What should I do?

Jamil: THUS!! What if you were to ride a horse?

Jamil: There are many scenes in movies and fairy tales in which a king would appear before his people while riding a horse. Right, Vil-senpai?

Vil: That's true, it does tend to give them a heroic aura. For this production, it doesn't have to be a real one. We only need to make it look just as striking.

Jack Skellington: A horse… A horse, huh! Yeah, that sounds perfect. Now it feels like the last piece of the puzzle just clicked into place!

Jack Skellington: Oh, what if we were to gather up some straw to make a horse? I want to make it look terrifying to perfectly suit the King of Halloween.

Jamil: You want to make a straw horse? That's definitely not something I've ever seen back in my world. What a brilliant idea, Jack-san.

Jamil: Ah, lovely, I'm glad that we've assuaged your worries. I'm looking forward to Halloween day!

Jade: It seems as though everything has wrapped up without any further issues. Although, I can't help but feel a little disappointed…

Jade: You were able to bring some almost impossible request back into the realm of feasibility without rejecting it outright…

Jade: Heh, if anyone could have done it, it would've been you, Jamil-san. I guess it's to be expected… since you're so experienced in dealing with unreasonable behavior.

Vil: Indeed. On top of that, he even found a way to utilize my strengths… Looks like everything was settled thanks to your careful thinking.

???: Jack, Jamil-kun!

Jamil: Sally-san, what are you doing here?

Sally: You didn't come back, so I started to get worried. Have you all decided how Halloween will be kicked off yet?

Jack Skellington: Yeah! Jamil-kun gave us a spectacular idea.

Sally: Well, now...! I'm so happy to see a huge smile on your face, Jack. It's all thanks to Jamil, I'm sure.

Sally: I don't know if me or the other townsfolk would've been able to clear up his worries.

Sally: I only wish Jamil-kun could stay in this town forever…

Jack Skellington: That's a great idea! You should stay here in Halloween Town and help us prepare for Halloween forever.

Jamil: I am beyond honored to have such high praise from the both of you.

Sally/Jack Skellington: So, then…!

Jamil: I appreciate your invitation, but I'll have to respectfully decline.

Jamil: Back home, there are many things that would fall apart without my assistance… I worry for the people I left behind.

Jack Skellington: I see… Well, that's a shame. You truly are a prudent guy. I totally understand why so many rely on you.

Jamil: Thank you.

Jamil: While I'm here… No, while we're here we'll make sure this Halloween will go smoothly.

Jamil: Let's make this Halloween the most enjoyable and scariest one yet.

Requested by @farfalla049.