#i wonder how much this was considered when they were designing medic

[ofnightshadeandthornyroses]

Hey there! I was wondering if I could get your thoughts on the lost boys and an s/o with an iron deficiency, please? How would they feel about their blood considering their lack of iron? Would they even drink from them considering how easily their s/o gets lightheaded? I'm very curious as to how you would give this.

Thank you! -🦝

They are definitely curious about your medical situation. Especially because it has to do with blood .

An aspect that definitely intrigues them is how it affects you blood.

A certain two boys are intrigued with the difference in shade, almost obsessively so. ( Marco and Paul)

They're all interested with the difference in smell though. Of course all blood has it's own smell, the metallic scent mixing with the hosting humans own, but this smell differs from them. The lack iron affects the smell and leaves more of you, and they can't find reason to dislike it even if they wanted to.

If for any reason they taste your blood they're once again taken by how it tastes more like you than anything else.

They wouldn't actually drink from you unless you practically force feed it to them for what ever reason (Marco getting a free impalement by the Frog bros.)

Other than wondering how your condition affects your blood they also were concerned on how it how it affects you.

Throughout their adventures on the boardwalk walk they soon find out one of the common side affects (fatigue) and though at first they may be a little down that they can't wreck havoc with you as much as they wanted (Marco and Paul(Dwayne likes to start shit from the side and butt in when he wants), they're more than happy to take you back to the cave or if you still want to stay around the board walk, take things at a slower pace.

If you're dizzy they're quick to find you somewhere to sit or lean, staying close to check if your doing okay or need any thing.

They keep snack and water on them just incase

Need a snack sweet thing? No problem, Paul's got you. Has them jam packed in the pockets inside of his jacket like a kid sneaking a boatload of candy into a theater.

Need a water? David has a few in side of his as well.

They make a game of hiding them throughout the cave so no matter where you are in it they just reach around and grab something out for you.

Random containers of peanut butter/fruits

Brittle nails, Paul, Dwayne and Marco definitely have nail painting sessions so you can put that can put that coat of protection on in any pretty color or haphazard/horrendous design they come up with. David has even been known to participate.

Sorry this took so long, tests and Tumblr being on crack. I hope you like this.

[xyilous]

Everyone Needs Rest Sometimes

————————————

a friend and someone on here asked, i am (nervously) delivering

comfort fic but this time it’s Optimus getting the care he deserves 💞💞 written as my oc, but no names will be mentioned so it feels more like a self insert thing. Also intended to be read as either platonic or romantic, but my lean towards the latter based on people’s boundaries !! Written with tfp Optimus in mind, uses his holoform (cough cough heres my design cough)

cw for mental health stuff, anxiety, paranoia // might be slightly ooc but shhh

also there’s a bath scene (get your head out of the gutter!!/lh,j)

————————————

It’s been relatively quiet as of late, no new decepticon sightings or M.E.C.H. mischief popping up on the scanner. The peace was welcomed by most of team prime, the kids taking advantage of having free time with their robotic companions while the adults could be at a little ease knowing the youngsters aren’t in immediate danger. Considering there was a bit of a surge of enemy activity, the crew relished in being able to wind down from an intense week. Even Ratchet stepped away from his enhanced computer and projects to watch Raf and Jack go head to head in some (slightly too graphic) fighting game. You just finished prepping different popcorns and gathering a couple large bottles of various sodas, carrying everything including cups and napkins with the help of Arcee.

The only one missing out was Optimus. The old war warn autobot felt uneasy, cautious. While the team did just bust the decepticon’s most recent plan, he can’t help but worry himself by wandering what new scheme they’re coming up with. Seeing everyone having fun and conversing with each other was more than welcomed, the fear of that joy being ripped away from them made anxiety seep into his tired frame. He replaced Ratchet’s usual spot near the ground bridge switch, hitting multiple keys as he typed in the coordinates to yet another location to patrol. This is the third time today alone that he was preparing to drive off and watch for any possible leads, that’s the way it’s been since the updates died down. There wasn’t even enough time between attacks for them to plan something big and yet you could see that it was making him paranoid. Poor thing desperately needed a break, and yet he continues to push through, even though it’s clearly taking a huge toll on his spark. It was sad to witness, you could see how his eyebrows were tilted up in concern, how his steady servos hurriedly danced along the keyboard, it was beyond apparent the Optimus is running himself to the breaking point.

Slinking away from the others, you jogged to where he was standing and leaned against the rails, flagging him down just as the ground bridge started opening. Confusion was written all over his face as he turned towards your much smaller self, wondering why you weren’t mingling with the others. Before Optimus could even get a word out, you opened your mouth.

“You’re not going.” The Prime’s confusion increased at your order, not necessarily out of anger or annoyance, just surprise that you said it so plainly. However you stood your ground and sent him a look that showed you were more than serious. Standing face to face with a 30 foot cybernetic alien would’ve sent anyone else running with their tail between their legs, apparently not you though.

“Excuse me?” Turning to fully face you, Optimus rested his large servos on the railings of the platform, surrounding you like a cage. With a clear view of his front side, you can see just all the scratches and scuffs from recent battles, clearly unchecked by the base’s lone medic. Paint was chipping in areas, mud caked into others, apparently he’s been so caught up in protecting everyone that he didn’t even take his well-being into consideration.

“You’re not going. When’s the last time you recharged? O-Or even had energon?? Have you even seen yourself lately???” With every word that came out of your mouth, you sounded more and more upset, that concern you felt for the bot being beyond apparent in your tone. Optimus’ face drifted from confusion as he thought for a moment, before stating that your worries have been noted. That’s it? Yep. That was indeed it. Silently he turned back toward the still glowing ground bridge, completely brushing off your mini speech.

“No get your ass back here!! Don’t walk away from me!” Charging down the stairs while doing your best to not trip and stumble, you made your way infront of the walkway that led to whatever location he punched in, immediately doing your best to block his path. It didn’t do much, even with your hands sassily propped onto your hips, but it was enough to make his alt mode stop infront of you. By now Ratchet has picked up on your little spiel, alerting the others before inching his way to where he can hear. Not necessarily out of concern for a full argument starting, the old medic just hasn’t seen many tell the high and mighty Optimus Prime off.

It was rather tense, you clearly weren’t going to move from your spot and Optimus was just about as stubborn. After a long pause he folded outward and became upright again, wondering if he should just step around you. You are very small compared to him, he can do it, but he knows both you and Ratchet will chew him out later.

“I must go, if they are planning something it must be stopped before it comes to fruition.” That’s his first reason, usually the first one he says since it’s often times enough to get his teammates to side with his reasoning.

“It’ll be there later, you know that. Besides, they just tried to build some weird giant laser, big Earth threatening plans like that need time. You’ll be alright for a day.” And there’s your counter argument. Although you’ve not been with the autobots for years, you’ve been there long enough to have already thought of ways to get through whatever excuse he tosses at you. At the very least he has good motives.

“I don’t know how cybertronians work, but i do know that any living thing needs a break. That includes you, Optimus. Come on, I know what’ll make you feel better.” It helped convince him a little, but he’s still apprehensive. Ratchet finally buts in, just to confirm what you said, and then goes quiet again. The Prime’s face softened as you rested your hand on his knee, by now he’s kneeled down to be more level with you. Your attitude was harsh, yes, but you still showed that it was because you cared for the mech.

“I’m still a prime. You know this, I have a duty to fulfill.” And there’s the prime excuse. It was often a backup if his original reasoning wasn’t enough, but now isn’t the time for it to be tossed out. His worsening exhaustion is evident in his features and movements, the large digits that attempted to console you felt sluggish, drained. Guilt echoed out of his vocal cords due to the exchange, he felt terrible for making you and his team worry over him. A glance around the room revealed the distressed looks in his teammate’s eyes and optics. They knew just as well as he did that he was being overly cautious and in turn hurting himself, but they weren’t sure of when to intervene.

“Then for a few hours be Optimus. Nothing more.” An ex-vent heaved itself from his chest before he drew back.

“Just a few hours. I will grant you that and then I will patrol. For real this time.” As the words left his mouth you immediately sprung up, somewhat taken back that you got him to reluctantly agree. Ratchet, still hovering behind you, looked beyond bewildered at the fact that you were able to convince him, even when he, a millennia old medic and friend, failed to do so. A few hours isn’t a lot of time so you had to get to work immediately in order to take advantage of the situation. One problem though, a rather large one at that. The art of taking care of massive metal aliens was one far too foreign to your fleshy self, however humans are a different story.

“…Would you mind using your holoform in the meantime…? You don’t have to of course!! It’s just uhh, a bit hard to reach that high.” Rest in peace to your cocky attitude, it was a good run. A small nod and flash of light later, his much smaller and meatier form revealed itself. Technically a very high definition hologram, he still had the sensory inputs that you needed to soothe him the best you knew how. If anything, the softer form would allow you to do better than if it remained stiff. Optimus still towered over you, by the looks of it his intimidating height transferred to his holoform, as well as features to show how tired he is. Scars decorated his exposed bits of skin, a few adorned his face but from what you can see numerous ones were etched into the calloused skin of his hands. His eyes drooped and the bags underneath were beyond visible, the combination of his tired expression and slouched shoulders felt like a crude impersonation of the strong leader you’ve grown to know. It must’ve been obvious that you felt pity towards him since Optimus averted his eyes from your view, almost like an animal preparing for a scolding after doing something it was specifically told not to do.

“Come on, I’ll take care of you.” Your hand took his and you led him down the hall, straight to a bathroom that you did a slight renovation to in attempts to make it more homey. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but the underneath the sink you stored numerous bath salts, some used to help with sore muscles and some infused with lavender to help soothe anyone that could possibly need it. The door swung open effortlessly as the two of you walked into the smaller than ideal room, there was enough space for the both of you to move and exist without knocking into eachother, but it was still a snug fit. With a twist of the faucet knobs cool water flowed out before gradually starting to heat up, while the water slowly filled the tub Optimus found himself lost on what to do besides stand there with his arms stiff at his sides. He wasn’t dirty, you weren’t either, so why did you start a bath,,?

“Here, while this fills up I’m gonna dig out a couple things to help you relax, god knows you need it. Go ahead and get undressed, I promise I won’t look.” Your grin was evident on your voice as you spoke, trying to ease the tension by making joking a bit before hiding behind the now open cabinet doors to dig out the previously mentioned bath salts.

“Is this not an… intimate? thing for humans?” His words were a bit hesitant, unsure if that was the correct term to use. Optimus was always curious about Earth culture and routinely asked you questions about stuff he finds, whether it be online or something he saw a family or friend group do while on patrol, but this time it seems like he was figuring out things on his own.

“To some people, sure. Depends on who you ask in all honesty, for me I don’t mind it. If it makes you feel any better I’ll step out and wait until you’re settled if you want-“

“It’s alright. I’ll let you know when to look.” Turning your head back towards the inside of the cabinet you resumed your hunt for your bath add ins as the sound of rustling clothes filled the room. By the time you finally got a glimpse of the lavender flowers and the word ‘epsom salt’ slapped onto a bag, you could hear rippling water settle before Optimus let you know you’re not at risk of getting flashed.

Crawling on your knees towards the tub, you showed him your miracle workers you salvaged from under the sink, explaining that the salt helps muscles stop aching and that the lavender scent can help people take off the edge, even helps some sleep better. You sprinkled a generous amount of each into the water, getting a glimpse of even more scars that riddled the old Prime’s body. Some were raised, others with lines across them that show just how the skin mended itself together, all caused by a countless amount of battles, some of which were won, some of which were lost. They even speckled his knees and the bits of his legs that weren’t covered by the warm water. He was tense, unsure of what to do. Optimus isn’t used to relaxing like this, the vulnerability of it all made him feel exposed and like danger is lingering around, even with the ‘aromatherapy’ as you called it. His fists were clenched against his own will, he must be ready at all times to protect his team, he has to do anything he can to prevent another loss. Pressure and paranoia gnawed at him, the echoing thoughts in his head didn’t help in the slightest. He shouldn’t be doing this, it’s selfish to stop when everyone could be in danger, he needs to go-

“If something happens the others can handle it. You need to take care of yourself just like the others.” At your words the racing thoughts halted, immediately pausing to let him take in what you said and to wonder how you knew what he was thinking. Your hand rubbed soft circles into his shoulder as you spoke, gently trying to bring him out of his unfavorable headspace. He looked at you for reassurance, eyes wide and nearly timid, you could see his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed rather harshly. Millions of years of wars and battles, and yet one of the coldest things he’s faced is his own anxiety. Nothing to fall back on, nobody he can turn to in hopes of reeling him back from his sea of what ifs. As a prime he felt like he had to hold his head high all the time and did not have the right to step back and let himself rest. You adjusted yourself a bit to try and sit at a better angle, but the second you raised a bit his tattered hand flew out and grabbed onto your shirt like you were going to disappear. The poor thing looked terrified as his knuckles turned white from his death grip, he needed your reassurance and was scared of you being ripped from his grasp like others from his past. Your hand rested against the back of his own, still desperately clinging to your now wet top.

“I’m not leaving, you’re okay, I promise. You know I don’t break promises.” You grazed your thumb against his hand, reassuring him that you just needed to adjust before your knee snapped in two. It took him a bit to give you any response, the only reply being a small nod before his grip loosening slowly before dropping to the edge of the bathtub, followed by the rest of his body.

“Let me wash your hair, hun. You can still hold onto me if you need to, yeah?” Grabbing a cup you had set off to the side specifically for baths, you started the water up again before getting Optimus to tip his head back. It still felt beyond foreign to him, but he couldn’t deny the warm water dancing across his scalp could put him to sleep. When you put shampoo in his hair and began to massage it into the follicles, you could watch as his eyes got heavier, his sleepiness trying to creep up on him. It was tempting to let him doze off, but with the size difference it wouldn’t be a good idea if he started slipping underwater. A light prod to his face was enough to wake him up enough to rinse and finish up with conditioner and a final spritz of water. You stood to grab a couple towels, one for his body and one for the soggy mess of hair on top of his head. The bath alone made his posture a bit less rigid, hopefully that lavender actually did it’s job. While he dried off, you jogged put the door and further down the hallway to a room with spare clothes, grabbing a mostly new t shirt and some pajama bottoms, praying that they were the right size. It felt a little strange to be grabbing a cozy outfit for someone who was tall enough to make some houses look small and someone who happened to be made out of metal, but at least you got him to take it easy-ish. Could be worse.

Upon your return you realized he was probably frozen, your evidence being the goosebumps that littered his crossed arms.

“Sorry for freezing you to death, here’s these. I’ll wait out by the door while you get dressed and when you’re done i’ll blow dry your hair, alright?” With a nod Optimus gratefully took the pajamas as you stepped out into your aforementioned position. In a sense it felt like you were keeping guard of the old man mech, the thought triggers your curiosity and you can’t help but wonder if he’s had someone take care of him like this. If his reactions have told you anything, it’s that he’s not allowed himself to be treated in such a way. Perhaps it’s a matter of not wanting pity, or maybe it’s as simple as he feels like he’s too mature to accept such treatment. It’s a shame really, the one that needs it the most is usually too selfless to allow it. A couple minutes later the door creaked open, revealing a damp, but slightly more relaxed Optimus. You stepped back into the cramped room and instructed him to sit on the toilet seat as you dug out the blow drier and plugged it into the wall outlet. He watched every movement you made with curiosity filled eyes, he always had a fascination with human objects, the way people have invented items for basically everything was so interesting to him, especially considering how primitive Earth’s creations can be.

“What is that in your hands?” He asked you, using his hands to point at the blow dryer in your hands. He’s not seen one before, and the way it resembled a gun made him a little nervous over it, especially considering flesh will suffer much more with a bullet than if he was his usual metal self.

“Oh this? It blows out hot air to help dry your hair. It’s not as scary as it looks, I promise.” As you spoke you used your freehand to lead him to sit down and got to work, flipping the switch that caused the simple device to do what you said. The sudden sound startled him a little at first but with reassurance he calmed enough to let you do your thing, his eyes closing while he absorbed the peace around him. Optimus was still apprehensive to letting you tend to him, but the longer time passed the more he felt his walls chipping away, reluctantly letting his guard down to you. Partway you grabbed a plain comb to send through the synthetic hairs that rested atop his head, the sensation was yet another new one considering his holoform was mainly used as a disguise, not a tool for self care (or in this case care from a trusted individual). It was a nice change of touch, if that made sense. The sensation was a lot more enjoyable compared to battling or trying to track down energon to refuel the already exhausted team. Unfortunately, due to his short hair the moment didn’t last near as long as he wanted or deserved, but at the very least he wasn’t damp anymore. Between the heat from the blow drier and what’s left of the steam from the bath, he felt so cozy and weightless, almost as if the water washed the weight from his tender shoulders. With a click, the air stopped blowing on his scalp and a gentle tap on his shoulder made his eyes open up again.

“Come on, I’m making you watch a movie. Don’t worry, I picked an animated one so it’s nothing too intense.” Despite your order, your tone stayed soft and gentle as you spoke, making sure not to jolt him from his little moment of peace. As you put your tools away Optimus stood and ran a hand through his hair, taking in just how soft it became from something as simple as wind. Being made of metal most of the time didn’t allow him to have such moments, to a human this would be such a normal everyday thing but for him it was a welcomed break. Being able to be over all softer and vulnerable after being alert for Primus knows how long, it was soothing after the first anxieties fizzled away. You took his hand and led him back to the main area of the base, dragging him up the steps and to the slightly worn down couch. A small tv, fit with the kid’s gaming console and various movie and game cases scattered about. By the looks of it, the team has already escorted their human companions home while Ratchet lingered in the background, typing away at his computer as per usual. It was abnormally quiet considering the hubbub that filled the room earlier, but the lack of music blasting or prepubescent voices squeaking their way into everyone’s ears (or audials) wasn’t unwelcome. You led Optimus to sit down before you crouched in front of the tv, popping in your choice of entertainment. Most have already been watched so you made sure to avoid anything overly angsty or gut wrenching, from what you know the prime doesn’t sit down and watch these, hopefully you can get him into something besides recon. Everything was up and ready to go as you made you’re self comfortable next to a rather stiff holoform. His hands were awkwardly tapping against his thighs as his back was straightened, clearly unsure of what to do or even where to look. Has he ever taken the time to actually wind down…?

“You’re stiff as a board, here, get comfy.” A little maneuvering later you managed to get him to lay down with his head in your lap, though the lower part of his legs ended up dangling over the arm rest due to his sheer height. His body was still fairly rigid but, it’s an improvement at the very least. A blanket rested on the back of the couch, it was a thin but fuzzy one that June brought over in case the you or the kids got cold, it’s coming in handy right about now. You draped it over his body and your legs the best you could, it was a bit difficult considering the size difference between you two, but you managed the best you could. After a couple button presses and a huff from Ratchet due to you asking him to turn off the light, the movie began.

The screen displayed whimsical colors as exciting music erupted from the speakers, immediately capturing the prime’s attention. You could see vibrant hues dance along his cheeks and nearly child like wonder swirl in his eyes, the way he processed every sentence and action was endearing, especially considering you’re doing something as small as watching a movie. You could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he clung to every word and movement of the characters, the sight of such a strong bot finally getting a more than well deserved break was heartwarming.

Part way through the movie your hand drifted into his hair, immediately raking your fingers through his soft locks. There was the slightest, almost undetectable, tensing in his body before he eased into the touch, even trying to cuddle closer to the best of his abilities. You could feel how he sunk into you even more as he watched the screen, eventually letting a yawn slip from his mouth. He fought to stay awake though, hellbent on seeing how the main character beats the antagonist and resolves the main issue at hand. Optimus was much more exhausted than he let on, even he didn’t realize just how tired he was. By now he’s twisted to lay on his side and his upper body was layered on top of your abdomen, arm wrapped somewhat around your hip with his head laying on your stomach. Eventually his eyelids grew too heavy and drifted closed, his fleshy frame softened ever so slightly as sleep overcame the poor mech. Your hand still danced around his hair, mindlessly playing with the strands as a similar fatigue settled its way deep into your bones. The ending of the movie will remain unknown (to Optimus at the very least) as you both dozed off, getting some well deserved rest.

————————————

sorry this took me ages!!! between surgery, mental health stuff, and being exhausted every day it’s been in the works for a lot longer than i intended!!!!

[loreweaver-universe]

And that's where I was told to split the episode.

The snakes are pretty cool! I like how many of the mutant races are musical, and I definitely appreciate the rock more than what the cats were playing. Great character designs, too. I wonder, will this just earn Kipo safe passage, or will the party now have a second set of allies?

Also, Kipo is obviously a Bard, and Benson is obviously a Rogue, but I'm having trouble pinning Wolf down. Is she just a Fighter, is she a Barbarian based on her background? She fights with...hrm, would you class that as a staff or a spear? I'll have to do some thinking on the subject.

That’ll be it for today’s liveblog! Tune in tomorrow at noon EST for the start of episode 12 of Kino's Journey, or you can tune in to my Twitch channel today at 1 PM EST where I’ll be doing either a speedrun of Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective or starting Final Fantasy IV!

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[the-little-moment]

Part Three

Words: 1,716

Warnings: None

Summary: The tension between Crosshair and Senna comes to a head.

Changed

“Doctor Divehdi. Please sit.”

Senna obeyed, eyeing the young man across the curving desk from her. He was fairly unremarkable – brown eyes and brown hair and an average build, although with an air of someone who thought himself incredibly important. That was impressive, she thought to herself, considering that they were of equal rank. 

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long for us to have this meeting. Getting this new Empire up and running has been quite the task, as I’m sure you know. I was speaking to the Senate just yesterday.” Vice-Admiral Edmon Rampart waited until Senna nodded before picking up the datapad he’d set down when she had entered his office.

Rampart cleared his throat. “I have been reviewing your record and, I must say, it’s quite astonishing. I’ve never heard of someone your age with,” he glanced down at the pad, “fourteen medical degrees.”

Senna wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I’m a fast learner. And I had a bit more time for my studies before the war started. The Kaminoan government approved of my continuing education.”

“Indeed. Graduated from the First Republic Medical Academy of Coruscant at twenty, you were then immediately hired by the Kaminoans to assist with their production of the clone army.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why you? Brilliant as you may be, the galaxy is full of more experienced medical professionals than a twenty year old fresh out of school. Why did the Kaminoans want you?”

Senna folded her hands in her lap, looking past Rampart for a moment to the storm outside. “I believe that was the point. I was young and naive and malleable. They wanted someone who wouldn’t question their methods.”

“And did you?”

Senna paused. “I did what was required of me. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.”

“Hmm. When the war started, you were commissioned by the former Grand Army as their Chief Medical Officer. Quite the elevated position.”

“They needed someone with experience with the clones. I was there.”

“How much experience do you have with them, Doctor?”

Now they were getting to the point. Senna tilted her head slightly, sabacc face firmly in place. She was good at lying. Kamino had made sure of that. “What do you mean?”

Rampart raised a thick eyebrow. “Your record states that you had a particularly close relationship with the members of a batch of defective clones. I’m sure you know that, with the exception of CT-Nine-Nine-Zero-Four, they have deserted from the Empire.”

“Yes. I was informed.” Senna kept her tone impassive.

“But you are still here. I assume you feel differently than they did about this transition.”

“I’m a doctor.” Senna spread out her hand like she’d watched Nala Se do a thousand times, trying to channel the geneticist’s unnerving calm. “I will continue to serve my patients for as long as I am able.”

“And your Emperor?”

“Of course.”

The new conscripted troopers were finishing their physicals in the medbay when Senna walked in, curiosity overriding her apprehension. As she approached the four natborns, the doctor realized she wasn’t sure how to address a squad with women in it. They were called an “Elite Squad” and designated ES, unlike the clones. Studying their faces, she wondered what it was that made them more elite than any other troopers. 

Senna settled for a nod as the four snapped to attention. “At ease. I’m Doctor Divehdi. We don’t have to worry about any of that unless someone decides to resist treatment.” She gave them a small smile, hoping they couldn’t sense her discomfort. 

The doctor turned at a quiet snort from the doorway, her unease deepening at the sight of the squad’s new commander. Crosshair was wearing the same black armor from before, helmet under his arm, so different from the worn grey plates she was familiar with. Her gut churned at the look of disdain on his face. Senna swallowed. “Something you’d like to say, Cr—” she caught herself, “Commander?”

The sniper’s thin mouth twisted for a moment before his expression settled into practiced blankness. “No.” 

Senna felt his half-lidded gaze in the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t her Crosshair. This was someone else inside his body, looking at her through his eyes, making her skin prickle a warning as if she were some small creature and he, a snake about to strike. But Crosshair wasn’t dangerous, was he? Surely not to her. And yet, the sound of his cold voice in the hangar still rang in her mind. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Senna saw the new troopers staring and turned back to them. “Good luck on your first mission. Commander,” she looked at Crosshair, “please come with me.”

Inside her office, Senna faced the sniper, forcing herself to lower her defenses. “Cross. I-I saw the security footage from the hangar.”

Crosshair’s already closed expression seemed to flatten even further. 

“You shot Wrecker!” She’d wanted to believe it was an accident, but Crosshair didn’t make mistakes.

His voice was once again toneless. “He refused to comply. They all did. I gave them a chance.”

“A chance? You shot your brother with a live round!”

Senna had to stop herself from recoiling as the sniper came alive, stabbing a long finger in her face, sudden rage twisting his features.

“Why should I care what you think? You don’t even want to be here! You wish you’d left with them!”

His accusation made the doctor’s heart pound, her eyes darting to the door. “That’s not true,” she said, as evenly as she could, but disbelief was clear in Crosshair’s eyes.

“Just say it!” He slammed his hand down on the desk beside her and Senna jumped. “You regret staying here. I can see it when you look at me.”

Ever since her meeting with Rampart, and even before that, when her old equipment had been taken away, Senna had been under the distinct impression that she was being watched. And if someone was spying on her, this conversation was getting more dangerous by the second.

“I’m looking at you that way because I don’t even recognize you anymore!” she hissed.

She’d never seen him so angry, his usual, careful self-control gone as he clenched his fists and snarled at her, every line of his body straining. “They betrayed us, Senna! They’re traitors!”

Senna pulled herself up, fighting to regain her composure. “They’re your brothers. Omega’s just a child! What the hell is wrong with you, Cross?”

Crosshair jerked back like she’d hit him, chest heaving. “I’m not the one questioning orders.” He spun on his heel and was gone before she could stop him. 

A week later, the three remaining members of the Elite Squad sat around the table in their barracks, winding down from their latest mission. Oh-Three and Oh-Four played a quiet game of cards as Oh-Two cleaned her gear. The air in the room was heavy with unease between the three conscripts and their commander, who continued to pretend that they didn’t exist outside of their missions. Oh-Two finished cleaning her blaster and returned the cloth to her kit, closing it with a snap. She stood to return her gear to her locker. “I’m turning in,” she informed her squadmates. 

An unexpected knock drew everyone’s attention to the barracks door. The three troopers looked at each other, then their commander, but he continued to ignore them, having lowered his sharp gaze back to his datapad after the interruption. Oh-Two offered the others an uncertain shrug and moved to open the door, surprised to see the chief medical officer standing in the hall. The three elite designates snapped to attention, relaxing when the doctor waved her hand. “At ease, troopers.”

Senna stood in the doorway of the familiar barracks, her eyes drawn to Crosshair, sitting expressionless on his bunk. “Commander, a word please.” It still sickened her to talk to him like that.

Crosshair set his pad aside and turned to growl at the other three troopers. “Get out.”

They nodded as they filed past her and Senna smiled faintly, still unsure of what to make of the new soldiers, sorry that they had lost their—brother? No, of course not. How strange.

When the door closed behind her, she stepped down and approached the sniper, hesitating a few steps from his bunk. Senna looked around the room, frowning at its emptiness and remembering how it had looked just a few weeks ago, before everything had fallen apart.

She sighed. “Cross…” 

The look in his eyes was impenetrable. 

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His casual posture, the loosely held toothpick in his hand, once, they would have been a sign of trust, but now everything that Crosshair did felt like a calculated show of disrespect, and she couldn’t understand why. 

Senna blinked at him, struggling to find words that were safe. “Your squad member, ES-Oh-One,” she grimaced at the impersonal number, “he didn’t come back.”

“He wasn’t up to the job.”

Senna clenched her jaw and looked down at the new commander’s gloved hands, hanging between his knees. Nothing made sense anymore. 

“He was your responsibility.” 

Crosshair just looked at her tiredly. His voice was equally worn. “Why are you here, Senna?”

“Why?” The doctor stared at him in disbelief. “Crosshair, your brothers are gone. One of your new squad is dead. And you—you—” She dragged in a ragged breath. “You’ve changed. I don’t…feel like I can trust you anymore. If I—If you thought I was a traitor, would you…”

Crosshair’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly before he blinked and Senna thought she saw something dark pass behind his eyes as he answered, voice back to that cold neutral. “I would follow my orders.”

Unable to bear the emptiness in his face, Senna broke Crosshair’s heavy gaze. A wave of dizziness swept her as the doctor fought back the tears that threatened to fall. After everything, they should be holding each other, not whatever this ugliness was. It was too much in this room that held his childhood, all the warm memories, and the painful ones, of the last twelve years. The walls around them still bore the marks of the four boys who had grown up and gone. They’re gone. Her heart was beating too fast. 

They’re gone.

“I’m so sorry, Cross.” Senna turned and left him sitting alone in the empty room.

Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @bad-batch-lurker @just-here-with-my-thoughts @freesia-writes @clonethirstingisreal @lightwise

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

<He couldn't help but laugh at the question because he knew it sounded just as absurd to her as it did to him whenever he thought about it. He shook his head a little afterwards and took her hand in his own but did not answer for the moment as he contemplated his answer and what would be the correct way to word it. There were a lot of variables to consider in this explanation, but he wanted to make it as easy as he could for the moment so as to not confuse her more than she already had become.>

My family ... wasn't really much of anything that was worth talking about. Disappoinment and...tragedy. But that's not a subject for now. Anyone from anywhere can technically come from "magical background", should they choose to take the time to learn and open their minds it. I myself - as you have probably figured out by now - used to be a doctor and in that stage of my life I had no interest in metaphysical knowledge or abilities. But then...well, life finally broke down the walls of the "perfect life" I was building for myself.

<He smiled as he watched her look at the surroundings while he spoke, until the last part had drawn her attention back to him. Slowly, he held up his free hand to show her the scars she had noted on them earlier which were now more of a deep red than they were before due to the coolness of the afternoon air settling in on the Sanctum. He was still self-conscious about them, even years after the accident, but this was his Soulmate, the woman he loved before than even life itself. And if he trusted anyone to not judge him or their history, it was this beautiful woman in front of him.>

I was in a car accident that left me no longer able to perform my job, I was told of a place called Kamar-Taj, where I would be able to gain the ability to use my hands again. It was there that I studied - and continue to learn on many occasions - about the Mystic Arts. It was there that I met my two teachers: The Ancient One, who we lost to battle, and Damon Renner.

<He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as he looked into her eyes while he spoke once more. He thought about it and began to realize things now that he hadn't been emotionally prepared for and it made him look away.>

He's the one I was getting the medical books to help when I found you. He's also the one who sent his familiar to me to lead me to your side. He...just lost his Soulmate to a very large battle and is very badly wounded. Of course...of course he would lead me to the one I'm meant to be with.

@sobeautifullyobsessed

*Our paths to here and now couldn’t be more different! Beauty’s heart, connected to Stephen’s through numerous lifetimes, discerned what he left unspoken. An unhappy childhood, marked by a painful loss. A family that may have been at odds with his sensibilities. A loneliness which he sought to fill with a brilliant career and the financial success it granted him. And then a sudden, tragic turn that changed his world—or rather, set him on the path he had been born to travel. She had to wonder if, in all that time, anyone had given him even a bit of unconditional love—whereas her cup of such had been filled to the brim. Surely this was by Design, and she was meant to bring that gift to Stephen’s life.*

I wish I could’ve known you then, Stephen. Not to change the course of your life, but perhaps to soften its edges. I think I had a luxury of kindness given me that I’d have been very happy to share with you…

*Beauty’s eyes reckoned the reddened weals that ran the full length of his fingers, and the slight tremor as Stephen offered her an unforgiving view of them. Even scarred, there was an undeniable elegance to his hand, and she could easily envision his confident dexterity as a surgeon. A mighty blow, that must have been—and his bones must ache as those of her arthritic grandmother’s. Her voice was hushed in soft consideration.*

Do they hurt, Stephen? Can your magic dull the pain? How…how do you manage? And…and how can I help? *she lowered her gaze a moment, carefully arriving at her next observation* Your hands...they’re beautiful despite your injuries, you know. Like something a great sculptor might have made. Those scars just can’t erase their grace.

*He extended that same hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear--a simple enough act, but eloquent in its own way, for its gentleness and familiarity. Something like uncertainty seemed to flicker in his eyes a moment before he went on to explain about his teacher and the loss he had endured. Moving Beauty to her next, natural suggestion.*

But about your friend, Damon—if he’s been badly injured, shouldn’t you be seeing to him now? I don’t want to keep you from where you belong, Stephen. I mean, we’ve lived our whole lives so far without even knowing each other. I can wait whatever time it will take for you to do right by him. I promise I’ll be here when your duty to your teacher and friend is done.

@the-eldritch-sorcerer

[forthedancingandthethriving]

After a few rounds Pinky'd gotten too tired to play, which was understandable given the...Everything. In fact, she'd been tired enough that a few minutes after they decided to take a break she'd drifted off to...well, Ecolo isn't sure if Programs properly sleep, but it's close enough. So, he pulls a first aid kid from Somewhere Else (he'll try to remember to restock it and put it back later. Not that whoever owned it would ever know what happened if he didn't, but not giving back stuff he "borrowed" disappointed that voice in his head that sounded like Ringo) and got to work.

Honestly, her injuries were the first thing he noticed when he first stumbled across her. Some of them looked like they hadn't been treated in days, and far too many of them, those poor ragged wings especially, looked entirely too self-inflicted for his liking. But she clearly had issues being touched, so he'd resolved to wait until she wouldn't notice to do something about it.

He works slowly, quietly, cleaning off the black pixels that make up her "blood" (and boy isn't it lucky that hers isn't the same color as her model like most Programs or this would be way harder) and wrapping them as best he can with his...admittedly limited medical knowledge (being designed as a goopy space-time anomaly with the mind of a child had its drawbacks, who knew? he said sarcastically), saving the likely sensitive wings for last.

After several minutes, he's as done as he can be, so he heads back to his "side" of their little dimensional bubble and retreats into his core to get some rest himself, making sure to stay aware enough of his surroundings that he can tell if something changes.

He wishes he could do more to help, preferably by getting someone who'd be better at helping than him, but between Pinky clearly being uncomfortable around other people (Maguro'd probably call that an understatement) and most people not being able to remember him after he leaves, going out to find someone would probably cause more problems than it solved.

Besides, she really shouldn't be alone in her state.

(if you're wondering about why Ecolo thinks Abyssal wouldn't remember him if he left: because he's a living space-time anomaly, and because of how interdimensional travel works in the Puyo Puyo series, most people are incapable of remembering he exists when he's not in the same room as them. The few canonical exceptions are Satan(because he's Satan), a man named Ex who's the guardian of Space-Time, a few local deities, an interdimensional detective agency who consider him a major threat(which he admittedly is sometimes), and Ringo Ando who manages to remember him seemingly through sheer force of will because she thought he needed a friend when they first met. The implication here is that most Programs are not exempt from this effect. He doesn't know it yet, but Abyssal is very much not "most Programs.")

HEY YOU WANNA SEE HOW HARD I CAN CRY?? YOU WANNA??? BECAUSE I'LL FLOOD THIS ROOM DONT TEST ME /VVVPOS

God I care for this duo so much,, Ecolo respecting Abyssal's boundaries, even after she falls asleep,, him know that she definitely has issues but knowing not to push them when she clearly isn't ready,,

And yeah, Abyssal not being like "most Programs" ehejahsha- he'll probably be surprised whenever he does end up leaving at least once, returning, and she remembers him

[hestiacrow]

Test Subject - Work From Uni

Betrayal hurts. It hurts far more than the deepest wound. They said I would be fine no matter what they did to me. That I would live no matter what. They didn’t tell me that, 3 years after I signed that stupid agreement, I would no longer be human. Not to them.

My name is Subject #143B. No, that’s not really a name, just a number. Just a stupid designation for someone who was too blind to see what was going on behind closed doors. I had a real name 3 years ago, but do I remember it? Absolutely not. I don’t remember anything about who I used to be. Not after everything they’ve done.

I tried to keep hold of anything from my human life. Anything that reminded me of who I used to be. It all slipped through my fingers like water, nothing stayed. I was abandoned by everyone who came by, each in a white coat, a mask and plastic gloves.

I won’t lie, I’m surprised I remember things like plastic and colours. Why I remember those and not my name, I don’t know. It hurts though. Every time I hear that number it takes another piece of me, another piece that I will never get back. It’s a waiting game until they take all of me and leave nothing but an empty husk. They will wipe me from existence completely, one way or another. Maybe they already have.

Remember when the only living creatures that were tested on were animals? Organisms that we often considered lower than us simply because they couldn’t speak or walked on 4 legs instead of 2. How I wish I could be one of them instead of this ugly, twisted piece of meat. At least I wouldn’t need to worry about things like this. They say its for science, but those are torture devices masquerading as medical notes.

Another one of them walks in, dragging some table on wheels behind him. There’s got to be at least 5 of those serums they decided to put in me on there. He checks the straps that hold me in place. I don’t hear what he says. There’s a ringing in my ears, high pitched and drowning out any other sound. Something’s wrong. I hear him shout something. I watch his lips move. I watch him panic and run out of the room, abandoning me, leaving me stranded. There’s a flashing red light over me. I don’t understand. Everything here is white, the only time red appears is when something hurts me. What’s happening?

I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. I don’t want to know why they’ve left me for dead. They betrayed me again.

I’m going to die here. And to be frank, I don’t care.

My eyes are closed. I don't know when I closed them, but the ringing in my ears is still there. I don’t want to see the red anymore. Or the white for that matter. Any other colour will do, just not those ones. My skin is prickling, like thousands of needles poking into me at once. I want out. I want to feel nothing for once.

There are hands on me. I don’t feel plastic, they aren’t wearing gloves. They undo the straps. For the first time I can move on my own. My eyes are open. I can see the lower half of their face. They’re taller than anyone I’ve seen for 3 years. Their face is scarred and brown with dirt, a wild look in their eyes I had never seen on anyone before. I don’t recognize the clothes they’re wearing. They don’t wear white or red. Their mouth moves but I don’t hear them. I can’t read their lips. I don’t understand. Are they going to hurt me too?

I can’t hold on much longer. My head is swimming. I’m tired. I can’t move properly, my limbs won’t listen. There are black dots in front of my eyes. I wonder if they can see them too.

The ringing is dying down. I can hear them a little now, but I’m not going to be here soon. They’re telling me to stay with them. How can I leave when I can’t move? The black dots are getting bigger, I can’t see. I can’t see, I can’t see!

I can’t…

I don’t…

My world is black. No white, no red, just black.

I feel my head roll back. I’ve gone to where my mind doesn’t have to comprehend anything.

Inspired by a short passage in Sarah Kane’s 4.48 Psychosis

[bookloveravenue]

I Love You Both So Much by J.E. Birk, Rachel Ember, & Leslie McAdam

A Holiday M/M/M Romance

Everyone has secrets. I’ve kept some big ones from my two best friends, and I know they’ve got a few of their own. After all, Embry and Adam never told me why they stopped talking to each other the night we graduated college. For my part, I’ve never told them that I’m bi—or that I’ve been in love with both of them for years. I’m also definitely not telling them I’ve mismanaged my family’s tree farm so badly that it’s about to go out of business right before Christmas.

But when I crash off a ladder hanging up holiday lights and break my wrist, they come running like Santa’s elves. They’re both very grumpy about seeing each other again, but I can’t be sorry to finally have an excuse to get them in the same place. Wait until they find out we’re all sleeping in one bed…

At least their feud is put on hold when they discover what a mess I’ve made of my business. Soon the three of us are scrambling to pull off a Christmas miracle and save the farm. And maybe it’s the magic of the holidays, but a whole lot of feelings and long-buried truths are coming to the surface—and our friendship is starting to become something much bigger.

Will we survive the season? Or are all my dreams about to be crushed this Christmas?

ILYBSM is a sweet and steamy contemporary holiday m/m/m polyamorous romance about three former best friends. It stars Jeb, a sweetly oblivious farmer who’s the hottest mess to ever grow trees in Vermont; Embry, a mechanic who can fix any engine but not a relationship; and Adam, a graphic designer and organizational whiz who irons his sheets. It features truths that slip out thanks to homemade eggnog, a demon goat who looks fabulous in a Santa hat, and an unconventional happy ever after.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63046140-ilybsm

********

December 2, 2022

My Review: 5/5 Stars

What a fun story! You will immediately fall in love with Jeb, Adam, and Embry the second you open the book. Jeb is in love with his two best friends, not that he ever told either of them that. Or the fact that he is bisexual. But considering how Adam and Embry refuse to talk to one another since the day before graduation three years ago, the time to mention it hasn't really come up. That is until now. When Jeb accidentally falls off a ladder and breaks his arm, he may or may not have texted both his friends (thank you pain medication) about what happened. But he definitely doesn't expect for either to jump to his aid. Especially Adam who lives across the country in California. Now both have made it to Vermont and Jeb is determined to get them talking again and fix their friendship. And also learn the truth about the night of their big fight. Little does he know that Embry is also bisexual and Adam is gay and both are just as much in love with him as they are with one another. As they help Jeb manage his farm and even possibly save his business, truths will finally be revealed! And the start of what could be a beautiful relationship. This story was just so fun! The three of them are so different yet perfect for one another. And when you get flashbacks of their text group chat from their college years, you can't help but wonder how none of them knew they were into not only men but one another! They were clearly meant to be. But nothing is so simple and life together isn't exactly easy.You don't want to miss this fun holiday story and also by the end beg for more! There are definitely some other characters that need their own books too! These authors know how to write great stories and together? They are fantastic!

I received an ARC in exchange for an honest review.

[ivyblossom]

Building ADHD Coping Strategies

I was diagnosed very late in life (I was 44), so I stumbled upon some strategies for coping with ADHD without knowing that's what I was doing. A late diagnosis is both immensely frustrating and kind of like winning a weird award at the same time. I live with regret about my lost "potential" and a lifetime of firebombing of my own goals, and wondering what I might have managed to accomplish by now if I'd known I was different, but I also get to have a not-insignificant amount of pride about what I've managed to accomplish in spite of having a fucked up brain.

To address the usual assumptions: no, my ADHD wasn't missed because I have "girl ADHD" or a milder, less disruptive version. I have severe, hyperactive-impulsive ADHD. Then as now, girls aren't given the same benefit of the doubt that boys so often are. Also, since ADHD is almost always inherited, my behaviour and struggles were never considered weird or concerning to my mother or to my grandmother, to whom my behaviour was completely familiar, so they weren't going to flag any of it as anything other than normal.

The first thing a diagnosis gives us is permission to take care of ourselves the way we need to. There were lots of things I would like to have done to help myself complete tasks, but they look to others like going overboard or overthinking things, and people always tell me that I'm going too far, so I didn't allow my coping mechanisms be what they needed to be. The diagnosis lets me ignore those criticisms and hesitations. All ADHD hacks and coping strategies seem like "too much" to other people, so I have accepted that that criticism is meaningless and ableist, and I let myself ignore it. That alone is probably one of the best reasons to get a formal diagnosis, and the best coping strategy I have.

If something I try fails, I begin with the assumption that the issue is a missing step in the process, not that I just didn't try hard enough. Self-blame is useless and an obstacle. If a process requires me to try harder, it's a broken process. The goal is to create systems that guide me towards success and feel easy and seamless, and blaming myself doesn't help me get there. I feel badly about hurting other people or letting them down, but I have stopped blaming myself. The problem was never that I didn't care or wasn't trying hard enough. It's just the wrong systems and missing steps. Instead of feeling guilty, I apologize and explain to the person I've harmed how I'm working to avoid repeating my mistake. They can accept that or not.

One of the additional complications of ADHD is that it impacts all the executive functions, and the ability to recognize that you're struggling with a task and why requires several of those. So one of the things I've accepted is that it's okay that I don't know why I'm struggling with something. I have spent my life making up reasons for my fuck ups that feel true, but that doesn't mean they are. I've embraced the fact that not understanding why something is hard or why something failed only means I don't understand how my deficits are at play in this situation yet, and I shouldn't make assumptions about what will and won't work. Now I try to design solutions based on a few core elements where I know I have deficits and see how it goes.

Having a deficit that impacts executive function means a person with ADHD will likely not recognize or be able to see their own symptoms. I never once even considered that I might have ADHD before the age of 40, and even then I only identified with the executive function issues, not "attention deficit". I do not have an attention deficit, and I have never felt distracted. I am always laser-focused on something, it's just that that what that is can change every 30 seconds (or not change for 30 hours) without me noticing. I can only recognize "distraction" (getting pushed off task by following an impulse) when medicated. If I could see that task-shift happening, I could choose to stop it and stay on task, but without medication, I can't. ADHD is a form of inner blindness, a struggle with self-awareness and limited tool set for self-control. So another way to cope is to accept that you don't know what you don't know, and parts of you are on an auto-pilot. But you can connect with yourself to recognize, understand, and control all of these things. It just looks weird when you do it. And that's okay.

Externalizing Habit Formation

I go with the assumption that I can't form habits. It's possible I can, but I find it more useful to assume I can't. If I can't form habits, then I need to find other ways to get habitual things accomplished regularly without needing to remember to do them, and without needing to think about it. I have externalized every habit I can, and I keep adding more. Externalizing basic stuff means I waste no energy trying to remember to do them, so I save my brain for bigger things.

I've found that the first task in any strategy is planning ahead, as much as that's an agonizing concept to wrap my head around. 9 times out of 10, if something doesn't work, it's because there's another, more basic plan missing that I need first. Like can't plan meals without having a list of meals I like handy. I can't do the recall and the planning at the same time. But that's okay: I can just keep lists of meals once I know I need that.

I build my habits in a spreadsheet, beginning with the things I wish I were doing and when, and guessing how much time they take. This is how I learned that I need 90 minutes to have the morning I want to have, and for years I gave myself 20 minutes to do it. And I wondered why that wasn't working!

My future self is like a floppy puppy, and I need to give that floppy puppy some structure to keep her going in the direction she wants to be going in. I need the floppy puppy to be a) rested, b) clean, c) clothed, d) fed on a schedule so that she can tackle the unplanned tasks of the day at her best, so I lay the groundwork so that the basics will be covered without her having to think about or remember to do any of it. For normal people this is just being an adult, but I am not normal people, so my process is different.

Figuring out what habits I should have sounds easy, but it's harder than I thought. I have spent many hours designing and testing ideal routines (morning, evening, weekly, etc.), and it quickly realized that not only was I expecting to just magically do all these things without planning or a prompt before now, I wasn't even completely sure what I wanted or needed to do at any given time, so no wonder I wasn't reliably doing any of it. Determining how to offload "habits" and design prompts for them instead is an ongoing task.

To outsource habit-formation, I designed programmed audio and light prompts in daily and weekly routines via smart speakers that I keep in every room of my home. I find audio more powerful than visual screen prompts, and designing them as routines means they are regular and continuous and don't require intervention from me. In sum, I program rooms to remind me what I should be doing, and to adjust the lighting accordingly. So lights will go off in rooms I shouldn't be in, and go on in rooms i should be.

Anything I want to do habitually (like wash my face, brush my teeth, take a shower, eat breakfast, prep my lunch, plan dinner, wash my sheets, etc.) I plan and program a timed, daily or weekly prompt for. There are really no limits on this. I started by building a morning routine of prompts to keep me on task in the mornings, and then an evening routine (lay out clothes for tomorrow, get tomorrow's dinner out of the freezer, etc.) I keep building more of them as time goes on. Not only does it keep me from having to remember what I need to do, it adds texture to time and helps me recognize that time is passing.

Sometimes just these reminder isn't enough. I have learned that sometimes, to keep myself on schedule, I need to disrupt my hyperfocus. Figuring out how to do that is a task in itself. I use smart plugs on all my lamps so that I can set them to switch off on a schedule. I have created a playlist to start playing when I should be switching tasks (and getting ready for bed). Finally, I created a routine to cut power to my TV at a certain time. I can switch it back on, but it's enough work that it shakes me out of a pointless next-episode loop if I'm in one. One of the most useful things I've done to help me get out of bed in the mornings is set the whole thing to start 5 minutes earlier than then giving myself the option to ignore it for 5 minutes. For some reason that works. Possibly it just stages the transition? Not sure.

I've recently learned that getting myself to make my bed the moment I get out of it is a good way to avoid getting back into it. Also, it makes my room look nice. Which leads me to...

Filling Necessary Tasks with Tiny Joys

In retrospect I can see that one of my first coping mechanisms is using enthusiasm to motivate myself. I can create enthusiasm about almost anything, and once I'm enthusiastic, I'm more likely to follow through on a task. I find deadlines and stress too stressful a motivator, so I opted with joy and delight instead.

I try to add elements of delight to things I need to do. A shower filled with products that don't make me smile isn't a shower I'll avoid exactly, but it's not one I'll be pleased to jump into. So I put time and energy into finding out what shampoo and soap that I love. I let myself have scent obsessions. For a while I wanted everything to smell like desserts, but at the moment I'm into citrus. Is this silly? Yes. But I indulge it because it's part of making necessary tasks easier to do.

I need to get myself to bed on time, so making my bedroom delightful is another indulgence to allow myself without guilt. That means paying attention to the aesthetics, and also to textures. I need to have clean sheets, and I need to have sheets I love that feel amazing. Currently really into silky bamboo sheets. And I will reject a laundry detergent, even if it's a full bottle, if the smell of it doesn't make me happy. Wasteful? Yes. But I will indulge myself in these ways because it's part of the joy-forward plan.

I have struggled with breakfast for years, but have now solved it, partly just by making time for it, and partly by properly planning for it, but also by making it as delightful as a can. I've been making myself a honey latte using this very bougie honey + bee pollen honey I found at the market, and do I ever look forward to that latte! It's a weird flex to see your fuck ups and respond by rewarding yourself, but I've found that joy and delight yields better results than any form of deprivation or punishment, and it's results I'm after.

Externalizing Working Memory and Recall

My life is littered with evidence that I have a limited working memory, but the concept of working memory is relatively opaque to us. What's the difference between short-term memory and working memory? How does recall fit in? Don't ask me! All I know is that I need to externalize more than I think I do, so when things go pear-shaped, I try externalizing more information to see if it helps.

One of the ways I've externalized information relates to food. I have a long history of planning meals, buying all kinds of lovely ingredients, and then letting them rot in my fridge. I've deduced that part of the problem is that when I'm tired and thinking about other things, I don't have the capacity to mentally go back into that plan and pull out the idea for this meal. That's too much mental work for me at that point in the day. (Could I conjure up an entire novel's worth of plot? Yes! But remembering what I had planned to eat for dinner? Nope.) Even opening the fridge might not trigger my recall. So now I have a whiteboard on my fridge where I write what meals I planned for the day so that I don't have to remember. It's always easier for me to pick from a list than the recall anything. So I give myself lists when I need them.

My most Helpful Purchases (so far)

Electric kettle: one that switches itself off. That way, if you forget you put the kettle on, no harm done.

Smart speakers: I use Alexa devices, but apple and google devices work basically the same way. You can build routines and have them triggered by command, or time, or proximity, etc. I haven't needed to use IFTTT to accomplish anything yet, but I'm ready to. I use my phone all the time, but I also abandon it randomly, so I find apps less useful for controlling my behaviour than audio and light signals in my home. Most of my habits happen in my home anyway.

Magnetic Whiteboards: for my fridge. I have two little ones.

Robovac: Somehow I'm just more likely to let Kyle my robovac run loose than I am to vaccum myself.

Solid shampoo and conditioner: it's less plastic and better for the environment, but mainly I use solid shampoo and conditioner because I can have a year's worth of it in my bathroom without looking like a hoarder. I have a tendency to hoard things I fear forgetting to have with me. Solid shampoo is small and lasts a long time if you let it air out properly. I stack a year's worth of them in a vase in my bathroom. It looks pretty and it smells nice, but it's actually there because I fear forgetting to buy shampoo and running out. This way I literally can't run out, and when I get to the point where I only have 6 months' worth, the vase doesn't look at pretty, so I re-stock months before I have to.

Multiple laundry baskets: You need as many laundry baskets as you sort into. If you do lights and darks, you need two. If you do lights, darks, and hot water wash, you need three. One laundry basket with three classes of item inside means more thinking required to do laundry, and that's an obstacle. So multiple laundry baskets.

Weekly pill dispenser: I currently take 6 pills in the morning. That seems like a lot, but it's really very mundane: 2 prescriptions (one is two pills to reach the right dose), an antihistamine, vitamin D, and black kohosh. That is too many pills for me to manage individually first thing in the morning. It was too many pills when it was 3 pills. That's too much faffing around, I won't do it consistently, or I won't do it properly more often than not. So I dispense my 6 daily pills into a weekly dispenser. I dispense each day's worth all at once into a beautiful earthenware egg cup, pop them all into my mouth in one go the moment I wake up, and then drink water from a matching beautiful earthenware cup. This means a) I don't need to remember to take them all, and I don't even notice how many of them I'm taking, 6 is the same as 1, b) I can easily add or subtract pills without altering my routine, c) there is beauty involved in the tools and that pleases me, d) I can confirm whether or not I took my pills that day because the dispenser has 7 slots in it.

Wireless phone charger: Why plug your phone in when you could create a home for your phone where a) you know where it is, and b) it charges?

Key dish: I keep my keys in a special dish (next to my wireless phone charger) to avoid the time and stress playing "the key game", where you try to remember where you put your bloody keys. I spent weeks deciding exactly what dish I needed it to be. I ended up getting a on-the-verge-of-hideous second hand candy dish made by a now-defunct factory where my family would visit in the summer, and the weird bowl on display in that borrowed cottage. So it reminds me of happy childhood memories. I love that ugly dish. The fact that it's meaningful seems trite, but that the meaningfulness helps me to remember to put my keys in it. Looking at it gives me happy memories, which helps me to remember to use it, and to remember where my keys are.

Valet stand: this is a piece of furniture. It has a shelf, rail, and a whatsit that looks like a hanger, a thing you could hang a jacket on. They make valet chairs as well and I want one. I use a valet stand to put my next day's clothes on. It's a place to put them, but also a reminder that I need to suit it up before I got to bed. It looks so refined, and it's better than hanging things off my dresser, I figure.

More to come!

[slothgiirl]

the spy part 1(keith x reader)

8k. explicit content. while on medical leave reader meets the red paladin of voltron during the war against Zarkon.

The corridors are well lit. It’s like being in a brand new hospital, this ship in the rebel fleet. 

People hustle around, landing, taking off in smaller ships to distant planets. Your hand goes to your arm. The medic had given you a movement’s leave, so you were resting for now on this ever moving ship. 

Outside the widows, you spy an assortment of ships, each one’s origins clear from the design. So many planets, so many peoples banding together against Zarkon. You’d win the war. 

It was what you kept telling yourself. 

You would. 

It was just a matter of time.

You round the corner, stretching your arm across your chest, a simple form of physical therapy in deep space. You hadn’t seen earth since being deployed. The galaxy garrison seemed like a dream from another life. You had been on track for the chemistry department, long term missions to mars to analyze soil and dust, not this, not a war. You take a breath. 

And spot the Red Paladin. 

He’s one of the most recognizable people in the universe, and his grungy hair and distinctive outfit does him no favors. You’d never seen him before, not in the flesh. Sure. Voltron had saved your ass a handful of times. You wouldn’t have survived the assault on Arrakis if Voltron hadn’t rammed the shield. Trapped. Piloting a fighter craft that was closer to a mosquito irritating the Galra then pushing them back.

But you hardly knew him.

He’s gripping the railing tightly, trying to camouflage into the wall as an alien with crystalline blue skin and hair like saturated indigo leans into him. 

The line of his shoulders is taut, brittle. 

You don’t even think. 

“There you are,” you force yourself to be synthetically cheerful as you smile easily at the paladin, who you realize quickly you don’t know his name but you know what he is and that must be an awful feeling, being so recognizable without being known. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” you lied, elbowing the blue alien out of the way. You could never tell much from a single glance at themis species despite their largely humanoid appearance. 

You put your hand on his arm loosely, “come on, we’re late enough and you know how annoyed the others get.” Good, that seemed convincing enough. 

The red paladin’s eyes go wide, his mouth a grimace and it’s then that you notice the feverish flush to his skin. 

But he doesn’t pull away or argue. 

You ignore the alien and decide small talk was the way to go until you put some distance, “I’m kind of hurt you didn’t come visit me while I was healing,” you stick close to the truth, “but since it only took an hour? a varga? for me to heal I won’t hold it against you.” He’s too warm.

Maybe the space flu?

Was that even a thing?

You weren't sure. 

Mostly, you snuck into work camps and blew up strategic targets using whatever you could get your hands on to make a bomb. The chemistry came in handy. 

He sways as he walks, looking like your roommate at the garrison after a few too many hits after an exam. “Do I know you?”

You flush, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just,” you look back, but the alien’s been left a couple turns back, “you looked uncomfortable.” You take a step back, letting go of him. “Are you okay?” 

His expression furrows, mouth a pinched line as he goes from suspicious to annoyed, takes a u-turn back to suspicious as he studies you, before relaxing. “Yeah. yeah. . .who are you?”

You introduce yourself, taking on the meaningless garrison designation at the end, “technically second year member, though I’ve been with the runners mostly.” No designation more than a number. 

“You do look human,” he replies simply, moving to get a look at your ears, “not many of those out here.”

“And yet somehow the sentries always look the other way,” you muse, “not very bright. I’m almost convinced the Empire’s in it’s failing bureaucracy days.” 

He winces, before deadpanning, “eh, I don’t know how useful a lion is against the DMV.” 

You laugh. 

He takes slow deliberate breaths, steadying himself, “I’m Keith.”

“Seriously though, do you need to see a medic?” He looked in serious need of a tylenol. The ships were usually crisp, you wore a jacket most of the time to stave off the permanent chill. 

Keith shakes his head, chewing his lip before meeting your gaze with an intense concentration in his violet eyes, as if he was gauging how much titrant he could add before hitting the endpoint and if half a drop was worth the risk. “I’m just. . .going through something.”

“Anyone I can call for you?” You weren't about to abandon him here. Sure, he was a paladin and could probably look after himself. But you couldn’t in good conscience walk away. 

He swallows, looking down for a moment and you are startled to find how much you miss his attention boring into you with the loveliest eyes you’d ever seen. 

“No,” Keith replies mulishly as he jerks away from you. “I’m fine.”

Which was a total lie. It was obvious he wasn’t feeling well but you weren’t about to get on his case. You were sure he had people for that. He wasn’t some random soldier in arms with you that you watched out for and hoped not to have to watch die. 

You swallow the bitter thought away, crossing your arms over your chest.

Leaning back against the hall, you watch evenly as Keith stumbles, catching himself on the wall. His mouth is a drawn line of determination. 

You didn’t understand why. 

There was aid here. It wasn’t the same as crawling through cramped mining tunnels and swallowing back pain forcing yourself to work through it until the mission was accomplished. 

“Do you need help,” you ask.

“No.” He leans a hand against the wall.

You raise a brow, wondering if he would pass out for whatever weird space flu he had clearly caught and you could only hope it was nothing like the infections that ran rampant in the work camps, or if he would give in and accept your offer of help. The former seemed more likely. 

You don’t ditch him though, focusing your attention on the porthole to the stars. 

There was no rush: no reason to help him by force. People didn’t learn if you babied them you’d caught on quick back on earth during your tutoring hours. You had to let them fall and smash their face in sometimes. 

So you stay, watching the stars.

Keith makes no move to take another step. 

It still got you, looking out into the vastness of space and realizing this really was your life now, you were out here, further than you’d ever dreamed. Everywhere you looked, novel stars, distant planets teaming with life. You could have done without the war, but it was what it was. 

“And here I thought Mars would be the furthest I’d go,” you comment more to yourself than Keith. 

The red paladin makes a small sound of acknowledgement. 

“Earth’s, or was, at the beginning of our space age. People had barely begun to live on the research bases on Mars,” you watch him out of the corner of your eye in case he really does pass out, “so no Star Trek for me but now I’m here.” 

“There’s a war going on.”

You turn over to look at him, sort of annoyed because yeah you got that, spent enough time in the trenches without a fancy lion spaceship, but the bubbling annoyance dissipates when you see the upturned corners of his mouth. Keith was teasing you. 

Shifting your weight, you add, “yeah well, instead of being a footnote in a Mars base’s history I’ll be a footnote in this war instead.” Gallows humor. You needed a lot of that when regularly infiltrating camps and posing as a slave, as a prisoner, the bottom of the barrel that wouldn’t get a second glance from the Galra soldiers. 

He frowns. “I don't think anyone’s just a footnote.”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.” Keith looks away.

You feel bad. “It’s probably better not to be so cynical,” you muse, “but it’s like the vice president thing, no one remembers them unless the president gets assassinated.” God you couldn’t help how dark your humor could veer even when trying to be positive. 

He looks over at you, head tilted, considering. Despite being standoffish, Keith was easy to read unlike the slick space pirates you’d encountered. 

You meet his gaze head on. 

“I might need some help,” he allows. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth. “If you’re sure,” you utter, regarding him carefully and unable to keep the teasing from your voice. You shouldn’t. You barely knew him and what little you’d learned made it clear he wouldn’t take well to your teasing. 

War made quick brothers out of everyone. 

But Keith held himself afar.

A questioning glance danced in his uniquely violet eyes as he tried to get a read on you. “I am.” 

You nod, stepping besides him and wrapping an arm around his waist. You were always caught by surprise by how heavy a grown adult could be. And depending on the alien. . .

He takes a step, still holding himself afar from you, barely resting any weight on you. His muscles were stiff under your touch, back rigid that matched the uncomfortable look on his chiselled features. 

You follow his lead. 

At Keith’s sedate pace, it would take quite a while before you dropped him off where you needed to go. Being personable was part of being a leader or it’d lead to mutiny. Not that you had ever gotten that far. The Galaxy Garrison had slapped the graduation badge on your uniform and sent you into space. 

You scrabble for familiar territory, earth and the garrison. The Black Paladin was a Garrison member returned from the grave. Rumor had it all the paladins were garrison deserters. 

Veronica McCain did share a familiar resemblance with the blue paladin. It was probably true. 

“I attended the Garrison campus at Guiana,” you offer. “I was hoping for Texas or Florida to be closer to home, but I didn’t test into pilot or engineer.” 

Keith makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

Even through the fabric of his uniform, he felt warm. How anybody could be warm in such cold halls was anybody’s guess. A permanent chill had sunk its way into your bones. You missed the humid heat of Guiana. 

“It was nice though. The jungle was pretty close and it was always hot,” you tell him. “I thought I wouldn’t miss the humidity, step outside and it was like having just showered but I do. These ships have to be at 15 C.” 

“Texas is hot too.” Keith utters quietly. 

“Isn’t the desert cold at night though,” you ask, already knowing the answer. It had been basic earth science. 

“Yeah. It is.” There’s longing in his voice. You wish he’d say more just to hear him speak. 

Warmth spreads, an embarrassing tell, through your cheeks. 

“I did miss the snow while there,” you continue, “it didn’t snow much up in Vancouver but it was never as hot as Guiana, and the rain was warm!” You had never gotten over that. The rain would spot and start throughout the day but the sun would keep on shining. 

“What were you,” Keith asks bluntly.

“Chemisist, more the physical and inorganic type,” you admit, “it was fun doing wet labs.” That had gotten you hooked back in regular school. “Then got shunted to command track after a few too many volunteering opportunities. Guess the lesson there’s to not try too hard.”

That gets a laugh out of him. 

“You,” you ask him as he shifts more of his weight onto you, finally accepting the help he asked for. Stubborn guy. 

“Pilot.”

You look over at him, his wild hair brushing against your cheek and the simple action shouldn’t excite you but it does. He was hot with sharp features offset by a certain enthralling earnestness but he could run a comb through his hair.

Keith didn’t seem the pilot type: arrogant, loud, generally strong personalities. 

“You any good,” you ask though you’ve heard about Voltron so he has to be pretty fucking good to be part of them. How did Voltron choose its pilots?

He smirks easily, close to a smile at the mere mention of piloting and you knew that moment he loved it: didn’t matter if he was good at it or not. You swallow hard as anticipation buzzes under your skin for no good reason. 

Get your head out of the gutter, you tell yourself. 

“I’m a pretty good pilot,” Keith answers, somehow managing to sound like he’s stating a fact instead of bragging. 

“Just pretty good?” You smile at him, letting him know you were only joking around as you both round another corner, finally making it to the transient quarters. People were always dropping in and out of mobile spaceports like these. 

He snorts. “Better than most.” Keith shrugs, smiling over at you. 

“Don’t be modest on my account,” you utter, looking away, not sure what to do about the growing heat in your body that had nothing to do with temperature controls. 

“It’s true,” he says simply. 

Honesty was a hard thing to come by. You were finding more and more reasons to like the red paladin as you reach his current room. No special treatment here. 

Or maybe it was politics and optics, making sure everyone knew Voltron was of the people and not aiming to replace Zarkon as rulers of the universe. 

Keith places a hand against the door, putting space between you both.

You swallow, glancing away, feeling some of the tension ease. 

“You sure you don’t want me to send a medic,” you ask him, looking over at his striking eyes. The heat under your skin is a live wire: you curl your toes in your shoes. People usually didn’t affect you this much. Even the smell of him was so distinct, drawing you in. 

It was an unprecedented reaction. 

He must feel it too. 

Keith studies you with an enraptured fascination shining in his wide eyes, mouth parted on the verge of answering. Both your bodies sway towards each other like branches in the wind: sunflowers orienting towards the sun. 

You shift your weight from one foot to another. 

It relieves enough tension for you to shift away. 

“No. No medic,” Keith finally answers. 

“Right then.” But you don’t make a move to leave. 

He says nothing. 

The silence is broken by the hum of the ship's engines under your feet. People move about and you can hear their footsteps echoing on the metal floors. 

Supposedly quintessence powered ships smelled like ozone. 

This one was powered by crystals and some Olkari engine. You wouldn't know the specifics, they were beyond you. And not your job. 

You look back at him, ready to leave. The space between you could so easily tilt to awkward and you weren’t sure what you were doing or why you found yourself so entranced by Keith. You barely knew him. You didn’t want to be one of the soldiers with a photograph in your pocket and a farflung hope that you’d-

He’s looking at you, cautious, movements slow and deliberate as if he’s caught between thinking and simply doing. 

Then Keith’s demeanour becomes determined: deciding to take the leap without looking down. He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you.

For a second you’re baffled, trying to figure out how you got to point B when this wasn’t a bar and you had no agenda, before you shrug and kiss him back. Keith was undeniably attractive. He was even a bit taller than you which was compelling, you were on the tall side for a girl. 

It’s not some unsolvable thought experiment, you kiss him back.

And a current of static electricity runs through your core. Heat pools after only just a kiss that steals your breath away. 

You can’t get enough, his hands warm against your skin, igniting a delicious sensation in your very core. You want more. You kiss him harder, your mouth against his, sucking on his bottom lip. 

Your hands clutch at the fabric of his shift.

Keith kisses you back, matching your frenzied energy, his mouth parting against yours and pulling you flush against his chest. 

It does nothing to dissolve the tension, the charged energy between you spikes. Like a fire fed by wood it grew. 

It was a heady feeling, his hands caressing your cheeks as Keith kissed you with a vigor you thought only existed in soapy dramas. Heat pools in your belly like a sinking stone: you liked his intensity. 

Keith pulls away, catching his breath, resting his forehead against yours. 

Some of the muddled list clears from your head, now completely in the gutter as you press Keith against the door to his room. 

Oh. . .were you really doing this?

Keith looks a fuckable mess, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. Still, he hesitates. 

You can feel the question linger in the air, can feel it in the featherlight touch of his hands ghosting over your cheeks as he makes to pull away, to let you go if you want to turn back now. But you don’t.

You want to run your hands through his hair. You’re practically burning up wondering how Keith would look splayed on the bed between your thighs. . .how he would feel. 

Would he be just as intense in bed as he fucked you? 

“You feel it too,” he asks quietly.

You furrow your brows, thrown. There were a lot of intense emotions coursing through you all narrowed down to feeling horny as a teenager back on earth. Masturbation only went so far. 

You swallow, trying to rack your brain cells together and say something. Yeah. It was a bit. . .much. Space much. But that didn’t make any sense. You hadn’t taken any drinks from strangers. 

The connection was too strong to discount the possibility of space weirdness affecting both of you. 

“Yeah,” you reply, sounding more whiny than you’d like to. The apex of your thighs throbbed with want. Anticipation had built up and he was right there; Keith

s breath fanned over you, his forehead against yours like a touchpoint. 

Your fingers were still curled into the fabric of his shirt. 

In the hall. 

Where anyone could see. 

“So what now,” you ask, “medic?”

Keith snorts, “No. I just-do you want to come inside?”

You smirk. Everyone knew what that meant. There were so many variations with the same outcome. 

“Yeah. Okay.” You put a pin in any alien space nonsense and slip inside Keith’s assigned quarters for however long Voltron was here for.

The lights are off. You don’t bother to study the room when Keith crushes his mouth against yours. You stumble around in the dark, feeling emboldened now that he’d voiced an invitation, he wanted this as much as you did, and run your hands up his chest. He was lean and lithe. Keith leans into your touch, a shiver running down his spine when you run your fingers through his hair and run your tongue over his bottom lip. 

Keith moans, the sound scratchy from the back of his throat excites you. 

It was thrilling to know you could elicit such a response from someone. You liked feeling hot and sexy. And from a guy like Keith who you were vibing with. . .

He finds the jagged hem of your cut tank top, which had doubled as a bandage, and slides his hands under your shirt. His fingers are calloused, skin hot against yours and there was always something so carnal about skin on skin touch. Keith clutches at your sides and leads you backwards. 

You trust that he knows the layout.

Your mind has boiled down to simple desires. 

“Keith,” you mumble against his mouth as he guides your hips against his and you feel his cock beneath the fabric. It goes straight to your ego: straight to your pussy. 

More heat. It’s unbearable how much your body throbs and you moan against him, against his lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

“Mhm,” he asks, just as overcome with lust as you were. Keith tilts his head up, and you kiss his jaw, kiss the side of his throat, nipping at the flesh and enjoying the breathy moans he makes as your knees hit the bed. 

You want more. 

You move your hands to his shoulders, “let's get this off,” you utter softly, pushing at his jacket. 

“Okay,” he replies, crowding you against his bed until you have no choice but to sit down. Keith discards his jacket, and pulls his shirt over his head. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. It’s dark. You can’t see him well. You still react like a charged electron. 

“Now you,” Keith states simply, not exactly a command. It was nice, the lack of mind games and subterfuge. 

You scoot up further on the bed, shrugging your bomber jacket off. 

He’s watching. 

Awkwardness creeps up on you. There was no sexy way to take off a sports bra. 

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. Then you peel off your sports bra. The elastic worked too well. 

Keith’s sitting up on his knees.

“You’re beautiful,” he states.

“Come here,” you utter, inviting him closer. 

He complies readily, cupping your cheek and kissing your mouth eagerly, closer to a lover than a random encounter. 

You grab his other hand, guiding him up to your chest, to your breast. Keith runs his thumb over your nipple, gooseflesh rises on your skin. He trails bruising kisses down your throat. 

Your breath catches in your throat. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you, savoring the feel of his chest against yours. 

“Fuck,” you groan as Keith bites down hard at the crook of your neck, harder than you’d expected. 

He stills. “I’m-I,” making to pull away.

“No,” you reach for him, tilting his head up as you move to straddle his waist, “it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.”

“I won’t do it again,” he stammers out. 

“I didn't say I didn't like it.” You push him down against the bed, topping him. “Just warn a girl.”

Keith wraps his hands around your hips, tugging at the waistband of your trousers. “These are kind of in the way.”

Laughing, you reply, “could say the same to you.” Your hands pop the button of his jeans. 

It’s a fumble to pull your trousers down. Neither of you care, eager to get on with it. He shoves his jeans down his legs along with his boxers. 

You straddle Keith, completely naked and lean down to capture his lips against yours. His cock twitches against your thigh and your toes curl up. His tongue runs over your top lip, you part your mouth, letting him in. 

You cup his cheeks between your hands, your hips rolling against his. 

He thrusts feverishly against you. His fingers dig into your bare hips, skin against skin. 

“Come here,” Keith utters hoarsely, “I wanna fuck you.” 

“Think I’d rather ride you,” you reply back breathlessly.

“You can do that after,” he whines, a rumble emanating from his chest but your head is too fucked up to make sense of it. 

You sit up, hands on his chest. “That’s presumptuous of you.” 

Keith grins, wrapping his hands around your wrists, and rolls you over so he’s on top. “Is it,” he asks rhetorically as his hand reaches between your thighs, ghosting over the wetness of your pussy, “when you’re this wet?”

You moan, canting your hips, cashing the feel of his hand, wanting relief. It was a mounting pressure in your belly, a forest fire under your skin and you needed Keith. “Okay. yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes when Keith bent his head and licked a stripe from your nipple to your collarbone. You whimper, lost in the sensation. 

“Tell me what you want,” Keith asks. 

“Fuck me. Please fuck me,” you utter, you hands clutchinf at his shoulders, bringing him flush agaisnt you. 

Keith aquieses. 

You bend your knees, spreading your legs as he positions his cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Keith mutters as he pushes into you. 

Fuck indeed. You moan his name without thought, closing your eyes and laying your head back against the bed. His cock fills you up, sliding into your pussy with ease given how turned on you were. 

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he stretches you out. 

“God, yes,” you utter dazed. 

Keith moves his hips. You roll your hips up to meet him. He nips at your collarbone as he thrusts into you with favour. 

As promised he fucks you.

Keith captures your mouth in a kiss that catches the moans you make as he reaches between you and runs his thumb over your clit. His pace, the way he was kissing you madly. . .the heat that had been building since you’d met him comes crashing down. 

You come. 

Leaving you boneless. 

“Keith,” you whimper.

“Sh,” he tells you, kissing the shell of your ear, “let me make you feel good.”

“You..sort of already did,” you utter completely fucked out. 

“Turn over.” Keith says even as he’s already helping you move, his arms supporting your weight. He presses his lips on the back of your neck, as he grabs a pillow and sets it under you. 

You bring up your knees, laying on your legs, “thought I was going to go next,” you tease, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair. 

He stills, “if you. . .”

“No. No,” you shrug, “I did ask you to fuck me.”

Keith runs his hands over your shoulders, sliding down your sides. He squeezes your ass with his hands. 

“Best two out of three,” you offer, half joking half serious because while you were still blissed out from having just orgasmed, you could already feel your pussy clench with anticipation. Seriously, the effect he had on you-

You can feel his smile against your skin, “If you think you can handle it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you reply, arching your back into him, titling your head back, and pulling his hair so you could kiss him. It was sloppy, and the angle was awkward, but none of it mattered when Keith stroked your pussy with his fingers, dipping into your wet folds. 

Already stimulated, you shudder with pleasure. 

Your tongue strokes his in an open mouthed kiss. He tastes as good as he smells, Keith filling up your senses like an incense stick wafting through a room. 

He wraps an arm around your chest, his hand caressing your breast, pulling you against his chest, both of you melding together. Keith thrusts his cock into you again. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, hand fisting the sheets of his bed, moaning into his mouth. 

It was a combination of his cock in you, his thumb rolling your nipple in his hand, that set you aflame. 

You couldn’t get enough, your hips jerking back, up to meet his. Keith fucks you against the bed. 

He palms your breast in his hand, pulling you up to him, keeping you close as he plants a kiss at the juncture of your ear and jaw, on the side of your neck whilst nipping the skin and you moan, his cock hitting just the right spot as he slams into you. 

First he grows comfortable, pulling almost entirely out before thrusting hard as he finds a pace that leaves you both a mess. 

“Right there, right there,” you utter. 

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He punctuates his words with a roll of his hips, his fingers draw a circle around your clit without giving you the satisfaction you desperately seek, already building up to another climax. 

You nod jerkily. “So fucking good Keith. Your cock feels so fucking good,” you manage to reply.

He speeds up, faster, deeper, at your words. The bedframe, bolted down into the floor, creaks. 

“Just like that.” You moan wantonly. “Right there.”

He responds to your words, pulling out to the head of his cock, teasing your entrance just so before slamming back in.

You shut your eyes and whimper, over sensitive to your very marrow. It was too much. Keith was trailing kisses down your spine, his breath warm, his cock twitching inside your filling every inch of your pussy up. 

With a shudder, you come, stars behind your eyelids and short circuiting. You never knew sex could be this amazing. Not in real life. 

You got what people meant about the right partner. 

The right sexual energy to match. 

You collapse, a puppet with its strings cut. Keith’s hand across your chest is the only thing keeping you from melding into the mattress like a blob. His hips thrust against your ass mindlessly, chasing his own climax.

With another couple of thrusts, his hips snapping against you, Keith moans your name and comes undone behind you. 

He comes inside you, hot and sticky.

His hand grasps the back of your neck, holding you in place as he comes inside you. It’s unexpectedly hot. You didn’t know you could like this in bed. 

You didn’t know how much you liked an obstinate expression with wide eyes until you met Keith. He had the type of soulful eyes you could drown in. 

He had drawn out something in you that you hadn’t even been aware of. 

Your thoughts center on him as he finishes inside you. 

“You take my dick so good,” he says with a surprising amount of softness for what amounts to a one night stand and a pang strikes your chest, wishing you had met him under better circumstances where there might be-

Keith gets off you, slumping next to you on the bed. 

There’s a thrum of satisfaction running through you as you look at his face in profile. The insane idea that you might just stay and cuddle plants itself. 

That was impossible.

It was time to cut and run.

Sure, he’d fucked you. But he was also still half a stranger. No matter how jumbled your thoughts were, you refused to give into the pull he had on you. 

You wanted to lay there with him. 

Keith blinks slowly, looking as blissed out as you feel, reaching out a hand towards you, but stopping himself halfway. 

You feel a little disappointed, but say nothing. It was just a one off thing you remind yourself, no matter how you felt. 

Now that you can think a little more clearly, though the sensation remains like a lump in your throat that starts there no matter how much you swallow, you glance around the dark room. Only the barest red lights on the floor illuminate enough to cast shadows. 

Keith’s own eyes reflect the light like a cat. Just a glimmer of traffic sign yellow. 

But you’re too tired to think, so you file it away in your head under the nebulous details you’ve learned about the red paladin.  

You blink, grimancing as Keith’s come runs down your thigh onto the sheets. At least they weren’t yours. 

He closes his eyes. 

“I’d say sorry about the mess,” you break the easy silence lulling you into staying there, “but it's your fault,” you tease way too familiarly. 

Keith sounds embarrassed when he utters, “sorry about that. I can get carried away.”

You smile softly, tracing over his shadowed form with your eyes but resisting the urge to reach out. That part was over. “It was good.”

“You did mention.” 

So he could joke. 

You giggle in the darkness that envelopes the room. You were good at being friendly and taking charge but you understood the hesitancy to open up to people you just met. 

Keith’s chest makes a rumbling sound akin to a cheetah purring. 

You try and hold onto the thought, sure it means something, but the sound draws you in and you lose the battle against yourself, curling up into his side. 

He takes this as the permission it is, and tangles his limbs with yours. 

A thrum of warmth surges where Keith’s skin touches you and you’re not sure if its his running warm or if it's all in your head or-

your eyes drift closed. 

He’s purring.

You know Keith would be embarrassed if you pointed it out. 

So you say nothing. 

Everything seemed so intangible anyhow. The world had been turned down a notch. The post orgasm glow remained unrivalled. 

Even a hit from a bong didn’t measure up. 

Your first time had been a real embarrassment (you hadn’t managed to get the boy’s cock in you), this was just a weird quirk of his, and it was soothing. 

You close your eyes. 

Keith’s breathing is deep and steady, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but don’t feel pressured to check. 

It was nice, not scurrying off, not being more than a little drunk. War was exhausting. Earth had only been in it for less than three years. No wonder some aliens were in such shit moods. 

You exhale. 

There’s no way to mark the passage of time. 

The bed shifts under you. Keith runs the back of his hand gently over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter open.

“So would this be round two or three,” you ask lightly.

Keith smiles lightly, “you did say…”

“I did,” you laugh easily, blushing, the flush creeping from your cheeks to the tips of your ears. 

You swing a leg over his waist, straddling him, but not without feeling the start of a soreness in your legs. It doesn’t deter you. 

Keith lays back, watching you through his lashes as you sit up. He looks lovely. 

You lean down and kiss his mouth, reaching for his cock with your hands. He was already half hard when you wrap your hand around his shaft. 

His breath hitches in his throat as you move your hand. It’s been a moment since you’d jerk anyone, but it’s not rocket science. You press kisses down his throat, moving your hand firmly up and down his length until he’s completely hard. You nip at his collarbone, marking him the way he’d left bruising kiss all over you. 

His cock twitches in your hand, Keith’s hips thrusting up into you. 

Anticipation builds in your belly, but you want to set the pace, stay in charge. So you still your movements.

Keith whines under you, his hands holding your waist.

“Be a good boy for me,” you tell him. “Can you do that?”

“Mm.”

“Use your words.”

“Yeah,” he manages hoarsely, “I can be good.”

You smile, lining him up against your entrance. You shift your hips, teasing his cock against your wet folds, closing your eyes as you moan at the feeling. 

Keith thrusts up, trying to get more friction.

You still wanting to drag it out. Though your thighs ached and your pussy throbbed and you wondering if you should just-

You rub his cockhead against your pussy, “oooOH,” you moan. Your nails scratch his chest lightly, trying to steady yourself. Your heart raced, back arching down to him.

“Come here,” Keith groans, his fingers trailing up, asking for more, his hand on the small of your back. 

You give in, sinking down onto his cock. 

He moans your name, shutting his eyes. 

It’s pornographic, the way Keith rises up to meet you, hips bucking against yours, the expanse of his pale throat. 

You roll your hips slowly, fucking yourself on his cock. At this angle, the way he filled you- 

“Fuck,” Keith moans, “you feel so good.”

“I could say the same,” you reply, sliding against his hips, picking up speed. You hold yourself up, hand on his chest.

You suck in a breath as his cock thrusts into you. Static filled your head as you chased your pleasure, grinding against him. You tilt your head back, moaning his name, everything but Keith becoming background noise. 

He palms your breast.

Your breath hitches when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and finger.

“Ah,” you sigh. 

Your stomach was taunt. 

He doesn’t go further. You sort of wish he would. You trusted Keith not to hurt you. . .too badly. 

The idea excites you, as he wraps his hand around your throat. 

You match him, curling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard, “look at me,” you try and order but your voice is a whine. You’re too hot and heavy to think. 

His cock twitches inside you, filling you up and fuck it felt good to be streched out. 

Keith’s thumb strokes the side of your throat, his grip firm. “Do you like this,” he asks, his gaze heavy on you. He was entirely concentrated on you. It was like being worshipped. 

It sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you got rougher,” you admit, finding it easy to trust him.

He looks away. 

You falter. Had you read things wrong? 

Keith bucks his hips up against you and you let the thought go, sinking onto his cock and groaning, “Keith…” 

It was easy to let go when it felt this good. His hand around your throat, fingers digging into your hips, you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. Not that anyone would be able to tell from over your uniform. 

A shudder runs down your spine, you squirm on his cock mindlessly, thinking about bruises in the shape of his hands, about the marks on your neck you could already feel blooming on your skin. Heat surges in your chest, something primal as your thoughts linger there. 

You nails run down his chest, leaving shallow scratches as you try and get a better hold, desperately grinding against Keith, down on the bed, his cock ramming into you. “Fuck,” you think, “fuck. . .Keith. . .”

You can’t stand it. 

The pressure in your stomach, the heat scorching your pussy, the sound of Keith’s whines and moans, your name tumbling out of his mouth like a hymn that raised your heart beat, blood pounding in your ears. 

Keith squeezes your neck, your throat bobs under his fingers and fuck-

You come. 

Your legs tremble, unable to support you any longer as you collapse, a quivering mess on Keith. His hands move down to grip your thighs, pulling you down flush against him, down to the hilt of his cock as he comes, moaning erotically. 

The thread of heat doesn’t dissipate entirely as you rest on his chest, boneless and sticky with sweat, but it relaxes and you breath the scent of him in instead of pulling away entirely. 

Keith strokes a hand down your spine, an afterthought, “that was. . .” 

“Yeah.” You’re exhausted. 

You close your eyes, listening to the inhuman rumble of Keith’s chest as it rises and falls with every breath you take. 

You end up slipping out. The halls are in the light cycle, but no one bothers you as you walk. 

Getting up the next morning is hell. 

Your legs are sore, and that’s not even mentioning how much your pussy hurts when you take a step. You take a dose of painkillers still remaining from your injury and check your messages. 

Nothing from earth. 

That was expected. 

The meager universal communications were taken up by the war effort. You still sent your family messages, even if it was just one way. It was a way to keep in touch. It felt like watching starlight and knowing it was millions of years old, a form of time travel. 

You shower. 

Keith’s come was a mess on the inside of your thighs and the thought is not as gross as it should be, your skin warming up, zapped by static. You run your fingers over your clit and fuck yourself in the shower thinking of the red paladin and his come.

You get out, brushing your hair out, not looking in the mirror at the purple hickies spread out like a constellation on your chest, and realize how weird you were being. 

Come was gross. 

You hated swallowing so you never did. The tentative relationships at the garrison had been short, you had all been teenagers, and now anything that happened was a one off thing sometimes involving aliens. 

You swallow, gripping the counter of your sink. You were horny again. 

No. 

Not going there. 

No space weirdness this morning. 

Because you’re on leave for the space equivalent of 6 or 5 days, you don’t have much to do. You get food. It had taken getting used to, and figuring out which brightly colored pastel goo thing was good, but there was a variety. You still had no clue what was plants or animals up in space. 

The more liberated planets, the more supplies trickled in. Pirates loved to take a cut. 

You eat as soldiers stop by to refuel, fill up on supplies. Despite the stress, you missed being out on the front. Being out of the action sucked. 

Sitting around on a spaceship was boring. 

It wasn’t like they had shops or movie theaters. Walking around too much ended up with you being in the way. 

You clench your jaw, feeling feverish. 

And you had just been getting better. . .

You shove the thought away. 

You end up watching space TV: reality TV shows like Galra Ninja Warrior and nature docu series on plants, some you’ve been on, before finally sliding your hand under the waistband of your trousers and rubbing your clit. 

It takes the edge off, but the heat’s still there, pressed up in the pit of your stomach, cheeks flushes and you sigh, unsatisfied as you click to something other than the marine biomes of Kmeolsuahr. For aliens larger than a schoolbus, they were peaceful creatures. Since they were filter feeders, agriculture had never developed a hold on their planet, but water generators were plentiful. 

Yet another show starring Galra. It was the most common type of show in the Empire. Hijacking communications had given this traveling spaceship TV. You were glad for it now. 

You curl up, the communicator snug around your wrist translating everything instantaneously. It was the part in the soap where there has to be a duel for honor. What a load of crap. 

The two Galra circle each other, close ups of their face like a mexican stand-off. Through TV you got to know the Glara in the empire as more than just soldiers. Spending time in the camps taught you that even Galra citizens could be arrested for treasonous statements against Zarkon. 

They make growling alien sounds, something between a jaguar and a sound not found on earth, an underlying clicking that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. 

You connect the dots. 

The glowing eyes, the purrs and rumbles, and whatever weird alien thing was going on: the red paladin was part Galra. 

Only that made no sense. 

He was from Earth. 

First contact had been what, when the paladins had disappeared? When the Kerberos mission had been abducted, and boy had that made fringe conspiracy theorists happy. . .how could he be part Galra? 

Was it even your problem?

Surely this would go away. . .

You were leaving in a little over five days. 

You curl up and watch TV until you fall asleep, determined to enjoy the rest while it lasted and your weren’t trudging through waist deep mud. 

“Read through the debrief,” a commander with a nebulous rank above you asks. In your line of work, so much was redacted. Information gathering was a fancy way of saying spy. It was why you worked so closely with the rebels. 

You don’t even blink at the slight pale easter egg yellow alien, ears that resembled hair, long and droopy like a rabbit: there were four of them. You’d met stranger. “Yeah. Long mission.”

You were not looking forward to being on a planet with an inhospitable surface. A sun close enough that set the surface on fire with it’s rays, no thanks. 

Still, it was your assignment. 

“It is vital.”

They always said that. 

It seemed to be extracting some key players. Who they were remained unknown until you had to know. It was a lot of flying blind to keep information from leaking to the wrong ears. Loose lips sink ships and all that jazz. 

“I’ll treat it that way,” you nod, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. It would be fun flying a hijacked Galra fighter ship. The planet was pretty deep in Empire controlled space. 

“And,” the alien looks you up and down like a Garrison RA finding a stain on your uniform during morning inspection, “get rid of that scent.”

“What,” you ask plainly, “scent.”

The alien raises a hairless muscle over its eye. The gesture is human enough. “Voltron has docked here.” 

It was subterfuge. Both of you were in the same line of work, you could do this dance in your sleep. “As far as I know, yes.” You are careful to keep your expression neutral, feeling stupid for not having used negating get. It wasn’t even rationed, but used pretty widely. There were many aliens who relied primarily on scent, and those whose sense of smell was far sharper than yours. 

“Mm.”

You hold their gaze. 

You weren’t one to waver.

“Any further questions?”

“None.”

“Good.”

You walk blithely back to your room, intending to shower, again, and probably take care of the warmth in your gut. The heat was like an uncomfortable itch under your skin that stubbornly remained no matter how much you ignored it. 

How was it even possible that Keith was any part alien let alone Galra? You were pretty sure the entire planet would have known if the Galra arrived on the planet. 

It was intriguing. 

Your mind drew up the details you knew, trying to make them fit. It was half mental exercise, half the urge to actually get to the bottom of this. Keith didn’t look half Glara like Prince Lotor and his gang of misfits. . .quarter, one sixteenth. . .

Occam's Razor. 

The mystery occupied your mind as you made it back to your quarters. 

Keith is pacing outside your door. 

How did he even know where your quarters were?

“Did you sniff your way here,” you ask, genuinely curious. Maybe the traits might not be apparent. . .just how Galra was the red paladin. You were reminded again how little you actually knew him. 

Understanding fills his eyes; he knew you knew. Keith looks over at you for a second before ducking his head dejectedly, a straw dog expecting to be run off. 

Your heart ached. 

How a paladin of Voltron could be so self conscious despite going toe to toe with the Empire on a daily basis. . .you didn’t know. They were only flesh and blood after all. 

You take pity on him, “so is this going to be a thing,” the corners of your mouth lift into a small smile. You were still a little sore. You wouldn’t mind going another few rounds. . .

But you needed to clear some things up first. 

Just how much of this between you was space Galra funkiness? 

Keith snorts, looking up, meeting your searching gaze. His shoulders were still tense, unsure that you weren’t about to tell him to shove off. Not the loner type entirely by choice then, his innate awkwardness must have made it hard to connect. 

It wasn’t a problem you’d ever had, rushing into everything headfirst, taking charge. 

“Not like there’s a lot of humans to choose from up here,” he says self-deprecatingly. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m down for some alien funkiness,” you answer evenly, taking a step towards him. He inhales sharply, looking away again, this time in thought. 

The lines of his face increase, clearly uncomfortable, frowning. 

“I can’t usually,” Keith admits in a tense voice, “smell this well. . .though I can smell better than Shiro.”

“Shiro?”

“The black paladin,” he explains, surprised he has to explain at all. 

You answer his unvoiced question, “everyone tends to focus on the color of the lion rather than the pilot inside.”

“Oh. That’s dumb.” He looks a little relieved at the anonymity that grants. 

“Is it just me then,” you ask, getting to the bottom of things. 

He nods, meeting your gaze. “I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking of fucking you,” he says without ceremony. 

You find yourself blushing. The connection went both ways, the very alien connection. “Don’t hate me but I think we should go to the medic.” 

Keith frowns. “Or we could just fuck.”

“That horny,” you tease, raising a brow, “or was I just that good?”

Keith cusps a hand against your cheek, his thumb running over your lips. 

Your mouth parts, the tip of your tongue grazing his thumb. 

“So you don’t want to fuck,” Keith asks, a playful smirk on his lips. 

You swallow, the urge to say yes right there as his touch on you entranced you, sending desire cascading through your body down to your toes. “This isn’t just alien weirdness is it?” You wanted it to be more. 

“No,” he shakes his head, his breath mingling with yours. “That’s-I’m not that impulsive.”

“Good,” you mutter, pressing your body against his, and opening the door to your room.

[banditywrites]

Fic Preview: Gilded- Pinch of Platinum

To prove to myself and to anyone who is around that I am still, in fact, writing. 

The beginning of my fic, based on the title prompt: Pinch of Platinum. I have added to the title and that may change or not before posting onto ao3, but here is some of the fic so far anyway. 

Summary: Lance is captured by some not so nice aliens and they are trying to decide what to do with him.

Gilded: Pinch of Platinum

He had gotten too comfortable out in space.

They had won a few fights and he must have let it go to his head, thinking he was good and capable of anything and safe.

He was wrong.

One of the worst parts was not having any memory of what happened. The last thing he remembered was being on the castle and they were making plans to do a supply run on a nearby planet. He was pretty sure he had woken up that morning, he assumed he'd arrived on the designated planet and he had the sinking feeling he had wandered too far off on his own. 

But.

But they were looking for him, right?

He had said something to that effect to his captors early on; that his team would come for him. 

Something about the way they laughed hinted to him that they had heard things like that before. But as time went on and he was kept in a much too small cage as they poked and prodded at him through the bars, he started to wonder.

Were they not looking for him?

Not only not looking, but relieved to be rid of him?

In the cage next to his was a young alien about Lance’s age. One night, the alien shuddered out a story about his family selling him to their captors to pay off some debt.

Lance had been horrified at the idea, the fact that someone’s family could sell them off.... 

But time went by. His muscles cramped from crouching low in his cage for too long. The few prisoners around him began to grow quiet. Weak from thirst, hunger and the consuming darkness; he stopped hearing them cry. 

Surely. Surely, his team hadn't given him away?

Lance didn't know how long it had been before his captors finally ripped him from his cage.

He tried to struggle, but they were a lot bigger than him and, while he had only been managing sips of the brackish water that dripped from a leaking pipe and down onto his cage bars, his captors were well nourished and rested. 

He ended up on the floor with nothing. 

Not a stitch of clothing between him and the cold floor. 

And when they turned harsh, cold water against him, he was ashamed at the way he licked the calmer droplets that settled near his lips. 

Lance didn't think he passed out, but he lost time. 

One moment he was being pulled off the floor and the next he was laying on some sort of thin cot, wrapped in foreign fabric.

"Not working class is he?"

Voices floated above him.

"Not much of a decorative piece either."

"With some adjustments…"

"He'll bring in more money as a display than a slave."

Rough fingers scraped against his face. 

"He just needs a pinch of something here…"

Lance shook under the touch.

____

Lance had been waiting to regain his strength, his senses, his courage, before he tried to make an escape. 

But his strength never returned, his senses remained muddled and his courage was muted in his chest. 

He knew he was in a plain room, sitting on the cot with a thin mattress. Not really a bed as it was raised off the floor just a few too many inches to be considered appropriate for sleeping.

Kind of like the examination cot in the castle's medical bay, his brain slowly supplied.

Examination. Lance swallowed thickly.

They had wrapped him in loose garments and allowed him to eat. He could have refused to eat. Could have said he would rather starve than go along with things.

But he was hungry and he thought it might help him think clearly. After his meager meal, he felt detached and so, so tired. He figured out they must have slipped something into his stale bread and he had been too stupid to notice. 

When they finally returned, he was laying down, watching the room slowly spin.

He had been expecting them to hurt him. He didn't know what to do with the calm voice that just asked him questions. Nothing about Voltron or who he was. 

Just about his appearance. 

Could he change colors? Could he grow his hair longer in a few vargas? Was he considered a pretty thing on his planet?

He snorted at that. 

His mother had always said he had pretty eyes. 

He must have said it aloud because a hand was grasping his chin, tilting his face up. Fingers pulled back his eyelids and Lance tried to flinch away too slowly. 

The alien laughed at him and Lance winced at the sound.

"For your mother’s memory, you can keep them then."

Lance blinked at the words and he all at once found the sense to twist out of the rough grasp. He wasn’t successful.

The alien laughed harder.

TBC

[yrpreciousmoon]

Hello! I really, really loved your Ghiaccio headcanons, I thought they were super in-depth and in-character! I’d love to hear your thoughts on other members of the squad, so I was wondering if you had similar backstory/relationship-with-the-others headcanons for anyone else? Maybe Melone because he and Ghiaccio are close? No pressure if you don’t have any time though! Thank you! <3

I’m so glad you enjoyed them anon!!

To be honest, Ghiaccio is my fave assassin and I’ve been RPing him lately, so I have his ideas much more fleshed out than the rest…

But here’s some thoughts on Melone! Hope you enjoy!

MELONE HEADCANONS

Melone is smarter than most give him credit for. He has a background in medical / biological studies for sure, perhaps working as a lab tech before being recruited to Passione.

He’s neuro-divergent, but isn’t that kind of a “gimme”?

Has always been rather open and loud about his interests, and it has always put people off. Got way too excited about things in school like dissecting frogs and watching “The Miracle of Life.”

Possibly a sociopath; he tends to treat people like test subjects.

Yes, he’s a pervert and a creep, but his sex life isn’t as active as one might expect, and that’s by design. He loves making people’s skin crawl, it’s like a game to him. Plus, playing the role of the pervy freak gives him a barrier between himself and others.

Even aside from lewd comments, he loves pushing people’s buttons. Never let him catch wind of what bothers you or freaks you out, because he will take full advantage of that.

Not terribly interested in having a “family,” but secretly (or not-so-secretly, after acquiring his stand) wants to have children… or henchmen, more like it. Has definitely considered kidnapping for this purpose.

In an alt timeline, he identifies as genderfluid, uses they/them.

Rather tech savvy, he’s online quite a bit, digging through random Wikipedia rabbit holes and Reddit threads for hours.

Has an online influencer persona that the team doesn’t know about. He just likes having fans and feeling like he can control people.

Also knows a thing or two about hacking, and will occasionally access strangers’ phone or computer cameras for the hell of it.

Will say “yes” to pretty much anything. #yolo

In general, he tends to prefer observing people over interacting with them, so while he gets along fine with the rest of the team, he tries to maintain a healthy distance. That said, he doesn’t have many “regular” friends, so his team mates really do mean a lot to him, even if he doesn’t say so.

How he feels about…

Formaggio - They don’t have much in common, but will sometimes team up on pranking or hassling others.

Illuso - He wants to get to know him better. He can be rather evasive, but Melone enjoys listening to him when he’s around.

Pesci - Doesn’t think he’s cut out for the job, but finds his relationship with his brother fascinating. He’s almost too easy to fluster, so Melone tends to go easier on him than he does with the others.

Prosciutto - Probably his favorite to pester, because he’s so hard to break. Melone is certain he has some dark and/or embarrassing secrets, and he’s determined to find them.

Ghiaccio - Was intrigued by him right away for how easy it was to upset him, and how dangerous the results were. He’d often try to get paired up with him for just that reason at first, but they quickly found that they actually worked surprisingly well together, bringing out the best (worst?) in each other on missions. Neither cared about doing things the “right” way or about their methods being “too much”… they only want to get results.

Risotto - Respects him and tends not to annoy him too much. However, he is deeply interested in learning more about him, and tries (unsuccessfully) to get him to open up.

[gospelofme]

Confirmation

Echo tried his best to remain calm while Kix and Coric did a medical evaluation. General Skywalker had ordered both medics to look Echo over carefully. The rational part of Echo reasoned this was to ensure any medical issue was caught, each medic double checking the other’s work. The paranoid part of Echo whispered, “He wants to make sure you aren’t a ticking time bomb….literally.”

“Take a few deep breaths Echo, your heart rate is spiking again.” Coric informed him. Echo nodded and breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth.

“That’s better, just try to relax. I know that’s not easy right now, but it will help you.” Kix added, his eyes locked on the screen to make sure Echo’s BPM went back to where it had been a few moments ago. There was some small talk, Kix and Coric asking him basic questions. Nothing too triggering though. Neither medic was confident Echo’s mental state would remain stable. It was honestly a wonder he could even move on his own, much less recognize his brothers and talk to them coherently. Kix had seen brothers survive pretty serious injuries, but Echo was a miracle considering the severity of the explosion.

“Your legs will need to be…erm…replaced.” Kix said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“They’re not the best design for you to return to active duty with. You need some that will support your body weight much like your…old legs did.” Kix hurried on, avoiding Echo’s eyes. He hated talking bluntly like this, but it was better than dancing around the shuttle. Echo nodded reasonably.

“They do pinch where they meet my knees.” Echo replied casually. Kix smirked and gave his brother a shoulder squeeze.

“I think I know who to comm about a reliable set. I’ll be right back.”

Echo waited until Kix’s footfalls faded and he didn’t hear any other soldiers enter the room. He then hurried over to a data access port and tentatively plugged in, accessing the files his heart dreaded.

“Well Echo, you’ll be glad to know that Commander Wolffe is still as grumpy as he was when you-“ Kix’s sentence halted when he saw that Echo’s bed was empty. The medic’s mind immediately jumping to words like “double agent” and “infiltration”. He hated himself for that, but it had been a concern since the beginning. And not just with Echo. He stayed calm and checked the medical bay until he found Echo sitting on the floor by an access port. A hologram report of the incident surrounding Fives floated nearby. Kix tossed the datapad onto a nearby bunk and hurried over to the panel, closing the report and shutting the port down. Wordlessly, he helped Echo to his feet and back to his bed.

“When he wasn’t there with Rex, I knew. There was no other scenario that made sense.” Echo said quietly. Kix gave him a glance. They all had lost brothers they were close with, but Kix knew that Echo felt Fives’s loss with a greater intensity. They were batch brothers, cadets together. They’d literally known each other since birth. The lone survivors of Domino Squad. It was like a part of Fives had blown up when Echo had been presumed dead. Now a part of Echo had been shot in the heart.

“Did he really do it?” Echo asked.

“Do what?” Kix played oblivious.

“You know…go crazy?” Echo winced as he uttered that last word.

“No.” Kix said confidently.

“Because you think we’re resistant to that.” Echo replied bitterly. Kix gave Echo a stern look.

“I don’t agree with that either. And don’t think Rex believes that.” Kix answered. Echo got quiet, lost in his own thoughts.

“There’s something you should be aware of, but I’m not sure how to say it.” Kix whispered very quietly. It disturbed Echo to hear his brother speak in such a hushed tone. It was almost conspiratorial.

“Is it wrong that I keep hoping he walks through that door and says some dumb joke.” Echo said with a breathy laugh. Kix smirked and shook his head.

“It’s not wrong.”

“Like, he’d say something like ‘are those legs regulation?’ Because he always joked about me following the reg manual.” Echo laughed, Kix hearing something odd in the sound. His suspicion was confirmed when Echo’s laugh dissolved into tears.

Without thinking, Kix wrapped his arms around his mourning brother and held him close. Echo clinging to him with his left hand, his right hand having been replaced with a data access socket. The prosthetic bumped against Kix back awkwardly. Echo pulled away from Kix forcefully and shook his arm as if he was trying to drop the socket.

“I can’t do anything the same anymore!” He yelled, aggravated. The socket smashed a empty test tube rack, Kix grabbing Echo’s right arm gently.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” He pulled his brother back into a hug, holding Echo’s head against his chest while his brother wept. The Kaminoans were wrong, no one was immune to mental stress.

Tag list

@jgvfhl @leias-left-hair-bun @halzore @escapedthesarlacc @eyecandyeoz @kungfuslipper

[infernal-fire]

Hii I don’t know if you’re taking any requests but I was wondering could you do a dubcon stucky fic or something like reader took medication or something of that nature and dark stucky uses the readers loopy ness as a way to sleep with her like their very soft towards reader but now their playing into their own desires ( can it also please include degrade and praise please 🙃) I love your writing btw

okay so i really tried but im just getting out of my writing slump so im a litttllee bit rusty.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, mention of drugs (just anaesthesia), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), a bit of degradation, some praise kink, abuse of authority?? 

Wc: 850

Stay Under

“Hey doc, how long is she gonna be loopy for?”

“Typically, the recovery period is about one hour, but the anaesthesiologist estimated about double the time for it to wear off. She had a combination of other meds,” your surgeon nonchalantly called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Bucky considered the information before picking you up from the chair. In your trance, you could barely tell who was who. It was quite obvious though - long, dark brown hair was shrouding your field of vision, confirming your belief of the person being Bucky.

“Tie your hair back Buck, she can’t see.”

That had to be Steve. There was a rough, smoky timbre weaved in his voice, one that was easily recognizable to anyone who worked with him. 

“You guys didn’t have to... Uhm...,” you trailed off, losing your train of thought.

“Pick you up? We know,” Bucky finished your sentence for you and passed you over to Steve. You unceremoniously flopped into his arms, head accidentally knocking on his chest. 

“But we want to,” Steve winked. He picked you up, cradling your frame bridal style. When you tried to protest, he shushed you and reminded you that your legs are barely working.

Being a new Avenger had its ups and its downs; Recently, Tony had designed you your very own suit. A very notable ‘up’. 

As for the ‘down’, you had to have sensors inserted into your arms for some of the tech to work. Stark elected to puncture sensors into himself with a makeshift device when he was experimenting with the Iron Man suit. You, however, weren’t very tolerable to pain and elected to have them surgically implanted. 

As far as your incomprehensive knowledge of anaesthetics went, you were pretty sure regional or local anaesthetic would do the trick. Too naive to actually confirm this with Tony, you simply agreed with your Captain and Sargeant when they demanded asked your surgeon to put you under. 

So here you are, being carried to what you had assumed was your room.

“I just wanna sleep,” you mumbled, now nestling your head into Steve’s chest. Someone cooed, (or maybe both of them did), as the door opened. You were placed on the bed where you quickly rolled to your side, beginning to doze off. 

Most of your body was numb, but you did realize that your surgical gown had come off because your nipples pebbled upon the exposure to air. Fingers danced across your skin, rubbing and lightly pinching the buds. You couldn’t feel much, because if you did, you would know that Steve was tugging on them quite roughly. Between your legs, you felt something wet and soft poke around your folds, which finally woke you up.

Groaning, you pick up your head, only to see Bucky lapping away at your entrance like a man starved. You moaned, now able to tune in more to the sensations bestowed upon you, because you registered that it was happening.

“What?” you whined.

“Shh, you’re doing so good,” Steve assured, nibbling on your earlobe. He turned your head to the side where his lips moved against your own. You felt extremely exposed, your legs spread open, on your back. 

Suddenly, the most powerful feeling of numbness washed over like electricity. Though you initially didn’t understand what it was, it wasn’t hard to tell that you had come when Bucky stood up, wiping his mouth. 

“Look at her, all fucked out,” Bucky chuckled.

“Bet she wouldn’t even need drugs to be our little cockslut.” You yelped as the blunt head of a cock rubbed your slick slit.

“She would’ve opened her legs if you showed her a cock. Little whore,” Bucky finished as Steve breached your pussy. 

Bucky pinched your mouth and you opened your jaw to alleviate the pain. 

“I don’t…” you began to complain before Bucky’s cock plunged into your channel.

You gurgled and tried to push his pelvis away, but someone grabbed your hands, pinning them beside you. The soldiers began moving in tandem, Steve pushing in when Bucky pulled out. Steve didn’t have to fuck your deep or hard to touch your cervix - you felt him jammed up in there without even trying. 

“Such a good fucking girl, taking two cocks at once,” Bucky sighed. 

“Letting use her body like a little fuckdoll. That’s what you are, right baby? A fucking fuckdoll.”

Steve grasped your throat, not choking you, but just enough for you to feel it. 

“Damn Buck, I can feel your cock in there.”

“No way,” Bucky laughed, “Let me try.” He placed his hands on your lower abdomen. 

“I feel you fucking her nice and deep Stevie.”

With that, they continued to use you, your state providing no opportunity to stop the treatment. They didn’t fuck you violently; they must have known to some extent that you would have split in half if they decided to use their full force. 

And by the time the effects of your anaesthesia wears off, you’ll be too gone to say anything anyway.

Masterlist

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[onlinehorrorinserts]

A/N: Normally what I’ll write is just snippets of images and scenarios, and that’s what this was GOING to be but I got insanely inspired and just kept going. What better way to get this kicked off than a oneshot, anyway? Eyeless Jack with the prompt “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” Trigger warning for descriptions of blood and a wound, as well as it being stitched back up near the end (just in case)

You hadn’t expected this little outing to be any different than the usual. A quick get in, get rid of the target, and get out. Someone had gotten just a little too close to the isolated mansion even despite the failsafes put in place, and it just wouldn’t be safe to let them be with the knowledge of what they may have seen.

Unfortunately, you had neglected to take into account that someone who was probably already scared and insanely paranoid and knew their life could be in danger after the things they had seen would fight tooth and nail to keep themselves alive. You had kept to the cover of darkness for a reason - not only should it have given you the clear upperhand, but it should have kept all of the damage to a minimum on both sides.

You didn’t particularly enjoy killing, after all. At least not when it came to innocents who were just in the wrong place at the very wrong time. It was simply a means to an end, something that had to be done to protect the family you had grown to love, twisted as they all were. Twisted as you were too, you realized, but the thought was often easy enough to shove aside.

Needless to say this was something of a routine for you. Something that should never have had the opportunity to go so wrong - yet that’s the very reason you must have grown complacent. What was usually just a quick get in and get out plan turned into a literal stab in the back and the rather aggressive fight that ensued after. The only thing on your side was the utter shock the victim had upon noticing how human you seemed to be compared to whatever he must have seen out in those woods. That realization had killed his resolve for just long enough for you. Humans could be fickle - if they weren’t like you, if they weren’t used to having the resolve to do what needed to be done, they could falter. You didn’t.

You knew the wound probably wasn’t deep enough to kill you. You’d have to seek treatment though. The idea made your skin crawl more than the feeling of blood oozing into the torn fabric of your clothing. It wasn’t who you had to seek out that frightened you. If anything you would have been a bit more comforted by his presence by this point. No, it was the idea in general. Hospitals, doctors, anything related to the medical field gave you tunnel vision in the form of a very rapid fight or flight response. It wasn’t something you’ve been able to control for a long time.

When you returned to the mansion, you were thankful that not many seemed to be out and about, especially not him. A couple of the guys were lounging on the couch or the chairs in the living room, playing games and cracking jokes a bit too loudly to fully notice you enter, except for Jeff who threw a casual nod your way. You offered a small smile in return, waiting for him to return his attention back to the others before you dared turn your back and crept up the stairs. You didn’t want them to see the wound and were thankful when you heard no words calling up after you to indicate that they had.

Only once you were in the safety of your room did you let out a sigh of relief, reaching to your back with a strained wince to try and gauge the damage. The amount of blood that covered your hand when you pulled it back was enough of an answer. 

You knew you had to go see him. You weren’t stupid. No matter how close the two of you grew though, the idea of descending into his basement, penetrating into his bubble of personal space… it felt wrong. Even knowing that no one else seemed to care, and he was technically something of a designated doctor for them all and it was sort of one of his jobs… you couldn’t feel comfortable with it. Or more likely it was for less selfless reasons like that and more your own fear piercing your heart worse than that knife had pierced flesh.

Not much time was given for you to debate with yourself though as you heard a knock at the door, jolting you back into reality as you stared at the knob. It didn’t seem as if anyone was going to take the initiative and just come in. Maybe you could just leave it and they’d get the hint? Another knock was soon to dispel that hope as you sighed, forcing yourself to go answer it. As much as you hated the idea of having to clean it later, you used your bloodied hand to hide it from your visitor.

It soon became clear that it was all for naught though as your eyes met with the familiar deep blue mask, an inky blackness where eyes should have been and a gunky tar like substance slowly trailing down the mask, long ago having stained the fine blue like oil in water.

“So you are back.” The muffled, vaguely distorted voice spoke matter of factly, not afraid to show a vague irritation in the way he crossed his arms. You sheepishly smiled despite yourself.

“What, were you watching for me or something?”

“You know how good my hearing is.”

“I thought your basement was soundproof?”

“And who said I was in the basement?” He had a point, you realized. You had merely assumed he was down there after not seeing him in the front room. As reclusive as he could be, it was likely he had just been in another room. He knew he had you there and so he turned and began to head back down the hall towards the stairs. With a defeated sigh all you could do was follow him.

You kept quiet as you followed him back down and through the front room, the boys pointedly watching as you passed. Had they not noticed the blood before, they certainly did now, and it was Jeff to make that all the more clear.

“The fuck happen to you?” He asked with a cock of his head, perhaps genuinely curious despite his more blunt tone. You were about to stop to respond, wanting to take any opportunity to prolong the inevitable, but predictably it wasn’t going to be that easy. When you slowed, Jack immediately shifted to grab your wrist and with a light pull, ushered you forward and ahead of him. The message he was giving you was clear, and with a soft huff you continued on while he stayed behind, no doubt to talk to the scarred boy.

The descent down the stairs was never very easy to get used to. As soon as you hit the first step you felt the warmth from the house seemingly leave your body as the chill penetrated nearly to the bone. You knew the cold didn’t bother him like it did you - in a technical sense he was scarcely what you could even call alive. Not like humans were alive, at least. The cold was better for his specimens anyway. No use complaining. 

You were at least thankful that he had gotten into the habit of leaving at least a dim light on when he knew that you would be coming down. Just because he didn’t need them to see and not wipe out on the stairs didn’t mean that you didn’t, after all. Once you had found your way down, you went to take a seat on his bed, pulling the sheets up and around you. You didn’t care that you’d get blood on them. He had plenty of spare sheets anyway, considering he had to constantly change them out if he didn’t want to be sleeping in… whatever that substance from his eyes were. He was a bit more hygienic than that, thankfully.

You weren’t sure how long passed before you heard his descent, feeling a shaky breath escape you as you did. A mix of anxiety and relief crossed you in that very moment - an odd mixture for sure. A small shiver passed through you. You decided to convince yourself it was due to the chill in the air. 

When he reached the bottom step he faced you, not wasting time to remove the mask. A couple points of his sharklike teeth poked out from the cover of his grey lips, and though he had no eyes you knew his gaze was focused entirely on your own. It hadn’t been long since he had started removing his mask around you. He seemed to prefer the security it brought him. You weren’t sure what vulnerabilities lie underneath that callous exterior, and though you knew him well enough by now to know there was no harm in asking, you decided not to breach the subject today.

“Come here. Sit by the table, take off the shirt.” Despite the cold you felt a bit of heat rise to your cheeks, and if he noticed he thankfully didn’t comment on it for the time being. All you could do was obey, letting the blankets pool behind you on the bed as you stood and made your way over. Once the material was off the cold only felt more persistent. You wondered for a brief moment if you could catch a cold in here if you spent too much time down here.

The feeling of his hand made you jolt, a soft hiss escaping your lips when it caused the muscle to pull. You heard him sigh but noticed the faintest, gentle skim of his thumb against the unmarred section of skin just below the wound. A form of apology gone unspoken.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” He finally spoke as he reached over to the table beside you, preparing a few of his tools. Before you could answer he continued, his slight growl of a voice softening the best he could manage, “slight sting.”

You winced when the needle punctured you, but you were thankful when a bit of relief slowly started to take over. You weren’t entirely sure where he got any of this, but right now you didn’t care. You could only faintly feel the pressure of him working on stitching up the wound, wincing only occasionally if he went a bit too deep.

“You know why, Jack.”

“You’d think by now you’d realize I’m not going to harm you.”

“I never said my fear was logical. Anyway, I also just hate bothering you when I have no idea if you’re in the middle of your… work.”

It was then that he paused, perhaps taking in your words. It wasn’t for long though before he got back to focusing on the task at hand.

“I would prefer it be you who interrupts me than one of the others. At least I know that if you get hurt, it wasn’t a stupid mistake.”

“Careful. Keep that up and I’ll make excuses just to bother you.”

“If you want to see live dissections, be my guest.”

You cringed at his words, and while you couldn’t see it you could picture a slight shark-toothed smirk. You could occasionally hear the faint drip of something, probably from his eyes. It seemed he was at least careful not to let any of it drip on you. I guess he must have eaten recently. Your mind wandered, zoning out to the occasional rhythmic sound. That is until he finished his work and pulled back, cleaning the area one last time as he looked it over.

“Okay,” His gaze shifted elsewhere, probably a clock in a darker part of the room but you couldn’t be sure, “Get some rest. By midday you can probably wash up as usual. Until then, keep it dry. No straining the muscle until I give you the okay. If I have to restitch this, I’m not going to be happy.” Though his words were tough, you couldn’t help the slight twitch of your lips. You knew he didn’t mean it. You gave him a small nod and stood, ready to put your torn shirt back on before his cold hand once again gripped your wrist - it was a bit softer than it had been earlier.

“Wait.” He commanded, and though you were confused you obeyed as he went off into a side room. To his credit he didn’t leave you waiting too long, bringing back an extra of his hoodies. It was a bit more worn than his current one, obviously older but the sentiment was still there.

“No use wearing that anymore, but you’re not going up there again without wearing something.” He mumbled, a slight rumble in his chest akin to a feline’s growl or purr. You weren’t sure what that sound really was even now, but you had grown rather accustomed to his quirks. You grinned at him and gratefully took the hoodie, slipping it over your head with ease thanks to the side of it. You noticed as his eyeless gaze shifted subtly elsewhere.

“Thank you, Jack.”

[werenotadulting]

Routine Procedure pt. 5

Over the next couple of days, it was actually abnormal for Kate not to give me some special attention down there during a diaper change. Just woke up? Let's try using my vibrator on your soaked diaper. Need a change before lunch? How about reverse cowgirl while laying there on top of your fresh diaper. Time for your night diaper? Bedtime blowjob.

Don't get me wrong, Kate and I have always had a very good sex life, but this past week was unlike any other.

On Saturday, in the middle of a mid-afternoon change, was when Kate suggested we try getting out of the house for a bit.

"You really soak through these diapers quick, Mike. We're gonna have to see about getting some more soon."

"I suppose we should, right? I mean, they're working infinitely better than that condom thing," I said as I was laying back while Kate took care of wiping me down.

Despite what she had said about showing me how to change myself, she didn't seem to mind taking care of it, and I was in no rush to put a stop to it considering what was in it for me.

"That's very true. There was only that one minor leak you had last night, which I'm sure we can find a way to prevent in the future. I'll put in an order for some new diapers tonight, so they get here by Monday."

Kate secured the last tape and ran a finger along the elastic leg gathers. "You know, that new game store opened up in the mall on the other side of town. What do you say we stop over there and see how it is?"

I froze. Being diapered at home was one thing. Going out in public though.... Kate seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

"Mike. Earth to Mike. Remember what we talked about? No one is going to be paying attention to the size of your butt or the sound of your pants. And guess what? Even if they do, who cares? You have a medical need to wear diapers. Just like people who have trouble walking use canes, it's a medical thing. You didn't ask to be incontinent."

────────

I looked at myself in the mirror. My jeans appeared to do their job of concealing my diaper.

"You know," Kate popped up behind me in the reflection, "if you're so worried about people seeing, they do make onesies for adults. Just a thought."

I scoffed at her, and we headed off to the mall.

About 30 minutes later, we arrived. I couldn't help but notice that it seemed like there were a heck of a lot more people there than normal. Another 10 minutes later and we were finally able to find a parking space towards the back. As I got out of the car, I made sure my shirt was pulled down as far as it could go. It was all I needed for my shirt to ride up and expose my plastic waistband.

Kate grabbed my hand, but not before giving my padded butt a firm slap. The corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly, and we walked hand-in-hand up to the mall.

────────

You know that feeling you get when it feels like someone is watching you? Yeah, it did not go away no matter how much time passed as we meandered through the mall.

Our first stop was in the food court, where we grabbed a late lunch of chicken and waffles. Kate went to order the food while I found a spot to sit down.

"All ready," Kate said as she walked up with a tray piled with chicken. "They accidentally made your lemonade a large, and I wasn't about time tell them they were wrong."

"It is the best homemade lemonade in town," I said, grabbing my plate off of the tray.

Kate set the tray down, then went to grab a couple of napkins. A few moments later, I noticed my shirt rising up and the back of my diaper being pulled open. I spun around and swatted the offending hand away, which turned out to belong to Kate.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Giving you a diaper check, what else?"

"We are in the middle of the mall!"

"It's been awhile since you had your diaper changed, and I know you are bad at knowing when you're at capacity," Kate gave me a 'prove me wrong' look.

"I'm fine!! Just... not out in broad daylight, please?" I pleaded.

"Well I didn't even get a chance to properly check just now, but if you say so...."

────────

After stopping in a couple clothing stores, ("Hey, we should think about getting you some new jeans. Those ones seem a little tight all of the sudden.") we finally made our way to the new gaming store. It was like a one-stop shop for gamers, with board games, collectibles, and video games. Towards the back, there were tables setup, where people could break out their games or card decks and hang out for a bit.

Once we had searched down all the aisles, we found ourselves in the back next to the gaming tables.

"Hey, we're looking for two more for Ticket to Ride! Do you guys want in?" said a blonde girl from a table in the corner. She and another girl were setting up the board, getting ready to start.

Kate's eyes grew to the size of saucers.

"Oh heck yes! I never lose at this game!" It was true, she did never lose, and she never let me hear the end of it whenever we played.

An hour later, and it was clear that it was between Kate and Melanie, the blonde girl, on who would be crowned victorious. The other girl and I had all but given up. Seeing that there was no way I could complete all my routes, I had long since resorted to my usual strategy of trying to sabotage Kate.

"Annnnnd 110, 111, 112. I have retained my crown," Kate gloated.

"Oh wonderful," I said, "I can't wait to hear about this all the way home."

"Well played, you two," Melanie chimed in. "Don't worry about cleaning up, we are actually waiting for some friends to come play a round."

"Oh thank you, that's so nice," Kate said as we both stood up to leave.

"Of course! It was nice meet....." Melanie trailed off, staring at my crotch.

Both Kate and I followed her gaze, and it was then that I saw that I'd had a major leak.

Large wet spots had formed down the inside of my jeans, as well as two half-moon  shapes on my butt. Looking at my chair, there was more evidence of my accident, there for all to see.

It was obvious to anyone looking what had happened.

I was speechless.

"Oh shit, we're so sorry! Let me just wipe this up..." Kate said as she frantically wiped the seat down with a tissue.

The girls were equally dumbstruck, as they watched Kate lead me out of the store waddling behind her.

────────

The feeling of eyes on me increased tenfold on the walk through the mall to the car. Without a jacket or anything to cover up with, we moved as fast as we could, whispers and giggles following us out.

In what seemed like an eternity later, we finally made it back to the car.

"I'll get the seats cleaned, don't worry baby, just get in." Kate pulled open her door and got the car started. I didn't need to be told twice, as I practically leaped into the car.

"That...I...I'm so embarrassed...." I was starting to get choked up, tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

"Hey, hey, there there sweetie, I'm sorry. That can't have been fun, I know. It's not your fault." Kate was rubbing my back, the car still in park.

"That doesn't make it any less humiliating! And it's not even like I had a little accident, Kate, my diaper leaked!" I was almost yelling, my emotions getting the better of me.

"Shhhh baby, it's okay, take deep breaths, it's going to be okay. We didn't know anyone there, no one important saw, you'll be fine."

I was still upset, but I listened to her, taking steadying breaths that at least got my heart rate under control. Seeing this, Kate started to back out of our parking spot.

"Let's get you home and into a bath, baby," Kate soothed. We drove on in silence for awhile as I continued to calm down.

I think," Kate broke the silence, "that we might want to consider getting you some thicker protection. Just to be safe, you know? What do you think?"

"I think that means I will definitely be waddling, and it will be obvious to everyone what I'm wearing," I said, staring out the window.

"Well, do you prefer people maybe noticing that you walk a little funny, or running the risk of leaking like happened back there?"

"I don't know Kate, I just...I don't want to think about it."

"I'll take care of it then, babe," Kate said, "those hospital diapers are notoriously cheap anyway. We'll find something that works better for you. And I'll look into some of those onesies, so you don't feel so self-conscious about your diaper sticking out."

"Yeah, whatever," I said, as we continued down the highway.

────────

Kate knew exactly where to look when she logged on to order new diapers.

Let's see, she thought, I think probably a case of ABU Simple Ultra. Maybe a mixed case with some fun prints? No, it was too soon to go all-in like that. I'll just add in another pack of PeekABUs. That's 90 diapers, so at 2-3 diapers a day, that should be good for a month. Better throw in some boosters, too. And set up a recurring monthly order, yes please.

With that order placed, it was then to the ODU website, where she settled on several of their basic onesies.

"All in good time, Kate," she muttered to herself as she looked longingly at all of the cute designs. She could just picture how adorable Mike would look in that dinosaur onesie.

She was so horny right now. The sight of Mike in his wet jeans, his face burning bright red. Her hand slipped down the front of her shorts.

Oh fuck, she thought, he was so humiliated. She rubbed her clit to the image of Mike standing there over the pee puddle on his chair while those girls looked on.

Had she taped on his diaper perhaps a little loose before they went to the mall? Yes.

Had she intentionally ordered Mike a large lemonade? Also yes.

Had she suspected during her impromptu diaper check at the food court that Mike would protest and insist he was fine? Triple yes.

Had she known those flimsy hospital diapers would fail sooner rather than later, and she could talk Mike into something a bit thicker?

Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner.

Kate closed the laptop and got up.

She had a diaper boy she needed to fuck.