#Food Monitor Program

[adribosch-fan]

Food Monitor Program denuncia incremento en venta de carne de gato en Cuba

“En principio, se trata de elegir a los más gordos, pues a veces pueden hacerlos pasar por carne de conejo”, dijo la organización Patricia Quintana  SAN LUIS POTOSÍ, México.- La organización independiente Food Monitor Program (FMP) denunció que la venta de carne de gato se ha incrementado en Cuba, ante la falta de otras alternativas cárnicas. Según expusieron en un artículo, hasta hace pocos…

[nexus-nebulae]

ok i get that people will have sex in some weird places both irl and in fiction but when a show has two characters trying to fuck in a hospital i cannot suspend my disbelief whatsoever bc when i was in the hospital any time my heart rate went Slightly above average a nurse would be in my room within minutes, if they've got a character hooked up to a heart monitor they'd notice that shit immediately

[haccpbuilder]

Online Food Safety Management System | HACCP Builder

An Online Food Safety Management System, streamlines the creation, implementation, and monitoring of HACCP plans, ensuring compliance with food safety regulations by identifying hazards, setting critical control points, and maintaining detailed records digitally.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (2)

previous | next

tw: canon-typical violence

Your introduction didn't cause pandemonium, per se, but your effect on the rest of the team was immediate. Soap sat straight up, his eyes alight like a kid who'd been set loose in a toy store. Kyle's whole demeanor unwound, his smile softening, his eyes going glassy, as if all the tension holding him together was suddenly released. Simon tried to make himself smaller, take up less space, maybe disappear into the cushions of the couch he was on. It was clear they didn't know you were coming, and they seemed as excited - well, all but Simon, who seemed terrified - about it as you were.

Things settled down quickly after that as Price reminded everyone this arrangement was for the sake of their next mission. That took some joy out of the introduction, but the electric thrum of excitement was there. You were finally in the same place as your boys.

Your first full day is rather boring. You are only a little startled to hear voices in the hall at 4:30 but then realize the guys are simply getting ready for their morning training. You also slightly regret picking the room next to the bathroom, despite how helpful it will be when you need to shower while the others are around.

You spend your morning setting up your mobile command center with the tech you brought. You arrange the monitors to match your usual setup, pulling up the background files and current mission data across your screens. You send an encrypted message to Laswell updating her on your status. You know she wants someone she trusts here, and encrypting the email is probably overkill, but you didn't get to where you are by assuming anything about safety. You'd been a black-hat hacker before Laswell scooped you up, so you know it's possible.

When you left, she told you you'd have the same decision-making abilities in the field as she does. You've never had that much power, and you want to show Laswell her trust is justified, so your message is a concern about transports and what you'd like to do instead. You want to get her take on it before simply changing things. In your mind, roping her in on these kinds of decisions now means she'll be less likely to challenge any decisions you make when the boys are in the field.

The highlight of your first day is the knock that comes around 1:00, startling you a bit, just as you're realizing skipping breakfast after such an interrupted schedule the previous day was not a smart idea. The only person you know who knows you're here is John, so you quickly open your door, smile already in place. But you're pleasantly surprised to see Kyle instead.

"Hey doll, Cap said you should come eat." He leans against the doorframe, smiling gently at you. "Looks like you're all set."

"Got everything but the curtain," you reply cheekily.

He grins in response. "We may call ya' Oz, but you're so much better than the man behind the curtain."

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and duck your head. You aren't behind a screen anymore; you're going to need to be more aware of your reactions to the boys if you don't want them reading you like an open book. "You said something about food," you murmur, shuffling paperwork around on your desk.

"Yea. The Captain was hopin' you'd join us," Kyle replies.

You glance up at him in the doorway. "Do I have a choice?" you ask cheekily. You need to eat, but you can't let them think you're so easily commanded. It sets a bad precedent and is at odds with what they know of you from previous missions.

Kyle's smile slides into a smirk. "He did say I might need to convince you."

You aren't sure what he might try to do to convince you, and your mind immediately jumps to some inappropriate fantasies. You're so flustered you quickly stammer, "No, you don't need to do that." You minimize your open programs, leaving a blank desktop, despite the fact you're the only person with access to this office. You turn to Kyle moments later. "I'm ready."

Kyle steps fully into the hallway, gesturing you to lead the way. You pull the door closed behind you, checking to make sure it locks. "You do remember I got the ten cent tour yesterday and don't really know where much of anything is, right?"

Kyle puts a gentle hand on your lower back, in the same way John did last night, unconsciously. He leads you through base, and you watch other groups of soldiers notice you for the first time. Some openly stare while others watch you on their perifery.

You're not sure what they think of you or if they even know who you are, but you don't like their prying eyes. Kyle doesn't seem to like it either, wrapping his arm more possessively around your waist as he guides you to the mess.

Walking through the door, it's easy to find the rest of the 141. For one thing, Simon is massive. Even seated he's nearly a head taller than most of the other people in the mess. For another, you know of their reputation, but the soldiers here have seen it first-hand and keep a wide berth in the mess. You don't know if the distance is out of fear or respect, but it means your boys have a table to themselves near the back of the room.

John and Simon are facing the door, eyes constantly scanning the room. You don't know if this is how they always are, or if they're looking for Kyle and you. You catch John's eye before turning to the food line, but Kyle steers you towards the others. As you approach, he calls out, "Look who I found? An' she's here without any coercion!" Simon looks at you and away again quickly, what is going on with him? Soap turns around, grin stretching across his face.

"Oz, mah girl, finally get ta see yer pretty face! Where've'ye been heedin'?" He pats the space next to him.

You slip onto the bench. "I've been in my office, Soap. Setting things up so I can support you while you're gone." He seems to deflate a little at the reminder that they'll be leaving soon, leaving you. You try not to read into it.

You turn and look at John, who's now across from you, and Kyle, who took the spot on your other side. You don't fail to notice that though your back is to the room, the two most imposing members of the 141 have their eyes on everything in the room, and you're flanked on either side by some of the youngest ever members of such an elite task force. Consciously or not, they've made sure you're well protected.

"So what do you recommend I get?" you ask, glancing around only to realize no one has anything to eat yet. "Wait, did you all eat already?"

John chuckles. "Nah, Oz. We were tryin-a be polite and wait for ya. 'Sides, Laswell said you'd likely skip meals, so I figured eatin' with ya would make sure yer fed." He stands, as does Kyle and Soap. "Now you sit tight with Ghost while we grab some scoff."

You watch as the others get up, leaving you with a Simon who looks anywhere but at you. You notice he has a plain black balaclava on, and he'd been wearing one yesterday too. You wonder if anyone on base knows what he looks like. You don't know what to say as you sit there in awkward silence. This is so different from your usual dynamic with Simon, it makes you uncomfortable.

Minutes tick slowly by, and you look over at John chatting with some other soldiers, Kyle and Soap with a few trays between them. Across from you, Ghost is still silent. And you finally snap.

"Simon?" You try to keep the hurt from your voice as he finally drags his eyes to yours. "Did I do something wrong or offend you somehow?"

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

an: I'm trying to get Soap's accent, and it's hard because it's all in the vowel sounds, which have to be spelled out. Forgive me any glaring issues.

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Reptilia - Accipitriformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of birds are the Accipitriformes, colloquially called “raptors” or “birds of prey”, though these paraphyletic terms are often used to include unrelated orders such as owls and falcons as well. Accipitriformes are comprised of the living families Cathartidae (“New World vultures”), Sagittariidae (“Secretarybird”), Pandionidae (“Osprey”), and Accipitridae (“hawks”, “eagles”, “kites”, and “Old World vultures”).

Accipitriformes typically have a sharply hooked beak with a soft cere housing the nostrils. Their wings are long and fairly broad, adapted for soaring flight. They have strong legs and feet with raptorial claws and opposable hind claws. Almost all Accipitriformes are carnivorous, hunting by sight during the day or at twilight. They are predominantly active predators and/or scavengers, and many are specialized for particular prey items.

Accipitriformes are generally monogamous over many years, though they will choose a new mate if their old mate dies. Females are usually larger than males, sometimes to a substantial degree. Courtship typically involves displays of flight, and presenting gifts of food. Most Accipitriformes build nests, and return to the same nest site each breeding season. Typically, both the male and female will build the nest, incubate the eggs, and raise the young. Many Accipitriformes are long-lived, and can take several years to reach sexual maturity.

Accipitriformes arose in the Eocene, around 50 million years ago. DNA sequence analyses suggest that divergences within the Accipitriformes began around the Eocene/Oligocene boundary, about 34 million years ago.

Propaganda under the cut:

The California Condor (Gymnogyps californianus) is often considered a conservation success story, having just barely escaped from the brink of extinction. In 1987, only 27 individuals remained. Conservationists at the San Diego Wild Animal Park and the Los Angeles Zoo rounded up all 27 remaining wild birds and began a captive breeding program. Beginning in 1991, captive bred California Condors were reintroduced into the wild. Today, around 561 California Condors live wild. The bird is still critically endangered, and its population is only kept stable by regular vet checks and frequent captive releases, with all wild California Condors being tagged and closely monitored. Like many North American Accipitriformes, the California Condor is threatened by lead poisoning. Lead shot is often used for hunting, and when it enters an animal, it explodes into tiny fragments. When hunters field dress an animal (ie. butcher it at the kill site and leave the inedible bits for scavengers) small fragments of lead shot often remain in the carcass. It can take a fragment of lead as small as a pea to kill a bird the size of an eagle.

The Black Vulture (Coragyps atratus) and the King Vulture (Sarcoramphus papa) (image 4) appear in a variety of Maya hieroglyphs in Mayan codices. While the Black Vulture is often depicted as a symbol of death or attacking humans, the King Vulture is sometimes portrayed as a god with a human body and a bird head. According to Mayan mythology, this god often carried messages between humans and the other gods.

The genus Cathartes locates carrion by detecting the scent of ethyl mercaptan, a gas produced by the bodies of decaying animals. The olfactory lobe of the brains in these species is particularly large compared to that of other animals, giving Cathartes vultures an incredible sense of smell.

The Secretarybird (Sagittarius serpentarius) (image 3) is a highly unique Accipitriform, sporting long legs and being mostly terrestrial. The tallest Accipitriform, it can grow to a height of as much as 1.3 m (4 ft 3 in). The Secretarybird eats small vertebrates and insects, which it flushes from the grass by stomping its long legs. It will then chase after its prey on foot and kill it by stomping. Only small prey items such as wasps and grasshoppers will the Secretarybird kill with its beak.

The Osprey (Pandion haliaetus) (image 2) is the only living species of its family, and the most widespread Accipitriform, living almost worldwide wherever there is water. The Osprey's diet consists almost exclusively of fish. Their vision is well adapted to detecting underwater objects from the air. Prey is first sighted when the Osprey is 10–40 m (33–131 ft) above the water, after which the bird hovers momentarily and then plunges feet first into the water. They will often completely submerge underwater, only to immediately surface and take flight with their prey in tow.

The Palm-nut Vulture (Gypohierax angolensis) is a uniquely omnivorous Accipitriform, with a diet consisting of 60% to 90% palm-fruit, as well as wild dates, oranges, other fruits, some grains, and acacia seeds.

Most vultures have flat feet adapted for walking, and lack the grip strength of their predatory cousins. But the Bearded Vulture (Gypaetus barbatus) has maintained strong feet, which it uses to carry and drop large bones in order to crack them open to more manageable pieces. The Bearded Vulture is the only known vertebrate whose diet consists of 70–90% bone.

The Egyptian Vulture (Neophron percnopterus) is one of the few birds known to use tools. Egyptian Vultures will use a pebble as a hammer on large eggs they wish to eat, swinging the pebble down onto the egg repeatedly until it cracks. They will also use twigs to roll up wool, making it easily transported back to their nest.

The Bearded Vulture and the Egyptian Vulture are the only birds known to use cosmetics. They will bathe in iron-rich dust or mud, or rub it on their bodies, dying their feathers yellow, orange, or even red. Both sexes will dye their feathers, and it seems to serve no purpose other than to look good.

The Snail Kite (Rostrhamus sociabilis), Slender-billed Kite (Helicolestes hamatus), and Hook-billed Kite (Chondrohierax uncinatus) are specialists in preying on snails, which usually constitute 50–95% of their diet.

Many accipitrids of almost all sizes have been recorded as capturing and then flying with prey of equal weight or even slightly heavier than themselves in their talons, a feat that requires great strength. Usually, the bird will leave prey at the kill site and return to feed repeatedly. Accipitrids such as the Golden Eagle (Aquila chrysaetos), Wedge-tailed Eagle (Aquila audax), Martial Eagle (Polemaetus bellicosus) and Crowned Eagle (Stephanoaetus coronatus) have successfully hunted ungulates, such as deer and antelope, and other large animals (kangaroos and emus in the Wedge-tailed) weighing more than 30 kg (66 lb), 7–8 times their own mass.

Most accipitrids are solitary, or only share space with their mate, but the Harris's Hawk (Parabuteo unicinctus) is known for being a “pack hunter”. Flocks of Harris’s Hawks generally consist of a dominant female, her mate, and the young of previous years. The flock will hunt cooperatively, working together to hunt comparatively large prey such as hares, and sharing the meal after bringing it down.

Some harriers have evolved to become polygynous, with a single smaller male breeding with and then helping multiple females raise young.

The single largest known tree nest known for any animal belonged to a Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), and was found to be 6.1 m (20 ft) deep and 2.9 meters (9.5 ft) across, and to weigh 3 short tons (2.7 metric tons). Bald Eagles usually build onto their previous nest every year.

The Bald Eagle is considered a conservation success story. The Bald Eagle was severely affected in the mid-20th century by a variety of factors, among them the use of the pesticide DDT. While DDT was not lethal to the adult bird, it interfered with their calcium metabolism, making them either unable to lay eggs, or lay eggs which had thin, brittle shells which could not stand the weight of a brooding adult. By the 1950s there were only 412 nesting pairs in the 48 contiguous states of the USA. Other factors in Bald Eagle population reductions were a widespread loss of habitat, as well as both legal and illegal shooting. In Alaska alone, approximately 70,000 Bald Eagles were shot in a 12 year period. The Bald Eagle was declared an endangered species in the USA in 1967, and laws were put into place prohibiting killing of the birds. But the most significant protection occurred in 1972, when DDT was finally banned in the US, and in 1989 when it was banned in Canada. The Bald Eagle has significantly rebounded since then, and as of 2007, is classified as “least concern”, a testament of what regulation can do. However, today, the greatest threat to eagles in the US and Canada is the continued use of lead, with more than half of adult eagles across 38 US states already suffering from lead poisoning. Bald Eagles mainly eat fish and carrion. Lead poisoning comes from lead shot used by hunters, as well as lead sinkers used by fishermen and ingested by fish.

The White-rumped Vulture (Gyps bengalensis) is critically endangered, with a global population of less than 6,000 individuals. Once numbering in the millions, the White-rumped Vulture was thought to be “the most abundant large bird of prey in the world”. Following the Indian Vulture Crisis (see below), the White-rumped Vulture has declined by 99%, the steepest decline in birds since North America’s Passenger Pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius).

Vultures are nature’s disease control. They are highly effective scavengers, and are able to digest and resist many diseases with their highly acidic stomach acid, stopping the spread when they scavenge a carcass.

Old World Vultures are the most imperiled group of birds on the planet, with around 70% of vulture species threatened with extinction. The extent to which we need vultures became incredibly apparent beginning in the 1980s in India, with an ongoing event now known as the “Indian Vulture Crisis”. Most of India’s vulture populations plummeted due to indirect poisoning from NSAID painkillers left in the bodies of deceased cattle. After vultures began to disappear, carcasses were left to rot, increasing the populations of less-effective scavengers such as rats and feral dogs. The feral dog population increased by the millions, also increasing the amount of rabies bite cases. Since the disappearance of vultures, India has seen a significant amount of rabies cases, causing more than 47,000 extra deaths. Animal carcasses left to rot have also contaminated the water supply in rural areas. It is estimated that the Indian Vulture Crisis has cost over $40 billion in economic impact.

Similarly, the African Vulture Crisis has only just begun. In Africa, vultures suffer from accidental and intentional poisonings, as many farmers leave poisoned carcasses out to keep predators away from their livestock. Poachers will also poison and kill vultures, as their presence can alert park rangers that the poachers have made a kill.

While New World Vulture populations seem to be doing fine (excluding the California Condor), and are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, it is best to be wary should the Americas face their own vulture crisis. Like in Africa, American farmers may target vultures as perceived threats to their livestock, or poison predators resulting in the accidental poisoning of vultures. Vultures also suffer from many of the same threats as other birds of prey, including lead poisoning, rodenticide poisoning, and loss of habitat. Most South American vultures are also severely understudied, and their populations could be dropping without our knowledge.

[directactionforhope]

"Starting this month [June 2024], thousands of young people will begin doing climate-related work around the West as part of a new service-based federal jobs program, the American Climate Corps, or ACC. The jobs they do will vary, from wildland firefighters and “lawn busters” to urban farm fellows and traditional ecological knowledge stewards. Some will work on food security or energy conservation in cities, while others will tackle invasive species and stream restoration on public land. 

The Climate Corps was modeled on Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps, with the goal of eventually creating tens of thousands of jobs while simultaneously addressing the impacts of climate change. 

Applications were released on Earth Day, and Maggie Thomas, President Joe Biden’s special assistant on climate, told High Country News that the program’s website has already had hundreds of thousands of views. Since its launch, nearly 250 jobs across the West have been posted, accounting for more than half of all the listed ACC positions. 

“Obviously, the West is facing tremendous impacts of climate change,” Thomas said. “It’s changing faster than many other parts of the country. If you look at wildfire, if you look at extreme heat, there are so many impacts. I think that there’s a huge role for the American Climate Corps to be tackling those crises.”  

Most of the current positions are staffed through state or nonprofit entities, such as the Montana Conservation Corps or Great Basin Institute, many of which work in partnership with federal agencies that manage public lands across the West. In New Mexico, for example, members of Conservation Legacy’s Ecological Monitoring Crew will help the Bureau of Land Management collect soil and vegetation data. In Oregon, young people will join the U.S. Department of Agriculture, working in firefighting, fuel reduction and timber management in national forests. 

New jobs are being added regularly. Deadlines for summer positions have largely passed, but new postings for hundreds more positions are due later this year or on a rolling basis, such as the Working Lands Program, which is focused on “climate-smart agriculture.”  ...

On the ACC website, applicants can sort jobs by state, work environment and focus area, such as “Indigenous knowledge reclamation” or “food waste reduction.” Job descriptions include an hourly pay equivalent — some corps jobs pay weekly or term-based stipends instead of an hourly wage — and benefits. The site is fairly user-friendly, in part owing to suggestions made by the young people who participated in the ACC listening sessions earlier this year...

The sessions helped determine other priorities as well, Thomas said, including creating good-paying jobs that could lead to long-term careers, as well as alignment with the president’s Justice40 initiative, which mandates that at least 40% of federal climate funds must go to marginalized communities that are disproportionately impacted by climate change and pollution. 

High Country News found that 30% of jobs listed across the West have explicit justice and equity language, from affordable housing in low-income communities to Indigenous knowledge and cultural reclamation for Native youth...

While the administration aims for all positions to pay at least $15 an hour, the lowest-paid position in the West is currently listed at $11 an hour. Benefits also vary widely, though most include an education benefit, and, in some cases, health care, child care and housing. 

All corps members will have access to pre-apprenticeship curriculum through the North America’s Building Trades Union. Matthew Mayers, director of the Green Workers Alliance, called this an important step for young people who want to pursue union jobs in renewable energy. Some members will also be eligible for the federal pathways program, which was recently expanded to increase opportunities for permanent positions in the federal government...

 “To think that there will be young people in every community across the country working on climate solutions and really being equipped with the tools they need to succeed in the workforce of the future,” Thomas said, “to me, that is going to be an incredible thing to see.”"

-via High Country News, June 6, 2024

--

Note: You can browse Climate Corps job postings here, on the Climate Corps website. There are currently 314 jobs posted at time of writing!

Also, it says the goal is to pay at least $15 an hour for all jobs (not 100% meeting that goal rn), but lots of postings pay higher than that, including some over $20/hour!!

[april-is]

April 20, 2025: Poem in the Shape of the Poet Beating Henry Kissinger to Death with Their Bare Hands, Felix Lecocq

Poem in the Shape of the Poet Beating Henry Kissinger to Death with Their Bare Hands Felix Lecocq

--

(Today's poem is shared as an image, and includes a transcription of the poem as alt text. If you're unable to see it, you can also find it transcribed below.)

US-funded projects addressing the ongoing impact of Agent Orange in Viet Nam (toxin cleanup, support for those with congenital disorders like the poet's) were disrupted by the abrupt dismantling of US foreign aid programming this year. Along with many others.

Today in: 2024: blessing the boats, Lucille Clifton 2023: Wound is the Origin of Wonder, Maya C. Popa 2022: When the Fox Comes to the City, Patricia Fargnoli 2021: aubade for the whole hood, Nate Marshall 2020: Keeping Things Whole, Mark Strand 2019: New Year’s Day, Kim Addonizio 2018: I Know You Think I’ve Forgotten, Jane Hirshfield 2017: The Writer, Richard Wilbur 2016: from Seven Skins, Adrienne Rich 2015: I Ask Percy How I Should Live My Life, Mary Oliver 2014: In the Park, Maxine Kumin 2013: To A Sad Daughter, Michael Ondaatje 2012: My Dead Friends, Marie Howe 2011: Staying After, Linda Gregg 2010: Dream Song 14, John Berryman 2009: What We Kept, Megan Alpert 2008: Please Take Back the Sparrows, Suzanne Buffam 2007: It Happens Like This, James Tate 2006: Tantalus in May, Reginald Shepherd 2005: September Song, Geoffrey Hill

A transcript of the poem text follows:

Text is in the shape of a standing person raising a fist in order to punch someone who is lying on the ground holding up their hands in defense. It reads:

hooking up with strange men on edibles is fucking awesome until you’re lying in his bed afterward and you can’t shut up about how much you want to hit henry kissinger over and over until he stops breathing. like, did you know that agent orange is apparently 100,000 times more potent than thalidomide at causing birth defects and to this day vietnamese infants have an elevated incidence of congenital disorders, including heart abnormalities, and like you’re not saying that henry kissinger is the reason you were born with a broken heart but wouldn’t it be so fucked up if he was and wouldn’t you then have every right to press your thumbs into his windpipe until he chokes to death and your hookup is like yeah you’re right that would be fucked up i’m sorry but what did you want to get i’m placing the order now and you say two spicy potato soft tacos please and you let him pay for it because he’s white and you’re too stoned to navigate venmo right now and it’s only like $2 but by the time the food arrives you’ve fallen asleep anyway, hand over your heart monitor, dreaming of kissinger’s blood dribbling out his mouth like hot sauce

[mothandpidgeon]

keystrokes (dave york x hacker!f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

rating: E (18+!)

summary: You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for.

contents: Non con/dub con, mean!Dave, voyeurism, sex toys, masturbation, mutual masturbation, porn, breaking and entering, violence?, gun, gunplay, choking, morally grey reader, reader is Girl with the Dragon Tattoo coded but not physically described

wc: 3.4k

a/n: So I've been having some ✨writers block ✨ (hence the lack of updates last month) but for some reason, Dave York did a little breaking and entering in my brain and shook it loose. I've been writing a lot of heartfelt romance recently and I think I just needed a little depravity I guess.

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @whocaresstillthelouvre for giving this a look and for anyone I shouted at about this idea (looking at you @schnarfer and @toomanytookas but I know there have been others). Dividers by @ saradika-graphics.

You squint in the light of the refrigerator. It’s empty save for some cartons of half-eaten Chinese food and cans of energy drinks. Check the time— half past one. Too late to order in. Guess cold lomein it is. 

The apartment falls back into darkness once you swing the fridge door shut. You’re used to it, the soft glow of your computer monitors illuminating your little space. It’s easy to forget to turn the lights on when you’re focused on your work. Forget to eat. Forget to meet people that aren’t on the other side of a screen. 

You sit down at your desk, legs crossed in your seat, and shovel some food into your mouth. Most nights are like this, lost in your work. It’s never felt like a job, not really. More like a way to do the shit you’ve always done except now you get paid to do it. You’re a subcontractor of a subcontractor, someone far enough away from the government that they can get information while still maintaining plausible deniability. You don’t know who you’re working for and most of the time your assignments are vague. All you have to do is gather intelligence and put it into a neat little report without mentioning the methods you used to get it. 

You’ve always enjoyed uncovering people’s secrets, reading notes over your classmates shoulders, looking through the search history on friends’ computers. That insatiable curiosity is what led you to start hacking. The targets these days aren’t always exciting but at least tonight’s is. 

David York. 

Early 40s, divorced. Ex military. DIA. There’s much more to him than that, though. A little program hidden on his computer lets you track each keystroke he makes. 

You’ve learned all about him. Dave he prefers. There’s a lot that won’t make it into your report— where he shops online (Brooks Brothers), the take out he orders (one large pepperoni from Frankie’s Pizzeria),  the porn he watches (girl on girl). But there’s one thing your bosses will be interested in: Dave York is a contract killer. 

You could’ve ended this project by now. You’ve got plenty in your notes to make your customers happy yet you’re still logging onto his computer. It fascinates you that a man so normal, almost on the borderline of boring, could be so dangerous. 

You shovel some food into your mouth and go drag your mouse over your desk. You’ve been reviewing footage you recorded through his webcam today. A few lines of code and you were able to turn his laptop’s camera on without activating the tally light. He was smart enough to use unique, complicated passwords, two-factor authentication, and encrypted emails but he didn’t take the time to put a sticker over his webcam. 

You’ve found some interesting information this way— listened in on conversations, heard the things he only says into his burner phone. Tonight most of it is just Dave at the keyboard, his tie loosening over time. 

You scrub through the footage, Dave drinking coffee and typing in fast forward punctuated by stretches of his empty home office. Nothing exciting until—

You pause the video when you see it. Lomein hangs from your open mouth. He’s half naked, head thrown back, hand buried in his lap. His dick is engulfed in a big fist, a bead of precum frozen before it rolls over his fingers. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen a mark in a compromising position. In this line of work, you’ve seen all the dark corners of people’s hard drives.  There’s worse than nudes and home made porn out there. Normally— if it’s not illegal, at least— you just scroll by. But Dave, it’s different when it comes to him. For some reason, seeing him in a compromising position has your blood rushing in your ears. He’s a killer. How many people have had the opportunity to see him in such a vulnerable state? 

He’s bare to the waist, his chest so smooth you wonder if he shaves it or if he’s naturally like that. His broad shoulders look perfect to grab onto if you were on top of him. Riding him. 

Of course you notice all of this after taking a good, long look at his cock. A clutch of dark curls trail down his soft belly to where it stands, drooling in his fist. You realize you’re salivating. 

Guilt pokes at you as you move the playhead back. It’s a violation. Then again, you’ve all but eviscerated Dave's privacy. You know exactly how much money is in his bank account, that his daughter Molly has a sleepover this weekend, that he’ll kill innocents.

He’s not a good person. You’re not either. 

You roll back the tape, finding the start of this, and hit play. Dave’s palm traces his bulge through his pajama pants. He’s watching porn, you can hear the over-exaggerated moans through the computer’s tinny speakers. 

It’s not the first time you’ve noticed that Dave is hot. After all, you have access to all of the pictures on his laptop. Including the selfies he takes after his runs, muscles glistening with sweat. He’s a bit clean cut for your tastes but right now, he’s something else altogether– the lust in his brown eyes, the control as he teases himself. You swallow hard. 

It’s a while before he actually takes his dick out of his pajama pants. You remind yourself repeatedly that you can stop, just click away and let him keep this moment to himself but you’re on the edge of your seat, already throbbing. He finally pulls down his waistband and you’re looking at his upright cock again. It’s thick, a flushed vein running up the underside. He squirts lube into his hand from a bottle that’s just out of frame and when he finally lets his fist move down his length, his eyes sink closed, savoring the sensation. 

He touches  himself with a practiced motion, gripping the shaft and pulling upwards, a twist of the wrist so that his palm caresses the tip before squeezing back down the length again. His strokes are agonizingly slow. He’s so methodical, patient, like in everything else you’ve discovered. 

You’re holding your breath, the suspense aching in your core. There’s plenty of time to study him— those full lips parted, muscles in his arm flexing. Every once in a while he grunts and loosens his grip, keeping himself from going over the edge. 

By now, your hand has found its way between your legs. Your fingers trace absentmindedly over the seam in your sleep shorts, already sticky and soaked through. You match Dave’s lazy pace, giving yourself the same pleasure he’s experiencing. 

Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you lean over to the set of drawers beside your desk and pull out your favorite vibrator. You shimmy out of your shorts and panties and drag the toy over your needy clit. 

You moan with him, watching Dave’s toned arm flex up and down. His bottom lip looks so thick, you want to rake your teeth across it. It’s almost grotesque the way his nostrils flare, the rhythmic grunts that leave him as his hand works faster. The muscles in his neck strain and you can tell he’s close. 

You are, too. You swivel your hips against the vibrator, speeding up the thrusts and strengthening its power. Fuck. What would it feel like to have Dave’s mouth on you? His cock in you? 

He can’t hold back any longer. Dave’s eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches and he makes a noise more animal than man. The eruption of cum is the last thing you see before you’re sent reeling, moaning out your own desperate cry as you pulse around your vibrator. 

You take deep breaths as you return to earth, hitting the spacebar to pause the video and blinking back to reality. Your heart rate slows and you wipe your hand across your face. That’s enough work for one night. That might be enough Dave for good. Tomorrow you’ll finalize your report and put him out of your mind. 

The vibrator is tossed carelessly onto the desk. You put your panties on but leave your shorts discarded on the floor amongst the rest of your laundry and then you put your computer to sleep. Without the light of the monitors, the room is cloaked in darkness and you drag yourself from your chair a few short paces to the bed. 

It’s still dark when you wake, an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You strain your ears for noise, any sign of what woke you but there’s nothing. Then a creak. Your heart leaps into your throat. Someone’s here, in your apartment. 

You fumble for your backpack in the dim. Somewhere in the bottom there’s a can of pepper spray that you bought for a situation just like this but your hands are trembling and you can’t see a fucking thing. 

A figure appears behind the French door that separates your room from the kitchen and any drowsiness that was lingering evaporates immediately. It’s a man— broad body clothed entirely in black— and in his hand you make out the silhouette of a gun. The room’s too fucking tiny for there to be anywhere decent to hide. There’s no time to think. Your only choice is to brandish your bag as a weapon. He barges in and you swing for his face. 

“Fuck,” he grunts but it merely slows him for a moment, knocking hm off balance and his beanie off of his head. 

You scramble towards the front door but you’re tackled to the ground, wind knocked out of your lungs. As you gasp for air, you’re flipped onto your back and you find yourself face to face with your assailant. Even in the darkness, through your terror and disorientation, you recognize him. 

Dave York glares down at you, his angular face cast in shadows, a menacing snarl on his lips. The muzzle of his silencer is far too close to your face but there’s no shrinking from it with your head against the floor and Dave’s heavy hand on your middle. 

“You and I have a problem,” he growls. “You know why I’m here?”

You shake your head frantically, still barely able to fill your lungs. 

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I know you’re not stupid,” he says. 

He pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing and hauls you towards your room. You’re thrown into your desk chair, head still spinning. Dave stands over you and clamps your wrist to the arm rest. 

“You know why you’re spying on me?” he asks, a cold threat in his words. 

You nod. 

“Then you know you don’t want me as your enemy.” You say nothing but a shiver runs down your spine. His eyes are nearly black, reflecting the dull light of the sleeping computer monitors. 

“I want your hard drives. Back ups, too. Everything you’ve got on me,” he demands. 

“Okay,” you manage. “Would you just get that gun out of my face?” 

“Get to it,” he says, and spins your chair so you’re facing the keyboard. 

The monitors come to life and, suddenly, you’re in deeper shit. You try to hit a shortcut on the keys to close the window that’s open but your fingers are trembling so hard, you miss. Dave sees it all. 

Something changes in him— a tightening in his jaw, a flaring of his nostrils— as he sees the evidence of your surveillance. His spent form, blissed out and covered in his own release hovers on screen. Right where you left him. 

Dave’s eyes narrow at the video then slide down to the toy sitting within arms reach and there’s no denying what he can see so plainly. 

He rounds on you with a wild look, flinging the chair back so its wheels hit your bed. 

“You get off on that?” he demands.

Your heart might have actually stopped for a minute.

“Answer me,” he demands.

“I– No,” you lie.

He appraises you with a deep scowl until a wicked grin spreads on his lips. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, huh?” he muses.

He drags the gun across your breast, your nipple hardening beneath the muzzle’s brush. You let out a whimper— out of fear or arousal, you’re not sure. You swear he growls under his breath. 

“You’re trouble though,” he says.

You swallow thickly, your entire body quivering. 

”Show me,” he says, depositing the gun on the desk and thrusting the toy towards you.

”What?” You ask.

”Show me how you touched yourself,” he tells you.

That’s what you thought he was saying. You stare at him dumbly, too shocked to even protest.

“You watched me. Only seems fair,” he says as if this is some bargain you’re cutting with the man holding the gun.  ”Do I have to make you?” 

He leans over you, his hand braced on the back of your chair, and presses the vibrator into the gusset of your panties. Rough and clicked onto the highest setting, you squirm and cry out. You’re already so overstimulated, it’s torture and bliss all at once. Your hips buck against the toy but Dave holds your thigh open.

”Okay! Stop! Fuck!” you whine, wrenching at his wrist until he lets up.

You try to catch your breath.

“Take these off,” he instructs, snapping the elastic of your panties against your waist with a thick finger.

You hiss and glare at him but you have no choice but to obey, sliding them down your legs. Dave watches, his eyes darkening once you’re revealed to him. He swears under his breath.

”Look at that mess,” he says.

Your whole body burns but the hunger in his gaze makes your fear take a back seat. Defiantly, you put your hand out for the vibrator. You open your legs wider so he can get a good look at you. There’s a tick in his jaw that gives you some satisfaction.

The vibrator purrs dully in your palm and you take your time bringing it to your clit. A low, long moan leaves you. You’re swollen but slick and even gentle strokes feel electric in your veins. 

There’s a tent already forming in Dave’s pants. He’s a killer, sure, but right now he’s horny.

Your head falls back as you continue. His gaze devours each part of you— where the toy glistens against you, your nipples rising and falling below your shirt, the crease in your brow as you keen. 

“You’re a filthy girl, huh?” he asks. 

You nod and a smile actually pulls at the corner of your lips. It shouldn’t turn you on so much to jerk off in front of a man that has seemingly no hesitations when it comes to killing you but somehow that fact has arousal mounting faster. Your eyes drift closed as you focus on the heady sensation of the friction on your overworked nerves. 

The sound of a metallic clink and soft zip distracts you from your reverie. When you look at Dave, you find his hand down the front of his pants, knuckles straining against the fabric of his black boxer briefs as he tugs at himself.

“Keep going,” he breathes and you realize you’re staring slack-jawed, desire flooding out any remnants of fear left within you. 

After a few blinks, you press the vibrator against your clit again. Your back arches and you give a luxurious sigh for his benefit. His fist tightens, muscles in his neck straining and, fuck, you have to grip the seat of your chair to keep yourself from falling out of it. 

With a grunt, Dave’s pushing his jeans out of the way, freeing his cock so he can work himself in the angles he likes, the same ones you watched through his webcam. The sound of his shallow breaths and slick strokes mix with the rumble of your toy and the creak of your chair as you writhe. It’s absolutely maddening. And then he starts babbling. Saying things like, “You like this, huh?” and “Say my name sweetheart.” You do it, panting out the word to a hum of approval. 

He crowds you and for a moment you prepare yourself for the chance he’s about to shove his dick down your throat. Instead he’s yanking up your shirt, exposing your tits to the cold air in the room. Dave fondles one and then the other, squeezing the tender flesh with a groan. His hand is much softer than you’d expect for a contract killer, his touch almost gentle as he teases your nipples with the pad of his thumb.

Dave’s expression nearly looks pained, a delicious frown over his plump bottom lip. It makes you mewl and your hips jump. 

“You close?” he asks. His voice is ragged. 

A breathless nod is all you can manage. 

“Good girl,” he rasps.

His words are enough to send you over the edge, with a wanton moan. It crashes over you with so much more intensity than the one that came before it. Your spine locks up, thighs shake as you clench around nothing. Your heart hammers in your chest and between your legs and it’s as if the room is spinning. You twitch in aftershocks, completely spent. 

The fog of pleasure has barely lifted when you glance up at Dave, fist still diligently pumping. There’s a fire in his eyes, that untamed excitement. 

“Give me one more,” he commands. 

“Can’t,” you plead. Need still bubbles at your core but your body is so exhausted from adrenaline and exertion, lust and release.

“You better,” he says. 

Dave grinds the vibrator mercilessly against you and you swear aloud. He lets up only for his hand to close around your throat. It’s an unbearable mixture of pleasure and dull ache— the bruising pressure on your clit, the muscles in your thighs taught and burning— underlined by that euphoria. He squeezes around your jaw just hard enough to see stars again. 

“That’s right,” he breathes against your cheek, his nose pressed into your temple.

Another orgasm comes almost immediately, pulsing at your core and squeezing through every fiber of your being. This time, you’re quiet, just a high pitched whine like a hurt animal though you’re anything but. 

Dave groans. You can hear his teeth gritted though your eyes are shut. He swears and his hot release paints your bare chest, thick and sticky. 

Everything stills as you both come down, all loosening muscles and shaky breaths. Dave remains close to you, stroking your cheek. His lips brush your hairline and you notice the smell of his cologne for the first time, something clean and masculine. 

Dread should come now. He’s had his fun, now he can do away with you — yet it doesn’t surface. 

Slowly Dave stands and tucks himself back into his pants. He almost looks ashamed of himself. You pull your shirt down, covering your stained breasts, and watch Dave smooth his hair. 

“So are we good?” you ask. 

“If you do what I said,” he answers. “You’re going to get rid of anything you have against me and you’re going to tell your bosses that all you found was a regular guy.”

“Alright, Dave,” you say. 

He scowls at you like he doesn’t like your tone. “When I say delete everything, I mean everything,” he says, eyes flitting towards the monitor. 

You steal a glance in that direction as well. Dave half naked, still frozen there looking absolutely ruined. 

“Understand?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m going to know if you don’t because I’ll be watching you. And if you cross me, I’m going to come back here and I won’t be so nice to you next time,” Dave says. 

You wish that threat didn’t make your body light up like a Christmas tree. It’s absolutely reckless. There’s no chance in hell you’re letting go of that piece of treasure and if the consequence is Dave knocking on your door– or letting himself in– that’s a risk you’re willing to take.

It’s as if he knows. Dave scoffs to himself, then fishes his hat off of the floor along with your panties. 

“These are mine now,” he says.

And you’re almost sad to see him go.

comments and reblogs always appreciated! or scream at me in the ask box or dms!

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

[ciderjacks]

actually tbh as I’ve aged I think maybe the weird insane abuse me and my classmates suffered in sped wasn’t funny at all and maybe I should do something about It. Like.

-forcing kids with bad grades to sit in the back silently watching as the kids with good grades got to eat food the teachers brought in. I remember I had bad grades bc I had awful ADHD and when they came in with a bunch of snacks I was really excited and went over, and my ‘teachers’ stopped me and were like “sorry, you don’t get to have any, you have below C’s in some classes. You have to sit back there.”

And you couldnt leave like it was explicitly a punishment. I have awful like genuinely debilitating misophonia and have since I can remember, and I begged to leave to the library and they legit said no, because then I wouldn’t learn why grades are important or some shit like that.

-there was one single kid being disruptive, he wouldn’t apologize so they locked the doors from the outside and said none of us could leave until he apologized. They also stood in front of the doors and physically shoved any kid trying to escape away. I also looking back think they might have physically restrained some of us.

-constant busywork as punishment if you had bad grades. Like if you had no homework but your grades were bad they just forced you to do mindless busywork and would monitor you, and one time a teacher yelled at me because I wasn’t doing my busywork and I yelled back and we got in an argument, he made me cry, and then told me I could just sit outside the classroom if I didn’t like how they did things

-iep teacher who followed me around during school once pulled me out of class and told me that I was terrible and my friend was better than me. Later told him the same thing but in reverse (so said I was better than him)

-told me I couldn’t leave the class/program/whatever until I “graduated having ADHD” (not direct quote but that was essentially what was said)

-had a teacher who would get really in this one kids face constantly and scream shit like “are you maaad Daniel? Does that make you angry? Are you turning red now? Oooh ohhhhh you’re soooo mad oooohhh” and this was in 7th grade, Daniel was 12, this guy was probably in his 40s

And that’s just the stuff I remember. Like. Like that’s actually pretty bad right? I’m just like. Bc I was talking about it earlier today irl and my professor got really upset and also said some of it sounded illegal, and I was like haha you’re not the first person to tell me that, and then I was on the way home like wait that’s crazy why the fuck were they doing all that?

[nemisuki]

Metal Love

Robot AU | She was the first successful experiment, created by the government to protect UA students from potential harm. And he was the troublemaker, who needed to be monitored more than others. 

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, very dense reader, protective + jealous bkg, aged up to third years, bakusquad mentions, silly moments, bkg has feelings, open ending, 3k word count

“For a robot, she’s pretty cute huh?” 

That's practically the topic of all whispered chatter as Class 3A enters the cafeteria. It made his scowl deepen with disgust. 

The constant focus was always about a “student” among the third years. 

An advanced technology sent in by the Japanese government. 

More specifically, the first successful model. 

Apparently she was scientifically created using human DNA, hence her appearance is nothing unusual. Especially in today's age, where the connection of society and mutant-type quirks, heteromorphs, are so common. 

Though she did have mechanical features regarding her prosthetic arms, built perfectly for combat and defense. 

A perfect soldier - Model #8307. 

Despite being the ideal android, there is one thing she lacked : human emotion

Thus the government sent her to UA High School on a sole mission.

To protect Class 3A til graduation. 

Hoping she’ll develop an understanding on what it means to be human along the way. To have feelings.  

It's notorious all around Japan that since those specific students entered UA, trouble seems to follow them everywhere.   

So after many precautions and examinations, the government sent the model over for a test run. Finding it beneficial for everyone.

Given a scenario where some villains were to attack the school, as coded into her programming, she would alert the authorities and defend until help arrived.

If done well, more of these creations would be produced to enhance the safety of all schools and buildings. Pushing Japan to be the first country with a solid line of defense that requires less human labor and lives to be lost in battle.

It’s been a few months since she first arrived at UA. 

And it’s been a huge success so far.

Through daily interaction, Y/N started to gain more knowledge on emotions, though she’s still a bit lacking in some areas. 

Their classmates scatter around the lunch tables like any other day, eating food as they joke around.

“Hey where's Y/N?” Kirishima asks out loud to the Bakusquad, noticing her usual spot next to the blonde is empty. 

And when no one has an answer, he looks to his friend, “Bakubro where is she?” 

“Hah, how the hell am I supposed to know? I ain’t her damn guardian” Bakugo scoffs with his signature scowl on his face. 

“Oh c’mon! We all know you have a soft spot for her. Plus she’s practically always glued to your hip!” Kaminari chimes in with a smug grin. 

“Shut your trap dunce face!” 

“Woahhh calm down man, I mean it issssss true she follows you around the most” Sero says in a muffled voice, continuing to stuff his face with sushi. 

“Tch, cause of her damn programming” Bakugo reminds them, scanning the cafeteria for any sign of her.

“Oh yeah, she follows him around because he causes the most trouble. But I don’t think that’s the only reason. She seems to like you!” 

The blondes eyes finally spot her near the lunchline, food tray in hand, a blank expression on her face. 

Some guys from another class are surrounding her with curious gazes as they exchange words.

The distance is far too great for his ears to overhear what they’re asking her. 

His stare is completely focused on the people standing closest to the girl. 

“She seems more human now, she even started smiling recently!” 

Bakugo wasn’t paying attention to whatever these idiots were saying. His thoughts shift, thinking about why those extras are acting so friendly with you. 

He can’t blame them honestly. 

A half human-robot would spark his interest as well. 

But it's the way they are eyeing her, causing his fingers to fidget with the chopsticks in his hand, a foreign feeling taking over his whole body. 

“Yeah but mainly with Bakugo!” Kaminari snickers and looks at the blonde, expecting a reaction but is met with nothing. 

Everyone at the table grows silent and their gazes land on the blonde who's seemingly lost in thought. His brows are furrowed and his fingers now gripping the edge of the table to release some tension. 

“Bakubro? You okay man?” 

“Kaminari look what you did!” 

“Ah my bad! Sorry dude-”

In a matter of seconds, Bakugo abruptly jumps up from his seat and starts walking away without another word.

As he was observing the extras, the sight of them beginning to touch her, made him move.

The bakusquad goes into full panic mode, assuming the worst, “Where is he going?!” 

Bakugo couldn’t believe the nerve of these assholes. Touching her as if she was an object. 

It only frustrated him more that they’re taking advantage of her clueless nature. She was just standing there, responding to whatever they were saying, as they continued patting her head. 

He makes it to the group in no time, shoving people away with ease, “Move it extras.” 

The guys are quick to back away from him, giving the man a clear path. Shrinking from the presence of the strong third year, who is notorious for his anger and strength. 

“C’mon idiot, what are you doing?” he reaches her side, giving a stern look while crossing his arms.

She looks up at him as he does, her once blank expression shifting ever so slightly to soften. Some rare human emotions on display just for him, “I was getting lunch.”

He has to avert his gaze for a moment. Attempting to avoid a facial reaction to develop in response to her innocent image, “yeah I know that stupid. I’m asking why you’re wasting your time talking to these extras.”

“They were curious regarding my robotic arms-” 

“Psh damn first years, of course they are. Everyone always is” he mumbles, pure annoyance seeping through his words. 

He takes her lunch tray in his left hand and starts walking back to their table. Glaring along the way at the guys that are roaming around, who are now rushing back to their individual tables from fear.

She follows in his steps without hesitation or asking any questions. As they make it back and sit, Kaminari whistles teasingly, “went to go rescue your girl huh-” 

“Shut it moron!” Bakugos glare intensifies if that's even possible, making Kaminari shut up immediately. Sero and Kirishima simply snicker at the sudden tension between the two. 

“Am I your girl?” She asks while looking at Bakugo with a plain expression. 

It was silent for a moment when she asked that.

Then laughter filled the void of silence, cackles heard all around the table, never finding a dull moment with Y/Ns denseness. 

Everyone was laughing except him. 

“W-What?! No you idiot! Dunce face was just being sarcastic” Bakugo grumbles, his gaze landing on her face. A hint of shyness creeping up on his voice. 

“Oh,” she simply replies and goes back to eating her meal.

“Stupid robot” he mutters, now annoyed towards the lack of reaction. He starts eating his meal with large spoonfuls, tuning out whatever the idiots we’re talking about as they ate.

Reminiscing about all the small moments since she got here.

(∩˃o˂∩) flashbackᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

a/n : the following are all flashbacks at random moments throughout the year in order :) 

“Bakugo Katsuki, Explosion Quirk, Blonde Hair-”

His piercing red eyes drift to the side of his desk, staring the new face down as she practically does a character analysis on him. A scowl immediately took over his once calm expression, “Hah? Back off little robot!”

“I am Model #8307. My name is not little robot” she says with a neutral look, taking in new information regarding his voice and vocabulary choices. 

“Tch, you telling me those scientists or whatever, didn’t even give you a damn name?” 

“I am Model #8307.”

“You have some shitty creators then, what type of assholes call you by your creation number” he scoffs clearly not fond of that decision. 

“Aw bakubro! Are you perhaps feeling bad in her defense?” Kirishima chimes in with a toothy grin.

“Psh as if! I'm just pointing out the obvious. What the hell am I supposed to call her? Her damn serial number?” he says, rolling his eyes with disdain. 

“Hm, maybe we can give her a name! Oh I bet I have some ideas in my notes-” Deku mumbles under his breath, already flipping pages for ideas. 

Bakugo groans and looks at him with a glare, “you’re mumbling again nerd!” 

Despite his complaints, the entire class started shouting out potential names for the new classmate. As they all gather around to chat away, the robot seems to stick close to Bakugo, and he seems to notice.

“Got something to say?” he crosses his arms, giving her a calculating once over. 

“My programming states I must keep an eye on you the most” she says now stepping closer to him. 

“I don’t need a damn babysitter” his jaw begins to clench at her words. Annoyance taking over as she scoots closer. 

Some laughter is heard across the classroom and Deku smiles, “Kacchan looks like you’ll be spending the most time with her, so how about you name her!” 

“This is fucking dumb.”

“Aw c'mon bakubro! She needs a name, and you seem to be her favorite!” Kirishima grins in his direction. 

He stays silent as he processes both the idiots' words seemingly in thought. His red eyes were studying the robot and then all of a sudden he sighs out, “Y/N.”

A collection of ‘Ooos’ were heard around the classroom at his suggestion. 

“What a manly name! Where did you think of that Bakugo?” Kirishima tilts his head with curiosity. 

“Oh I remember! That name was from a children's picture book when we were younger, right Kacchan? The main character was a robot in that as well, it makes sense-” 

“Mumbling,” Bakugo reminds him with a frown and a warning look. 

“Oops sorry kacchan!” Deku quickly covers his mouth and awkwardly smiles. 

“Alrighty then! You hear that? Your name is Y/N from now on” Kirishima says to her while patting the robot's head.

“Are you my new master then?” Y/N asks Bakugo out of nowhere, given he’s the one who named her.

“Kinky~” Kaminari snorts out loud and begins running away as Bakugo lunges at him. 

“Dunce face shut the hell up! And fuck no, you damn robot!”

–⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆–

His red eyes roam through the scantron for any mistakes he could’ve made on the exam. 

Once fully satisfied with his answers, he places his pencil down. Moving the booklet towards the corner of his desk. 

He is about to rest his head down til he hears a voice beside him, “you got one wrong.”

Bakugo almost jumps at the low whisper, his head snapping at his side to find Y/N analyzing his scantron. 

Since she was in charge of protecting the class, she didn’t have to partake in exams or classwork. Her knowledge as an android practically made her a perfect scholar. 

“The hell are you doing?!” he whispers back and looks at the front of the classroom. Taking a sigh of relief to see Erasure Head distracted in his sleeping bag. 

“I am here to help you” she states while pointing at question 13 and repeating her words, insisting to recheck his answer.

“You can’t just waltz around to help! This is a test!” 

“But my mission is to help the students of Class 3A-”

“Ugh it's like I'm talking to damn icy-hot, now scram before Mr.Aizawa thinks I'm cheating!” he waves her off with a scowl.

Bakugo could only facepalm when Kaminari secretly calls Y/N over. Taking the opportunity to cheat as she gives him the answers so casually. 

“What an idiot” he grimaces, looking away to stare at his own exam.

His eyes stay lingering onto the booklet, flipping through the pages to look at question 13. After a moment, he mumbles curses under his breath and looks back to see if Y/N is around. 

Who's practically giving Kaminari all the answers per request.

The grumpy blonde quickly looks back at his own paper, grabbing the erasure, and changing his answer. Once completed he rests his head on the desk and huffs, “dumb robot as if I needed help….”

–⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆–

Bakugo freezes in complete disbelief. Did she just-

“Oi! What the hell are you doing?!” he yells out, trying to pry her hands away but to no use. As if he could best her metal arms in strength at the moment. 

“Todoroki says this is effective to make people more comfortable around you” she states, keeping her arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Clearly an attempt to give him a back hug. 

“He’s the last person you should be getting help from! Now get off me!” 

Everyone that's around the common room collectively laughs at the odd sight. No one could remember a time when anyone had dared to hug Bakugo like that. 

“Keep him still Y/N!” “Everyone attack!” “Y/N is so manly!” “Get him!” 

“Don't even think about it you idiots!” Bakugo screams out with annoyance and hidden embarrassment. Soon enough, everyone starts joining in on the group hug. He groans and puts his frustration somewhere else, tugging on poor Dekus hair, “all of you are dead when I get free!” 

“Agh- kacchan!!”

–⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆–

No umbrella.

His eyebrow twitches with frustration at the sight of rain. Oh how much he hates rain. 

“We can share my umbrella” Y/N says, approaching out of nowhere.

His eyes meet hers with a grumpy look, “You always show up at the weirdest moments you know that?” 

“I am here to-”

“Here to help. Yeah yeah I know, just hurry it up would ya?”

She takes a step outside and opens her umbrella, holding it up so she can reach his height. After a moment, he sighs and takes it from her as they walk together.

It's a calm silence as they head to the dorms.

Y/N's gaze roams around campus, noticing many pairs clinging to one another under their umbrellas. 

So with the new information, she wraps her arm around his bicep.

He tenses at the sudden contact and looks at her direction, “tch what now?” 

Usually he would shove her away but with the rain, he held back. Plus he finds himself growing accustomed to her shenanigans. 

“I am holding your bicep.” 

“You- I know that! But why?” 

“Everyone seems to be doing so.”

His eyebrows furrow and he looks around, spotting nothing but cheesy couples being clingy under their umbrellas.

“Because they are couples you dork, and we aren’t so let go.” 

“Does this mean we just became a couple?” she says, squeezing his bicep for clarity. 

His heart beat increases and he coughs, now looking away with pink ears, “What?! No! It doesn't work like that!”

“Then how do you become one?”

“Agh- ask someone else, stupid!” 

Bakugo shoves the umbrella back in her hand and makes a run for it instead. Rushing back to the dorms in the rain, pink ears and all. What is this feeling?  

(∩˃o˂∩) back to presentᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

He is soon brought back to reality when he hears an unfamiliar voice. His head looked to the side to see some guy talking to Y/N, who seemed to approach as he was distracted, “so what do you say we go on a date hm?”

Bakugos eyes slightly widened at the bold words, his mouth opened to cuss the guy out but she was faster. 

“I decline your offer.”

The extra frowns and tilts his head, “you got a boyfriend or something?”

“Yes I do,” she replies with a polite nod. 

Everyone at the table looks shocked by her response, not expecting such a reply from her. The extra leaves a few moments later, seeming to understand at least. 

“Wow Y/N.. didn’t know you had the guts to lie to someone” Kirishima gives her a proud thumbs up.

“Lie? But I didn’t lie” she says, continuing to calmly eat her lunch.

The guys gasp at her words, not able to believe it. Bakugo freezes in his spot looking at her in disbelief. His heart thumps in his chest as shock fills his body.

“You actually have a boyfriend?! Who?!” Kaminari yells out, curiosity taking over.

“Bakugo of course” she mutters, sipping away at her juice box.

The guys all stare in shock and their eyes dart back and forth between the two. Bakugo almost chokes on air at her response. The fuck? 

Laughter is heard around the table, all used to Y/N's dense nature, it seems she still has some learning to do. 

“Did I say something funny?” she looks around as they all wheeze at her words. Her eyes drift back at Bakugo as she tilts her head. 

He can still hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He sighs loudly and shakes his head, “Ignore the idiots and continue eating.”

Y/N nods at his words and goes back to continuing her meal, as does he.

The trio immediately stopped laughing and looked stunned for a moment. Bakugo didn’t react to her words nor corrected her this time. 

Could he…

Almost as if he could read their minds, the blonde sends a glare their way, making them all go back to eating. 

This time, correcting her didn’t even cross his mind. He can see out of the corner of his eyes, the way she scoots closer to him.

But he doesn't say anything this time. 

He knows she's staring at the couple at the other table, observing their actions and taking in the information. She is always so observant.

Out of curiosity, his eyes wander across to the couple, noticing the guy sharing his food.

Bakugo can already feel Y/N's eyes on him. And frankly, it almost makes him want to laugh. 

Silently, he takes a sushi roll off his plate and places it on her tray. Copying the other guy's actions. It’s stupid as hell, but she seems to like it. 

With that action alone, he can see a small rare smile forming on her face as she eats.

Teach her emotions huh? Fine. He can do that. 

As the lunch period went on, he didn’t eat much.

Choosing to share his food with her instead.

But he oddly didn’t feel hungry this time, feeling full off that rare smile she had on her face.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

[tinyraptorhands]

Pro Hero, Pro Mama, No Problem pt. 14

His home office became the defact-o place for any and all birthday preparations. Boxes of decorations were in one corner, and you were busy making an invitation up on the computer. You rubbed your tired eyes, frowning at the pdf you made. It had crowns and capes all over, with the details of when, where and what time on it.

It looked...okay? You sighed, and pushed back from the desk. Katsumi would be up from her nap any minute, and there were piles of laundry yet to be folded.

Your head tilted back, resting on the back of the computer chair.

Ugh.

As you saved it and closed out of the program, you looked at the monitor display. Katsuki had some picture of All Might in his Ultra age costume as his background, and you smirked.

Deny all he wants, he's just as big a fan boy as Izuku. Your eyes shifted to files on the computer.

Accident reports, insurance claims, damages, police reports...

A few nameless files were on there, with only numbers, and one had a name you didn't notice.

Curiosity gripped your guts, and your cursor hovered over the first one. You double clicked, and let out a sigh of relief.

Pictures. Old ones, by the looks of it. Ones when you both were younger-ones from high school, even. You smiled as you scrolled through.

Kaminari and Sero, jumping from a high dive, holding onto eachother with Kirishima's hair blurring the lenses, and two fingers covering part of it. You remembered that. Momo's family practically had an indoor resort in their summer home, and had a large indoor pool. Which everyone was dared to do a jump off the high dive.

Of course, Katsuki had called everyone idiots, but when you expressed your initial fear, he had smirked and egged you on.

Another picture was of Hanami during the last year of U.A. It was during the first year of your relationship, almost a decade ago. It was you, Mina, Kirishima and Katsuki. He of course, didn't look at all happy in the picture-arms folded and pouting. You and Mina threw victory signs, and Kirishima gave a thumbs up, holding the selfie stick.

You chuckled to yourself. You remembered trying to make a nice bento for him, only for it to taste terrible. And of course, he voiced that distaste for it. He never minced words with you, regardless of your relationship status. You could appreciate that, sometimes.

At least you got better at cooking-thanks to him.

As you scrolled through the pictures, you came to the end and looked at the other files.

One was of prototype schematics for his costume and support items. The other was of your wedding. You knew all the pictures by heart, because you had them on your own laptop.

Then there was the last file.

You clicked it.

And you frowned.

They were all of you. Some you recognized.

Others you didn't.

Like he had taken them when you weren't looking. There was one when you were sleeping on the common room couch back in U.A.. You looked ridiculous, mouth parted and limbs akimbo. Your frown started to change to a small smile.

There was one that looked to be during a date. You were looking over at something, in a diner booth. You remembered that diner. It was in Tokyo. They based it off American foods, but most of it was bastardized into Japanese comfort foods disguised as American.

You remembered Katsuki thought the concept was stupid, but he took you anyways.

One of you in your hero outfit.

Another one of you in a yukata, holding up a goldfish you won. Stupid thing died two days later, through no fault of your own.

And then the last one had you holding back tears.

It was of you, messy and completely drained, holding your newly born baby girl. You completely forgot he took your picture right after giving birth to Katsumi.

The pictures then turned into a mix of you and Katsumi. Her monthly growth, her first smiles, her cute laughing face that showed her newly growing teeth...

And you.

Somehow, he had managed to make you look radiant. Like a confident woman. You looked at some of the photos.

You looked different, but not in a bad way. Tired, but not defeated. Like...

You were thriving.

Like you were born to be a mother.

And it hit you.

It would soon be one year of being a mom. Of your life permanently changing. Of sacrifice, of a new normal that...wasn't quite new anymore.

You looked back to the ones of her as a newborn. Was it really almost a year ago? You could remember each moment of pain, the tears, the grip of Katsuki's hand in yours.

You remembered her first cries. Katsuki's silent tears, mixed with your relieved sobs.

You closed the folder, only to see the name of it properly.

'My girls.'

Your heart warmed, and you felt equally warm tears slide down your face. You took a breath, and pushed away from the desk. Wiping your eyes, you looked up at the time. 3 o'clock.

And just like clockwork, Katsumi wailed. Her nap was finished.

Yes, this would always be your normal. At least...for a few more years. A normal that changed every day, every hour, and every second.

As you got up, you sighed.

In this moment, you had the briefest flicker of hope. That maybe the woman Katsuki managed to capture in his photos, could also be you in real life, too.

The smells of miso, pork and spices permeated the small ramen bar. Katsuki usually hung out with their friends once a month at the bar. Since crime had been taking a nose dive as of late, he was able to see them more often than not. As he pushed back the small flags in the entrance way, the chef called out a welcome. He nodded with a grunt, spotting the usual gang, sans Todoroki-who was visiting his mother.

He huffed as he saw Izuku waving him down from a booth near the back, ignoring wide eyed stares of civilians. Under his arm were a few envelopes, looking out of place in his posession.

"Here." Katsuki tossed the offensively pink envelopes to the middle of the table. They had cutesy hero-themed stickers and sparkle-y hearts, stars and crowns on them.

Kaminari, Izuku, Sero and Kirishima looked down at the envelopes.

"...Wow, never thought I'd see the day Kacchan of the Bakugos would be handing us..." Kaminari picked up an envelope, "pink, girly....what are these, anyways?"

Katsuki huffed. "What does it look like, sparky?" He said, "Katsumi's first birthday. They're invitations, duh." He sat back, folding his arms as they opened them.

"Wow, the littlest Bakugo is already gonna be one, eh?" Sero said, tearing the envelope open.

"I still remember you panicking when you were on patrol and got the call!" Izuku smiled fondly and Katsuki looked away, his ears turning red.

"Didn't panic." He said under his breath.

"You so did." Kirishima smirked.

Maybe a little.

A small hush fell over the table as they looked at their invites.

Izuku's eyes lit up.

"Oh, this is a neat idea!" Izuku said. "I love the idea of all of us wearing our hero outfits!"

"A hero slash princess themed birthday, huh?" Sero rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Thats a new one."

"I'm gonna look hella manly in a crown with my hero costume!" Kirishima looked pumped.

Katsuki clicked his tongue. "Whatever. Just hope the brat likes it."

"I don't think she'll remember it." Kaminari pointed out. "But we sure will. Hope you got a fancy tiara for yourself!"

"Hell no!" Katsuki shot back. "I was promised a king's crown. Ain't no way I'm wearing some pansy-ass princess tiara!"

They chuckled. "Well, soon you might be anyways. You're a girl-dad now, Bakugo. You're bound to get make up put on your face, or your nails painted." Sero said, his grin not faltering. "I just hope (y/n) takes pictures."

"She better not." He muttered. He knew you totally would.

Not that he minded entirely....somewhat.

"Well, I dunno about you all, but Katsumi's gonna love my gift I'm giving her!" Kirishima slapped down the invitation. "Its gonna be-"

"No one wants a lifetime supply of your protein shake line, dude. Let alone a baby." Kaminari pointed out. Kirishima frowned as he deflated, the others except Katsuki chuckled softly.

"Hey! I wasn't gonna get her that..!"

"Well, whatever you extras get her, make it good. Shes gonna be one, not sixteen." Katsuki said, his eyes narrowing, as he turned to his oldest friend. "I'm looking at you, Izuku. No dumb nerd shit."

"W-what?! Kacchan, you know I can buy her age-appropriate things!"

"Didn't you buy an All Might silver age statue for her when she was first born? With all the little pieces to put it together?" Sero said, eyebrow cocked. Izuku blushed.

"W-well, for when shes...older?" The green haired man sweat dropped, clearly caught in his lie. Katsuki rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, so lets not do that again." Katsuki picked up a menu. The table went silent for a moment.

"Hey, what'd you end up doing with that statue?" Kirishima suddenly asked.

"He probably took it for himself." Kaminari grinned knowingly.

The explosive blonde's eyes shot up from the menu, darkening slightly. "Tch. Shut your mouth, Dunce face."

"He didn't deny it!" Sero laughed.

"Shut it!"

Of course, it was in his office-on the highest shelf possible.

Away from tiny hands.

((I thought I was gonna post this chapter as the birthday party, but thats gonna be next chapter. Ugh. Sorry guys, I had a rough last few days, so this chapter is kinda short. But then again, I kinda suck at long chapters. These take me like, a few days usually because of life and stuff, so when I go back and read it I'm like, 'oh shit, this really isn't that long, huh?' Ah well. Maybe one day.))

[theseventhdimension]

Hi! i hope this is the right place to send a request, if not, i hope you don’t mind!

i love your style of writing!

Could i request a season 3 Aaron Hotchner x male reader?

In my mind it’s a fluff comfort fic, where m! reader is younger than Hotch, with the fbi as more like a specialist in science, i guess similar to Penelope.

Reader got somewhat hurt on an away case and now Hotch is trying to comfort him by making him food and giving cuddles?

If you’re interested in writing, i’d be very thankful, if not, that’s completely understandable!

Have a great next week!

Organophospha—What..??

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k+

DNI: Fem-aligned

Author's Note: Hi! Thank you so much for your kind words and for sending your request—it’s absolutely the right place!

This is such a cute idea, and I've been loving him more and more since I've started re-watching a lot of the earlier seasons, he looked so young then!

Thanks again for reading and for the thoughtful prompt. Hope you have an amazing week ahead!

You weren’t meant to be in the field, Not really.

Most days, you lived behind glowing screens—elbow to elbow with Garcia in the tech bunker, sleeves rolled up and headphones half on. You handled cyber traces, pulled metadata from thin air, and could coax a fingerprint out of a cigarette wrapper like it was a magic trick.

Early twenties, fresh out of Quantico’s specialized forensics program, you were meticulous, brilliant, and better known for your clean lab coats than Kevlar vests.

But sometimes—just sometimes—they needed you out there. When timing was critical. When evidence needed real-time handling. So you went. With your portable kits and calm precision. And you told yourself you could handle it.

Until today.

The house smelled like dust and dry rot—like a place memory had forgotten. You crouched at the edge of the kitchen counter, gloved fingers prying open the envelope with surgical care. The latex squeaked as you peeled it back, eyes narrowed beneath your goggles.

“Print powder ready,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. No one answered. The team had cleared the house minutes ago, leaving you alone in the echo of it. Just you and the evidence. Just how you liked it.

The envelope’s seal cracked open with a faint hiss. A strange hiss.

You froze.

There was a smell. Sharp. Bitter. Wrong.

Your breath caught—involuntarily. Like your chest had just decided it didn’t want to lift anymore.

Your fingers trembled as you leaned back, heart thudding. “Hotch—” you called, weak and low. But even as you spoke, your knees buckled.

The floor met your side in a hard, rattling thud. The envelope fluttered beside you, white paper stained with print powder and something more invisible, more dangerous.

Your lungs felt heavy. Like they were being filled with tar.

Distantly—boots. Footsteps. Voices too sharp to make sense of. And then—

“Get him out,” Hotch barked, voice cutting through the haze. “Now.”

Hands under your arms, dragging you out into the open air. Your vision tunnelled—white at the edges, then black. You felt the light fade behind your eyes, and still, the last thing you saw was him. Aaron Hotchner. Kneeling beside you. Barking orders. His hand on your chest. Calling your name.

When you woke up, the world was far too bright. The hospital room smelled like bleach and plastic. Tubes hissed. Monitors beeped. Your body ached like it had been rung out and hung to dry. But worst of all was the weight.

Not physical—emotional.

The ER doc glanced at the chart, voice clipped but clinical.

“Yeah... we’ve got an early-20s male, exposure to some kind of chemical powder. Respiratory distress, but stable now.”

The nurse nodded, prepping the IV. “Young guy, good chance he bounces back. Just needs rest.”

You flexed your fingers, already itching to get back to work despite the ache. Being a young man in the BAU had always meant proving yourself, even when your body begged otherwise.

You cleared your throat. “Didn’t figure you for the bedside vigil type.”

You swallowed the burn in your throat. You saw him. Sitting in the chair by your bedside, arms crossed, sleeves rolled up, suit jacket folded on the windowsill. Aaron. Always composed. Always watching.

He looked up, eyes scanning your face. You expected him to smirk. To quip back. But there was no amusement in his stare.

“You passed out. Took four minutes to stabilize you.”

You winced, already looking away. “Lucky you were nearby. Would’ve hated to become a cautionary tale in the field handbook.”

“You inhaled methyl salicylate fused with trace organophosphates,” he said. “That envelope was laced.”

“Yeah, I figured that out somewhere around the part where I couldn’t breathe,” you muttered. He stood quietly. His hand reached for a cup of water at the bedside, held it out to you.

You hesitated, lips pressed tight. Then you took it. Your fingers brushed his. “You should get back to the team,” you said, trying to sound casual. Cool. But your voice was paper-thin. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You were unconscious,” Hotch said. “You’re not fine.”

Your stomach twisted. God, you hated this. Being the weak link. The one in the bed. The one watched. “I’m embarrassed, okay?” you snapped suddenly, throat raw. “I feel like an idiot. I opened a goddamn envelope. and got hit with chemicals i can't even spell correctly.”

There was silence. Then a sound—soft, deliberate. The scrape of the chair as Hotch sat back down.

“You followed protocol,” he said. “There was no way to know.”

“You wouldn’t have been that careless.”

“That’s not true,” he said, eyes dark and steady. “And if it were, I’d hope someone would sit beside me like this.”

You looked down at your hands. They were shaking. Hotch reached over and gently covered them with his own.

“Stop pretending you’re not scared,” he said.

You pause, before whispering lightly, like you're scared anyone will hear, including yourself. “..I thought I was gonna die, and all I could think about was you seeing me like that.”

“Like what?” He hums, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Weak. Afraid. I didn’t want that to be the last thing you remembered about me.” You admit.

“..It’s okay to be scared sometimes.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t pull away either.

You’d barely been conscious when they discharged you—still dizzy, voice weak, every muscle in your body aching like it’d been twisted into knots. You only vaguely remembered the low conversation at the nurse’s station. The way Hotch’s voice had dipped into something firm—non-negotiable—when he told them he’d be taking you home.

Not to the hotel. Not back to the Bureau. Home. His home.

Now, propped up on the couch with a blanket pulled around your shoulders, you stared at the flickering TV screen without processing a single word.

Your throat still felt raw. Every breath came easier, but your chest was tight in other ways now—like your body was remembering what it had felt like to think this is it. What it had felt like to admit it.

You glanced toward the kitchen. Hotch was there, sleeves rolled up, stirring something on the stove. You could smell garlic. Maybe carrots. Soup. Of course he was making soup.

You cleared your throat and called, “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

He didn’t answer at first—just stirred a little more before turning off the burner. “I know I don’t,” he said, voice quiet as he ladled the soup into a bowl.

You’d barely taken two spoonfuls of soup when Hotch returned from the kitchen again—this time with a small pill organizer in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

You eyed them warily. “What’s that?”

“Your prescriptions. From the ER.”

You shifted under the blanket, suddenly prickling with discomfort. “I don’t need them.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “The doctor said you did.”

“They mess with my head,” you muttered. “I don’t like how they make me feel. Fuzzy. Like I’m not… sharp.”

“You inhaled a chemical compound designed to impair your respiratory and nervous systems,” he said, quiet but firm. “Your job doesn’t require you to be sharp right now. It just requires you to heal.”

You didn’t meet his eyes.

Still, he knelt beside the couch, setting the pills and water down gently. “Take them. I’ll stay here.”

Reluctantly, you did. The pills sat bitter on your tongue. You swallowed them anyway—less because you trusted the medicine, more because you trusted the man handing them to you. He gave you a small nod, like a silent thank you, and stood to collect the soup bowl.

When he returned, you tried to help—gripping the armrest to push yourself up, one shaky elbow at a time.

“Let me—”

The world tilted. Your knees buckled. Hotch caught you before your shoulder could slam into the edge of the coffee table.

“Hey—hey,” he said, arms steadying you like steel cables. “You’re not proving anything by hurting yourself more.”

You flushed, heart thudding in shame, but he didn’t let go until you were back on the couch. Until your breathing evened out.

“You’re burning through energy fast,” he said, gently tucking the blanket around your legs again. “You need to listen to your body.”

You meant to argue. Instead, you shivered.

Hotch noticed immediately. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the hall. You heard the creak of a closet door, the low rumble of drawers being opened. When he returned, he held out a hoodie—plain black, soft from too many washes.

You blinked. “Is that—”

“Mine,” he said simply. “Put it on.”

You hesitated, then tugged it over your head. It smelled like him—something clean and warm, with a faint edge of coffee and cedar.

“You always run cold after chemical exposure,” he murmured, adjusting the blanket again. “It’ll pass.”

You sank back, wrapped in too many layers of comfort to deny it anymore. Maybe you weren’t as fine as you thought.

But Hotch hadn’t said I told you so. He just sat beside you. Quiet. Constant.

You winced and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “About earlier,” you added, eyes fixed on the floor. “At the hospital. I—uh. I was kind of out of it. I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“You mean when you told me you were scared?”

You looked away immediately. “Yeah. That.” He paused. Just long enough to make the silence say don’t run from me now.

“You weren’t dumping anything,” he said. “You were being honest. And you’re allowed to be scared.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Yeah, well. That’s not exactly part of the job description.”

“No,” he agreed. “But caring about you is.” That made your eyes flick back to his. Something caught in your chest.

Hotch stood slowly and settled beside you on the couch. You tensed at first when he reached for the blanket, but he only adjusted it—gently tucking it around your legs, careful not to crowd.

“Eat,” he murmured. “Then you’re going to rest. You’ve been through hell.” You glanced down at the soup. It smelled good. Rich. Comforting. But your body was too tired to be hungry.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “You don’t have to coddle me.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re made of steel,” he replied.

You scoffed, softly. “Don’t quote me your own lines.”

But the corner of your mouth twitched, just a little. And when he shifted closer, sliding an arm around your back, pulling you gently into his side, you didn’t pull away.

You leaned in.

Hotch pressed his hand to your shoulder. Light. Steady. Warm. Your head fell against his chest. No words. Just the quiet thud of his heart beneath your ear—constant and calm.

You exhaled like it was the first real breath in hours. And somewhere in the safety of that silence, you whispered, “Thank you.”

Hotch adjusted the blanket one last time, his hand lingering just briefly at your shoulder before he leaned back into the couch.

The room fell into a gentle hush—the kind that only lives in safe places. The soup sat untouched on the table. Your head buzzed with fatigue, but you didn’t quite let go of consciousness yet. Not yet.

Then—buzz-buzz. Your phone vibrated on the armrest beside you, screen flashing.

You grimaced.

Another buzz. Then a second.

You didn’t have to check to know who it was.

The first was a text from JJ:

Heard what happened. Glad you're okay. Let me know if you need anything.

The second, from Reid, came with a long-winded link to an article about chemical exposure recovery times and a timestamped list of side effects you should be monitoring.

You sighed and tapped it on low volume, holding the speaker close to your chest.

You blinked at Reid’s message, the list of symptoms making your head spin faster than the exposure itself.

Then, with a soft ding, Garcia’s voice burst through the phone.

"Hotch said you were exposed?? Are you okay? If you die I swear to god I will resurrect you just to kill you again. Also I looked up your hospital bracelet barcode in the system and—don't worry, you're fine, but still. Text me, precious cargo."

You laughed under your breath—just a breathy huff, but still something. And then, quietly, you locked the screen and turned the phone face-down.

Hotch watched all of it. He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached for the soup again, set it a little closer to you, then rested a hand on your back.

“You know,” he said softly, “they’re not messaging out of obligation.”

You stared down at your lap. “Yeah. I know. Just… it’s a lot. I don’t want anyone making a big deal out of it.”

“They care,” he said, a little firmer this time. “That’s not weakness. That’s family.”

You blinked. Something in your chest gave a quiet twist at that.

And when Hotch let his hand rest between your shoulder blades—solid and steady—you didn’t move away.

[rott-heresey]

Concept of Asaboo being equipped with Harumasa’s medical records. Done by Yanagi, who both understands Harumasa is incredibly capable and strong (when he desires to be) and has his own limitations. She brought this up with Miyabi who agrees of course citing the same reasons, but they’re also worried how he’ll take it. Will he be upset? Confused? But also this is incredibly important and could even be the thing that saves his life. So they get Asaboo installed with all this information yet hope it doesn’t have to be used. If it upsets him, they can simply find something else.

one day after a shitty job where Harumasa is left kinda fucked up Asaboo monitors his heart rate, respiratory rate, gets him sitting down, locates any medications he would take for the circumstances— Harumasa did not teach Asaboo to do this. At all. He appreciates it but like, huh.

He mentions it to Yanagi; “oh! I got it programmed to do that, so your condition would be less likely to hinder your work.” Huh. What. Actually I guess that’s nice, too bad I can’t excuse myself on account of circumstances anymore but I guess that’s nice.

So he takes Asaboo and the rest of the look alike bangboos to the proxy to get their systems updated with new information; small helpful things for any member of HSOS6 (Soukaku’s love of food and insatiable hunger, or Miyabi’s reluctance to go to meetings being examples) because, since his team is often looking out for him he wants some way to return the favor even when he can’t return it himself. Soukaku’s little buddy brings her food when she wants it or needs it, Miyabi’s takes extensive notes in meetings and relays any important information to her when necessary. Yanagi’s helps her keep track of everyone.

They all know and have agreed not to say anything, and instead just choose to appreciate the gesture subtly. All except for Soukaku who’s found happily rambling about her Bangboo bringing her food and correlating it to Harumasa’s teaching.

And in return, Harumasa relies on Asaboo like he normally does with the rest of Section 6. The lil fella follows him everywhere, and has actually managed to become quite popular amongst his fans.

[mokulule]

The Number You have Called Cannot Be Reached - part 8

Part 1 | Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence So I promised this like months ago, and then got overwhelmed by having to manage the taglist resulting in me not updating this fic despite actually having written the next part. So that said this is the last time I'm tagging people, please subscribe to the masterlist - I'm gonna link it both here at the top and at the bottom. Anyways enjoy the next part:

Jason could handle this. He had handled this for years. The Pits were a known enemy. It shouldn’t effect him to this degree. But he could handle this. He could go about his day without putting heads in duffel bags, that had got to count as a win. The fact that he was avoiding his family, was just a precaution. Jason had everything under control.

Not like when he’d fled the Cave after assaulting Bruce in his stupid sweater.

That had not been his proudest moment. But the thing that really got to him was how he didn’t remember doing it. He didn’t even remember going to the Cave. When he tried to think it was all a green haze. The last moment of real clarity was opening Ghost’s bag and seeing nothing but dry protein bars. Knowing in his gut this was all he ate and that he stood with his food, and no way to give it back to him.

When he had fled the Cave, he’d gone home shaking like a leaf, and sunk to the floor trying to get his head back on straight. He didn’t know how long he sat there with his back against the door, just trying to breathe and search his memory. Eventually, though he didn’t know after how long, he found his phone and looked up the news. It had been a great relief to find that Red Hood had not been sighted, so he likely hadn’t been out on a murder spree he couldn’t remember.

But now it was days later. There had been no more green hazes. Things were under control.

Maybe he hit a bit harder, and a bit longer, when he went out. But it was the normal amount? Wasn’t it? Definitely not much more than normal, if it was more. That he was sure of… like 80% sure of. Jason rubbed the front of his helmet in lieu of his brow - It didn’t really help. What had Bruce even said that set him off? He barely remembered, something that felt demeaning, but the words escaped him no matter how many times he turned them over in his head. Normally he wouldn’t question himself that like, of course Bruce would have said something demeaning, he always did. He didn’t trust Jason, never would again. There would always be suspicion and doubt. But now…

Jason’s hand clenched into fists. Now having been without the Pits’ influence, having seen Bruce trying to reach out to him, as awkward and resigned as it had been, he wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure he could trust himself.

Maybe this was all Bruce’s plan? Another of his famous gambits - this one to fold Jason back under his control, with the pretense of love and family. Because surely he had been right all along and Jason needed to be watched, couldn’t be trusted on his own.

Jason ripped the helmet off his head, only barely stopped himself from throwing it. He gasped and breathed in deep, like a man drowning. He was the one in control, he reminded himself firmly. Not the pits. Not Bruce.

There was sound in his comms and he hastily pulled the helmet back on. Ghost had been sighted. He had to go. If he could just talk with Ghost, figure out what this was.

Ghost ran away. Immediately, as if he could sense Jason.

It was okay, Jason could handle this.

Oo o oO

Barbara tapped the space bar absently without actually pressing it. Keeping half an eye on her leftmost monitor which showed the program she used for the surveillance in Gotham, no persons of interest were pinging tonight so far, no alarms had tripped for about an hour. She had time to ponder the conundrum that was their reoccurring thief.

If the thief was building something the other night was proof the loss of the spectral calibrator, hadn’t put a stop to the progress. The thief never ran in the same direction so they still didn’t even have that to go by to narrow down where he stayed, when he wasn’t giving them the run around.

The odd reaction to Jason hadn’t made a reappearance. In fact the moment Jason joined them the thief disappeared immediately: density shifting into the ground. Jason was not happy about it to say the least.After the backpack full of barely edible off-brand protein bars had been delivered to the cave by Jason, Barbara would agree with Jason that whatever situation the thief was in, it was worrying if this was all that he ate. She still held by her assessment that the photographic evidence was of too low quality early in their run-ins because of the strange electromagnetic interference he gave off to actually judge if he’d lost weight - but he did look very gaunt now.

She leaned back in her chair. A cup of coffee was warm between her hands, she breathed in the familiar scent as she considered the known facts.

Name assumed to be Danny Fenton, potentially legally Daniel Fenton, though they’d been unable to find a match to his physical appearance and rough age in their databases. He hadn’t actually spoken to any of them, it was a very real possibility he was a foreigner, but they’d checked and he wasn’t wanted by any foreign intelligence services.

The phone was baffling.

It was a brick, and it looked like something from the early 00s, from around the time when handheld phones really started to be something everyone had.

Tim had asked for Barbara’s help after he hadn’t been able to recover the erased text messages for some days. Tim had filled her in on his discovery that while all the numbers coded into the phone led to a “the number you have called cannot be reached” message when called from the phone - some of the numbers were actually active when looked up; the Jazz one led to a pizza place and the Dad number led to an elderly woman with Chinese heritage who had no relation to anyone named Danny or Fenton. The rest of the numbers weren’t currently in use.

It was odd however that despite those two numbers being in use, they still got the cannot be reached message. Tim had suggested the program which made the phone able to piggyback on the mobile network without a sim was faulty, but it had been easy enough for Barbara to disprove by calling a local number which connected with no problem. Tim was brilliant but sometimes he got too caught up in his complicated theories that he forgot the simple things.

Her recovery program for the text messages had just finished running (this was her third attempt). She took a sip of coffee, leaned forward and promptly nearly spat it out when she saw the result. It went down the wrong pipe when she tried to recover and she coughed and sputtered. Carefully she put her cup on her desk before she spilled it.

Finally her airways were clear and she rubbed the bridge of her nose. Somehow this was Dick’s fault.

She had recovered the messages. They were there - time stamps and all. The last message received was over a decade ago in 2009 and wasn’t that ominous? But that was a side note to be pondered later, because the contents of the messages, oh this was malicious.

Somehow, before deletion every single message had been changed to “Ghost”.

Not just a single ghost, no, entire messages teasing at their original length, but just changed into ghost ghost ghost ghost ghost. A whole litany of ghosts.

And it was definitely Dick’s fault.

Next

So that was it, hopefully I will be able to get back in the swing of things now. Commentary and tags are a great motivator and I read them all. As stated this is last time I tag people, so in the future you can subscribe to the masterlist or on Ao3 where the edited and hopefully better version eventually goes up.

Tag list of doom part 1:

@thewondersoflebanon | @gin2212 | @busterkeel | @apointlessbox | @spoopyspoony | @charlietheepic7 | @proper-idiocy | @serasvictoria02 | @zgirlly | @emeraldcorpral | @mushroom-jack | @v-inari | @8-29pm | @quirky-gardener | @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff | @mars-the-witch | @elthepickle | @thegatorsgoose | @impulsiveasshole |

@tired-yet-awaken | @luagi-the-bestest | @britcision | @autumnwulf | @little-pondhead | @asphyxia778 | @sarina-elais | @may-rbi | @onlyhereforthechaos | @somuchyikes | @yjfk | @rosiea184 | @screamingtofillthevoid | @ailithnight | @writer-extraodinaire | @samgirl98 | @hanahaki-disease | @riverdancingwerewolves |

[junplusone]

seventeen as engineering majors

notes: hi i have nothing to say for myself except this is partially @imujings's fault and also my self indulgence so here we go (can you tell what my major is..... lol)

warnings: ehh swearing, i namedrop companies, eng jargon

-

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL - civil engineering

if you know, you know

is very proud of his program despite all the jokes (he shouldn't be) sorry im biased

"we're better than the meches"

never had to take dynamics in his LIFE omg

100% has a poster of the golden gate bridge on his wall and gets made fun of for it

is convinced one day when he's making bank and jeonghan is jobless he'll finally be vindicated

YOON JEONGHAN - mechanical engineering

did have to take dynamics & almost failed it

(he's smart, he was just too lazy to submit any of the homework that was also worth 60% of his grade)

gets salty at career fairs when most of the employers are construction companies

competing with the 24853874534 other meches for class sections

leaning into the "jack of all trades master of ????"

has a superiority complex over the aeros

HONG JOSHUA - computer engineering

should have just been a cs major tbh

compe is the bottom of the engineering food chain

but nobody has the heart to tell him that bc he's too kind

hangs out with the likes of yoon jeonghan but still never skips class

wants to create his own video game

probably got an internship at a fortune 100 company

has hella connections and WILL ask them to nepo you too bc he's that nice

WEN JUNHUI - aerospace engineering

has had enough of the lockheed martin jokes

does NOT !!! wanna work in defense he's a sustainable fuel guy

spacecraft development companies pleaseeee hire him

lets the meches have beef w him bc he dgaf what they think, but gets annoyed when they start competing w him for jobs

sidequest king (double minor in math & ecology AND he wants to try his hand at law school???? wtf)

locks in so freaking hard when he has to but is just silly otherwise - he's that student you never see studying but then they ace the exam

KWON SOONYOUNG - chemical engineering

is the one making lockheed martin jokes in front of junhui

but definitely picked cheme because someone told him he can make bombs

had to retake orgo twice but then passed inorganic chemistry with flying colors

academic wild card #1

always ends up with 8:30s bc he never wakes up on time for class registration

#1 merck worshipper pls hire him omg

LEE JIHOON - computer engineering

is at the bottom of the engineering food chain, but unlike joshua he knows & owns it

is a cs minor so it's slightly more excusable

probably has hella shit on github

definitely following more companies on linkedin than he has connections

double major in music production & plays clarinet in the pep band

you will never see him without his headphones on

JEON WONWOO - electrical engineering

actually very strongly dislikes that electrical & comp are grouped together as ece

likes the versatility of his major

probably never had a single morning class in his life

def came into college proficient in a bunch of programming languages

sits at the back of the lecture hall

never ever studies outside of his dorm bc he likes using his huge desk monitor

KIM MINGYU - biomedical engineering

so sick of every single person he meets assuming he's a premed student

has definitely accidentally broken flasks in his bio lab

was so elated when he found out orgo isn't a graduation requirement

always ALWAYS studies w a whiteboard

is one of the only guys in bme

you can always find him cooking up some food in the dorm's communal kitchen, he's always down for a conversation

LEE SEOKMIN - environmental engineering

minor in sustainability, he's an environmentally conscious sweetie pie!

the dream project groupmate

is one of like 15 people in his graduating class

wants to research water treatment technologies

"did you know using chatgpt is harmful to the environment?"

and he's right !!!!

took organic chemistry for fun and aced it even though mingyu warned him it would tank his gpa

XU MINGHAO - chemical engineering

really wants to work in the fragrance industry

always smells good, you'll never catch him lacking

another one of those people where you don't see them study ever but they still coast through classes

gets distracted when he's drawing out chemical compounds bc he tries too hard to get the lines perfect

and then starts sketching something else

second most nastiest side eye

BOO SEUNGKWAN - industrial & systems engineering

y'all know this man did not wanna do any work (jk i love my ise majors)

business admin double major & he's reaaaally good at it

everyone's jealous of the way he charms all the employers at the career fair how do u even do that like???

very intelligent but hated every calc class he had to take

always studies in the business building

nastiest side eye EVERRRRRR do not say anything stupid in front of him please he will vaporize you

CHWE HANSOL - materials science & engineering

walter white in the making

declared a chemistry minor and then never took the required classes

really enjoyed crystal chem

profs have a hard time grading his hw cause his handwriting lowkey looks like chicken scratches

the absolute chillest during finals week but nobody knows if it's because he studied way in advance or because he didn't study at all

academic wild card #2

such an 'it is what it is' guy tbh...

LEE CHAN - packaging engineering

ppl look confused when he tells them his major

is in it for the near 100% job placement

has a great time in all of his classes because they're so fun and the class size is like 8 kids

doesn't fully know what he wants to do later in life but he'll figure it out later

carpe diem kinda guy

wants to intern at a cosmetics company really really bad so he can take sample products home to his mom

let me know if u enjoyed this hehe :)

[mooshie-blue]

Get to know Leo + Barnacles’ retirement!

More info below:

Leo was born and spent his first 3 years on the octopod! A few months after he turned three, Barnacles retired his role as Captain to Kwazii and Dashi moved up to lieutenant. Barnacles, Leo and I moved to Alaska where Captain Barnacles ran an emergency Octonauts post, similar to Trackers post in the arctic, his job was to monitor different parts of the ocean and look for storms, track the ring of fire and report back to the other Octonauts if something happens.

The post also doubled as a house, so Barnacles works from home. (You bet your sweet ass he calls the Octonauts every week!) As for me, I work at a restaurant, Barnacles’ job pays the bills and puts food on the table just fine! But I have my job just for the extra cash! Leo is a quiet but kind kid, he’s semi verbal and better with communicating with written sentences or ASL (American sign language) He latches himself to a stuffed star that was given to him as a baby, he sewed it up and made it into a key chain for his backpack or his pants.

As challenging as his minimal speech may seem, he’s very expressive in other ways, he has a permanent smile on his face and outer space is a big source of joy! He loves the stars, and he reads about them constantly! He’s kind to all creatures, even the ones that scare him, like centipedes and millipedes. But sometimes his kindness and empathy can be a detriment because even when others don’t treat him kindly he always finds a way to justify it, but as he gets older he learns to stick up for himself. Leo is also prone to panicking before thinking, especially as a kid, but he knows how to ground himself, and nothing stops him from breaking through his fears with his big bear heart.

When Leo was 12, he joined the polar scouts, he wanted to be like his father and he wanted to explore his heritage as a polar bear, and what better way to do so than through the polar scout program, as a matter of fact when he grows up he takes Natquik’s place as the leader!