#what if-... what if i set doc aside for a LITTLE while...

[kxsagi]

pro football player!bllk with girlfailure gf 🙏

“𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝”

a/n: reader is me i fear because i had apple maps on and turned left when siri said turn right (i ain’t ever living that down)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, aiku oliver

isagi yoichi

"i’m not saying you're a disaster, love, but i just saw the smoke coming from the toaster and knew you tried to make soup again." 

yoichi is genuinely concerned for your wellbeing on a daily basis. he’s in the peak of his athletic prime – eating clean, training consistently, and optimizing performance… and then there’s you, googling “can i eat expired pudding if i microwave it?” 

he keeps track of your life with the dedication of a world cup coach. daily alarms set for you. calendar events for you. a literal google doc titled "how to not die this week – for my girlfriend." 

“yoichi, i accidentally took a sleeping pill instead of my vitamin again. at 2pm.” “... okay, stay on the phone while i cancel your dentist appointment and put you in bed.” 

when you showed up to one of his games wearing a shirt with his face on it, backwards, he didn’t even blink. he just fixed it for you mid-tunnel entrance like he was adjusting his jersey. 

he tells reporters, “she keeps me grounded.” what he means is you walked into a glass wall yesterday trying to wave at a squirrel. 

itoshi rin

"you’ve burned water. explain to me how that’s even physically possible." 

rin is the definition of organized. you? you just poured orange juice into your cereal because you were “half-awake and the cartons looked the same.” 

he constantly looks like he’s asking god why he’s being tested. but despite the judgmental sighs and eternal frown, he never lets anyone else talk down to you. 

“i couldn’t figure out how to put gas in the car so i called triple A and cried.” “... i’m going to show you how to do it. we’re going right now. bring your notebook.” 

he sets emergency funds aside just for your monthly “life mistake.” like the time you bought a fake designer purse that turned out to be a lunchbox. 

but he remembers everything. your favorite candy. how you like your grilled cheese (burnt, apparently). which socks help when you’re overwhelmed. 

once you got lost in IKEA and called rin in a panic. he tracked you down like joe goldberg.  

itoshi sae

"i make millions a year and my girlfriend just got stuck in a revolving door." 

sae is rich, classy, and elegant. you once mistook a bidet for a drinking fountain. opposites, baby. 

he acts all nonchalant and "ugh," but he's always silently picking up the pieces after you’ve caused another minor catastrophe. 

“i thought the microwave was the oven and now the plastic is part of my dinner.” “okay. i’m ordering sushi. don’t eat it. i mean it.” 

he’s weirdly patient with you. will roast you endlessly, but also brush your hair out of your face while saying “idiot” in the gentlest voice ever. 

once, you tripped walking up the stadium stairs and spilled a nacho tray onto a stranger. he didn’t even blink. just pulled out his black card and paid for all the ruined food. 

“do i like her because she’s cute? no. it’s the comedy. i never know what she’ll break next.” 

nagi seishiro

"wait… you were supposed to go to work today? oh no." 

you both forgot what day it was and slept through a meeting. your lives are one long nap and an accidental door dash order. 

nagi genuinely doesn’t care about your failures. he just kind of blinks and goes “eh, sounds annoying. let’s lie down.” 

“sei, i think i broke the vacuum.” “cool. guess we don’t clean now.” 

you once forgot to bring your passport to the airport. he forgot his shoes. you were that couple. the airline staff pitied you. 

he lets you stack your chaos on top of his. gets a little spark in his eyes when you mess something up. “you’re funny,” he says as you spill water on your laptop. 

surprisingly supportive. doesn’t fix things, but he’ll cuddle you while you cry about them. 

“i ruined the job interview.” “eh. next one. let’s get ice cream.” 

mikage reo

"my baby can’t do taxes or read maps, but she’s hot so it’s fine." 

he’s so ridiculously rich and competent, and you’re just trying to remember your email password from middle school. 

constantly watching you with an amused expression like “wow. she’s really out here giving it her best. adorable.” like you said “i think i wanna become an astronaut” and he started looking up NASA internships. 

“reo, i tried to meal prep and now there’s rice in the ceiling fan.” “that’s talent. you want a private chef?” 

he buys you a new phone every time you drop one in the toilet. it’s happened four times. 

he sends you voice notes like “baby, remember to eat today” and you reply “does chocolate count?” and he’s like “only if you eat six.” 

will absolutely drop $30k on something to make your life easier and then call it a “just because you’re a princess” gift. 

kaiser michael

"schatz, why are you crying?" "i tried to braid my hair and now there’s a comb stuck in the wall." 

kaiser is such a showoff. pro athlete, media darling, good with money, sharp as hell. you? you tried to fix the wi-fi by blowing on it like a nintendo cartridge. 

he lives for your mess. he thinks it’s hilarious. he’ll walk into a room you destroyed and be like “wow. modern art. you’ve outdone yourself.” 

“kaiser, i accidentally sent my manager a meme instead of my availability.” “did they laugh? no? then resend with context.” 

he’ll bully you for your mistakes but then drop everything to help you anyway. “you’re lucky i like you. and that you look hot when confused.” 

secretly addicted to you needing him. will pout if you fix something yourself. 

“you didn’t call me when your sink broke?” “i googled it.” “what the hell. i was emotionally prepared to be your hero.” 

shidou ryusei

"guess what i just did!" "lit something on fire?" "how did you know!?" 

you two are absolute chaos. you keep failing at life and he cheers you on like it’s a sport. 

“i just sent an angry email to the wrong person.” “HELL YEAH BABY. make it worse! want me to reply with a meme?” 

he loves how you panic over small things while he eggs you on. “i lost my shoe!” “go barefoot! embrace the primal life!” 

he brings out your most unhinged side and encourages your impulsive decisions. “should i dye my hair pink?” “only if you let me do it with kitchen bleach.” 

somehow, when you’re both together, things work?? the disasters cancel out??? or at least no one’s bored. 

“she’s dumb, and she’s mine. and if anyone says anything else i’ll headbutt them into next week.” 

aiku oliver

"you’re not a failure. you just have a very… creative approach to life. and gravity." 

he’s the charming, cocky pretty boy captain and you once fell down an escalator because you were texting. 

he calls you “baby” in that teasing voice every time you mess something up. “baby… you really locked yourself out again?” “yes…” “adorable. hold on, let me come save your helpless little ass.” 

literally spoils you rotten to compensate for your chaos. you messed up your entire skincare routine and he booked you a five-star spa appointment. 

jokes that you’re his "clumsy little gremlin" and kisses your forehead after you bump into a pole. 

also weirdly proud of your fails. tells his teammates about them like fun facts. “my girl once put dish soap in the laundry machine. we had bubbles for hours." 

he likes that you need him. not in a weird possessive way, just in the fun way. 

“she keeps life spicy. also, she accidentally started a fire once by microwaving foil.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[purinfelix]

doctor's orders ₊˚⊹♡ - franco colapinto

summary: as if your hospital placement hasn't been stressful enough, you're thrown a new challenge - an injured biker, and his big mouth w/c: 1.7k words

a/n: u ever see a man so beautiful that you just want to patch up all his injuries and kiss him on the forehead and tell him it'll all be okay? ( ALSO LOOK I WAS PLANNING ON POSTING THIS BEFORE I FOUND OUT ABT ALL THE DRAMA BUT ITS TOO LATE NOW SO HERE WE ARE ENJOY THIS ANYWAYS SDJFKS)

"Sorry, but am I in the right place?"

If it weren't for his half-torn jacket and pleading eyes, you might've punched him in the face out of frustration right there and then. You just didn't have time for this, not now, when the emergency room was as full as ever and you were rushing back and forth making sure everything was under wraps. You weren't sure why - you were only a nursing student after all, but your advisor had said something about "real world experience" before slinking away for his lunch break, over an hour ago. Leaving you here to deal with this chaos. And now, a very good-looking man with some very bad-looking injuries.

"Yeah, please just have a seat and fill out this form, I'll be with you in a minute sir," you rattle off your pre-practised phrases hurriedly, shoving a clipboard into his arms and pacing off somewhere else. Behind you, you hear the shuffling of his boots as he returns to his chair in the waiting room, the one next to him occupied by his helmet.

It's a while before you talk to him again, at least half an hour, but the way he talks to you definitely doesn't reflect the time he's been waiting - or the amount of pain you're assuming he's in.

“Hello,” you pause, scanning the form he’s filled out with his details for a name, “Franco.”

“Hello Doc,” he smiles at you atop the hospital bed you’ve got him sitting on. 

“Biking injury?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he gestures to his helmet and scuffed racing jacket that are piled on the stool in the corner. 

“How bad?” 

“Not that bad, you should see the other guy,” he jokes, and even though it’s corny you offer an amused smile. 

“Right, okay then Franco, I’m going to have you take off your shirt.” When you look up from your clipboard, he’s posed comedically with his hands over his chest, donning a shocked expression.

“Woah, so forward doctor! At least take me out to dinner first.” 

“I need to see your injuries,” you sigh, and he only offers you a sly smile as he hops off the bed to do as you say.  

As a nursing student, you’d definitely seen your fair share of gross things - one only needed to look back to you lesson on pressure injuries to see that. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the gory mess that revealed itself as he peeled off his shirt, which was already caked with dried blood. 

“Holy-“ you start, before stopping yourself in the name of professionalism - but it’s too late and he whips his head around with a concerned look.

“What? Bad?” 

“Some would say so,” you try to steady your voice and sound as convincing as possible, already setting aside your clipboard to gather the things you need. You’re not sue if you should be doing this, or whether you even have the qualifications to - but you’re pretty sure waiting any longer might put him in danger. 

You pat the top of the bed to signal for him to sit on it again. “I need you to stay still for me, okay?” you say in the softest, most comforting tone you can manage. 

He nods and does as you say, and for the first time in the somewhat short period you’ve known him, his mask of confidence slips - revealing a slight vulnerability, and even a hint of fear. 

“It’s going to be okay, I’ll be quick,” you continue to reassure him, and he nods again. “This is going to sting a little though,” you warn as you reach into your side tray for a cotton pad soaked in iodine. Touching it gently to the smallest of his cuts, he lets out a hiss of pain, his back straightening up as he jerks away. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, though you continue to dab at his wounds. “Do you want to tell me how this happened?” You’re hoping the conversation will at least distract him as you work, or at the very least give you some information to fill his file with. But he only shakes his head reluctantly. 

“Aright then, what should we talk about?” 

There’s a beat of silence before he responds. “You?”

“Well, who’s the forward one now,” you joke, though the weak laugh he lets out tells you he’s far from kidding. If he were any other patient, in any other situation, you’d be prepared to refuse this request as per hospital guidelines. But from the shaky tone in his voice and the sight of his injuries, you can tell just how much he needs this - and so you oblige. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Let’s start with,” he pauses to let out a pained groan as you continue cleaning his wounds, “your name?” 

With one hand holding the cotton ball to his back, you lift the other to tug the lanyard holding your student ID off your neck and into his line of sight. 

“Nice photo,” he laughs as he takes it, pointing out your less-than-flattering headshot. 

“Don’t,” you threaten, though you feel comforted at the sound of his laughter, a more genuine one this time. 

“It doesn’t do you justice, you’re a lot better looking in real life.” 

“Alright, remind me to check you for a concussion later as well.” 

“No, I’m being serious!” 

“Just be quiet will you,” you huff, and he does as you say - giving you time to toss away the soaked-through cotton balls and reach for your bandages. 

“Student?” he pipes up again, eyes scanning your card. 

“Yeah, I’m here on placement.” 

“So you’re not a nurse?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but shouldn’t an actual doctor be doing this? Or at least, I don’t know, watching you?” 

“It’s been really busy this afternoon so my supervisor is,” you pause, trying your best to come up with a sensible excuse, “helping other patients. 

“Right,” he hums. 

“Why, am I not doing good enough?” 

“No I  didn’t say that!” You let out a laugh at his defensive tone, and the way he whips around to look at you apologetically with round eyes. 

“I’m kidding, though if you would feel more comfortable I can get you an older doctor.” 

“No, definitely not! I like you,” he blurts out, and it’s clear he hasn’t thought his words completely through by the way he continues to ramble a second after. “I mean, you know, an older doctor would probably like give me a lecture on road safety or something,” he follows up. As he turns around you can see the slight red tinge at the tips of his ears, causing you to let out an amused hum in agreeable as you finish patching him up. 

“Wait since you’re not a proper nurse yet,” he pipes up again a sly expression on his face, “do you still have to follow all the rules and things like that?” 

“Well, yes, I’m basically working here,” you reply, a little concerned. 

“So does that mean it’d be unprofessional for you to give me your number, you know since I’m your patient and everything?” 

This is the first thing he’s said that’s managed to actually catch you off guard, and even years of medical school isn’t enough to help you come up with an answer. “Wh- well, anyways I’ve done the best I can but you have gotten knocked up pretty bad,” you say, opting to switch the topic, “so I’d probably recommend staying overnight just so we can keep an eye on you.” 

You turn to pack up the equipment you haven’t used and grab his clipboard to make a couple notes. Behind you though, he lets out a pained groan - piquing your interest. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll just be for one or two nights and we’ll try our best to make it as comfortable as possible.” 

“I know doc, it’s just that-“ he starts, turning around to face you. 

“Why, got a girlfriend to get home to?” 

He lets out an amused scoff, “as if, I just have other things to get to.” 

“Right, well,” you clear your throat, a little embarrassed at having made a wrong assumption, “we physically cannot let you go, not in this state - consider it doctor’s orders.” 

He sighs again, though his tone is less annoyed now, and slightly more nervous. “I’ve just,” he pauses, searching for the right words, “I don’t know, hospitals kind of creep me out.” 

You spin around, a newfound tenderness in your expression as you look at him, “Oh, I see.” 

“I know it’s embarrassing, you know, since I’m a biker or whatever but-“ 

You take a couple steps closer to him, eyes scanning over his bare chest and up to his right collarbone which dons a thick scar which you can tell is from a surgery a long time ago. You gesture to it with a gloved hand, “That got anything to do with it?” 

His expression turns a little shy as his hand comes up to feel at what you’re taking about, “partially.” 

“Don’t worry, they used to freak me out too but, I-, we, will make sure it’s as comfortable for you as possible.”  He still looks a little reluctant but slips his shirt back on and heads to grab his things. The two of you walk out of the emergency room and out into the hallway. The hospital seems to have quietened down a little, the chaos from earlier being replaced by a sort of serene quiet as patients and doctors shuffle around. The two of you make your way up to the inpatient unit, where you manage to find Franco his own room for the night. 

“Plus, this way we’ll have plenty of time for you to fill me in on the details of how you ended up like this, and maybe how you got that lovely scar if I’m lucky enough.” You say as you gesture for him to go inside the room that’ll house him for the next day or so. 

“And if I’m lucky enough, maybe time to talk you into giving me your number,” he laughs as he sits down on the bed. 

You shake your head as you let out a soft laugh, already walking out of the room, “Goodnight Franco.” 

“See you tomorrow, Doc.” 

taglist: (reply/send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[abbyshands]

gf!ellie who is the prettiest girl in the whole world. there’s a natural look to her, considering she doesn’t wear makeup, leaves her auburnette locks tussled, and hardly ever shaves. she takes care of her body, but leaves it just the right of natural that makes you swoon for her. one day, she’s getting ready to shower, grabbing essentials as she rummages through your shared dresser. you’re engrossed in a book until ellie snaps you out of your thoughts by asking you, “baby, did you buy more razors?” you raise an eyebrow, setting your book aside. “razors for what?” you ask. ellie mirrors your expression in confusion. “so i can shave? it’s been a while,” ellie says. you shake your head, like it’s the most incredulous thing she could have ever said. “not long enough. don’t shave yet,” you say. ellie turns around fully to walk up to you, clad in only a towel as she looks down at you, a little smirk on her face. “why?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer. “because,” you smirk back, tugging at her towel, pulling a gasp from her as she’s left bare before you. “this,” you say, gesturing to her underarms, “this,” you say, pressing kisses down her happy trail, “and this,” you finalize, pressing two fingers against her pretty pussy, causing her to gasp out, “make you perfect just the way you are. now go shower.” ellie blushes in response, pressing a little kiss to your forehead before leaving. “yes, ma’am.”

this is so short dear god but it’s been sitting in my google docs and the queen deserved a little birthday post so <3 happy birthday, aestra! @astralnymphh ♡

[keeksandgigz]

the love witch

modern!eddie munson x fem!witchy!reader

summary: Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend. Hell, he's not even sure how he was able to get you interested in him in the first place. Despite him not really believing in your witchy practices, he's incredibly supportive, but that doesn't come without his cheeky digs. He agrees to a tarot reading for shits and giggles. You don't like that he doesn't take it seriously.

cw: no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, reader has female anatomy, oral (F receiving), face sitting, sub!Eddie, dom!Reader, choking, slight biting, dirty talk, honorifics, unprotected piv (pls don't do that), ending leans towards the whole witchy vibe

word count: 4.8k

this and all my works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker. 

Living in a small studio apartment in the Haight-Ashbury of San Francisco, which he got a damn good price on. 

He works at one of the many vintage record stores in the neighborhood, which pulsates with raw musical energy, almost as if he steps in the 70s every time he gets out of the front door of his apartment building.

Sometimes he just sits on his fire escape to fuck around with his guitar, inspired by the smells of incense coming from the crystal shops, the music coming from the vintage clothing stores and the pungent smell of lingering weed at all hours of the day.

And with the shaggy, long, brown curls, bullet belt and chains, his black cutoff band t- shirts and heavy lace up boots, he seems to fit right in- for the first time in his life. 

Next to his record store there is one of the many crystal shops on the high street, a tiny little nook he always walks by on the way to work and snickers to himself. There’s no way people believe in all that.

He stops doing that once he meets you. 

Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker because he crosses paths with you.

He meets you while he is on his lunch break, using those thirty minutes of peace to walk around and usually pick up some prerolls from the dispensary a couple buildings down, or he lingers in front of the guitar store on the other side of the street, ogling at a B.C. Rich or an Ibanez, spending his break in there, fucking around with a cool amp. 

He meets you on an off day. A day where he doesn't feel like walking around, so he just stands in front of his store smoking a cigarette. You're walking a longtime client out of the crystal shop next door. 

“Thank you for that dried lavender, Janice! I’ll set aside some of that incense for you when we get the shipment” he hears you say. He turns around, snickers at your words while Janice passes in front of him, disappearing in the Saturday afternoon crowd. 

“Something funny?” you ask. Your voice feels smooth like honey wine. He turns around, and suddenly he doesn't feel like snickering anymore.

You look so pretty, the kind of pretty that is almost otherworldly. Like you could’ve come up in his head while planning a DnD campaign. Purple bell sleeve top, a long, black, flowy skirt and lace- up boots. Dressed like his own elven high priestess. 

He realizes he’d been staring at you for a good silent minute. He nervously breaks eye contact to put out his cigarette on the sole of his Docs. 

“Sorry– heh, just don’t really believe in all that stuff” he says, shrugging. In doing that, his evidently too- short shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of the skin of his tummy, which doesn’t go unnoticed to you. 

You lean on the doorframe of the store “What’s your name again?” you ask, a feline smile creeping on your lips. 

He swallows “I um- haven’t told you my- It’s Edward- Eddie!” he corrects himself, you got him flustered “Nobody calls me Edward” he remarks. 

His stammer makes you smile, like he's a wounded puppy dog. 

“Alright Edward Eddie, see you around” and with that you disappear back into the store. 

It takes Eddie a week to learn your name, asking the owner of the crystal shop you work at with no luck, then running into Janice a week later, who kindly tells him your name and then raves about you for a good ten minutes. Quite the hypewoman. 

It takes Eddie another two weeks to ask you out on a date. You're wearing a long mauvish dress under a white cardigan when he sees you walk into the store. Your hair is pulled back from your face and he swears he sees stars in your eyes. 

You say yes and agree to meet at a coffee shop, and by the end of the day, he asks you for a second date. And then a third, and a fourth, and by the arrival of fall, Eddie Munson has a girlfriend.

Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend.

He even jokes with his friends that his witch girlfriend put a spell on him. Made him drink a love potion, because he can't justify him being so obsessed with you.

Another thing he can't justify is you actually liking him. Sometimes he still needs to pinch himself to make sure it's not all a joke.

A pretty girl that looks like she's straight out of his DnD fantasies is dating him? There's no way shit like that happens to Edward Munson.

Although his apartment is right above the record shop, which means sneaking away for a quickie whenever you guys have matched up work schedules, he loves your apartment.

Twenty minutes away from Haight- Ashbury, in Twin Peaks, there lies your apartment. In an old building from the sixties or seventies, you have it decorated with tapestries and sun- catchers and rugs and pillows and cushions. It's a joy for Eddie's senses.

And with dating you, came Circe, your black cat who seems to have taken an almost immediate liking to Eddie.

Your apartment always smells like incense and candles, a smell you bring with you wherever you go. A smell Eddie loves. There are plants hanging from the ceiling and a big purple couch in the living room.

Everything is antique, lucky finds from thrift stores or flea markets. The table, chairs. The bookcases that hold your witchy books and your crystals.

The first time he comes over he picks one up. A carnelian.

"So, these pretty rocks are supposed to... what?" he asks, toying with every bit and bob on your bookshelf.

"They're crystals, Eddie. And each different one has a purpose. That one you're holding is a carnelian" you say, pouring him a cup of loose- leaf herbal tea, and pointing at the crystal with your nose.

"Okay, and what's it do?" he asks, toying with the smooth surface and going to sit on the ground next to you. He blows on his tea and takes a sip. He isn't a tea enjoyer, but for you he could be.

"Well, a lot of things, but primarily carnelians help boost sexual energy-" you get interrupted by Eddie sputtering out his tea. Some of it lands on you, which causes you to let out a shriek.

The ridiculousness of the situation is both endearing and hilarious. The poor guy probably didn't expect you being so blunt about your use of crystals to aid your sex life.

A giggle escapes you while Eddie tinges a deep shade of crimson from the embarrassment. He shakily sets down the teacup and saucer.

"Shi-shit sorry, lemme help you clean it up" he says, scrambling for the napkins on the coffee table to clean his mess up.

"You got some on me, Eddie" you say as you move your hair from your face to let him clean up the spit- out tea from your cheek.

"Oh my god, sorry lemme get that" he repeats, flushed.

He's shaky in reaching for the napkin to wipe your skin, afraid that he might have ruined his shot at dating you just because he cannot keep his mouth shut.

"It's honestly not a big deal, Ed. It was just funny for the most part" you smile at him, reaching your hand to lay his head on your shoulder. He breathes again.

Once he's calmed down he continues his curious interview.

"So what, do you put it up your pussy or something?" The idea of it makes Eddie's blood run slightly hotter. You laugh.

He blushes at your reaction, feeling slightly embarrassed once he registers what he had just said.

A sheepish "sorry" escapes his lips.

"No, no it's fine" you chuckle "not exactly. You just kinda charge them and set intentions. Then you can take it with you on, like, a date, if you wanna hope for something more" you say. He becomes very aware of his hard- on when you say that.

There is a thick sense of expectation in the air once those words leave your mouth. It could be the thick incense smoke floating around the room, or it could be the way you're looking at him like you want to eat him whole. Your faces get closer.

"I brought one with me today, actually" you admit. And he has never taken his shirt off so fast in his life.

So every time you hang out, he carries a piece if carnelian in his pocket, in hopes to repeat what happened at your apartment.

With time, he learns to carry a rose quartz with him, too.

Soon after, you begin gifting him crystals and bracelets to carry with him. He likes his black tourmaline beaded bracelet the best.

"It's for protection" you had said. It's just very metal to him.

He never really believes in it, but it's sweet, seeing you show up to his apartment with little colorful rocks to put on his windowsill. You teach him how to recharge them and set intentions, but after the second or third time he just can't be bothered.

He quickly learns it's not just pretty rocks you're interested in. You're, like, a full- fledged witch. Hence, the nickname 'witchy' he'd given you.

You ask him for the time and place of his birth. He scrambles to text his uncle Wayne to ask if he remembers what time he's born.

After a couple days of searching, Wayne comes across Elizabeth Munson's old diary. Indianapolis, Indiana, December 21st, 1997 at 3:47 AM.

Eddie Munson has a birth chart.

Sagittarius sun, Scorpio moon, Aries rising.

Whatever that means.

You try to explain it to him, but to no avail. He doesn't really care much for the stars. Except the ones in your eyes.

He swears he can see them twinkle every time you're laying on your brocade rug in the candle lit living room. He learns you don't really use your couch, rather, you just lay on the floor, among a pile of pillows.

Sometimes you're watching TV together. You're sat in between his legs, leaning against his chest, while Circe lays on your lap. And you look at his palms, tracing the fine lines and ridges of his calloused hands.

"You have lines on the top of your hand" you whisper, kissing his fingers.

He blows the cigarette smoke out the open window, careful not to make your house smell.

"Yeah, no shit. We all have 'em, witchy" he places a kiss to the crown of your head.

"No, look right here" you say, tracing the faint lines right where his callouses are "lines like this means you're gonna have a long life" you kiss that spot on his hand. Coarse, but warm.

"Thank fuck, imagine if i just got hit by a cable car tomorrow?" he chuckles, going back to watching TV.

You trace a deep line that goes across the palm of his hand, you smile to yourself.

"Whatcha smilin' about, witchy?" he says, eyes still glued on the TV.

"You have a double heart line. Means you love a lot" you turn and give him a smile. One of those that make your eyes sparkle in the candlelight.

"If I have a double heart line, does that mean I love you more?" he asks, sickly sweet. He cringes at himself for swearing he wasn't going to be that guy, but when you look at him like he just hung the moon for you, he can allow himself to be disgustingly sappy.

You think about it, because he does have a point, but you don't want to make him win this two- month long game you've been playing, so instead you take his palm once more.

"Look, Ed" you say, pointing at a random prominent line "this line tells me you're an asshole" you laugh, as he pinches your sides and you try to squirm away, but his hands are holding you firmly while planting sloppy kisses everywhere he could reach.

Cheek, neck, shoulder. He inhales the curve between your neck and shoulder, and you swear your feel a bit of tongue poke out between his lips. Then he stops.

And you feel it. Deeply seated at the bottom of your back, pressing against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants.

Eddie loves the way you smell, intoxicated by the smell of lavender incense and some kind of berry perfume you wear.

He's convinced that perfume is actually just a pheromone concentrate, because he cannot stop the blood rushing to his dick everytime he catches a whiff of the sweet berries, nestled in the crook of your neck, behind your ear.

"And where's the line that tells me I'm gonna get a kiss?" Eddie asks, voice low and gravelly, a voice that fills you with need, makes your breath falter from your lungs, replacing it with water. But you kiss him nonetheless, and maybe him getting a kiss is written in the stars, after all.

He softly grabs your hair as he slips his tongue in your mouth. Honey- wine whimpers falling from your lips, as you try and get Circe off your lap and in literally any other room. The cat seems to be unbothered.

"Ed... she doesn't want to move" you whine, high pitched voice expressing annoyance, but also overwhelmed at how cute your cat is.

"She's the biggest cockblocker in history" he mutters annoyed, you laugh. A groan leaves his mouth.

"Leave her alone she's just a baby! Us having sex tonight just wasn't in the stars" you shrug, light and airy as you go back to leaning on his chest and petting Circe.

Fuck the stars. He huffs, accepting his fate

He waits for you outside of the shop when he's not working. Guitar case slung around his shoulders, so he can practice at yours, he picks you up and you take the train to your apartment.

"How was work today, witchy?" he asks, roping a hand around your shoulders and giving you a tender kiss on your head.

"Meh, a. bunch of wannabe Tiktok witches, a bunch of old ladies booking tarot readings and threatening to leave bad reviews because I told them their husband is cheating on them or something" you shrug getting on the bus "Janice came, though, she brought me some jasmine flowers so I can make love tea" you say, sitting down. He sits next to you.

You take out the small satchel of dried jasmine flowers, taking in the sweet scent of citrusy flowers.

"Love tea?" he asks "that what you give me when I come over to your apartment every time?" he dips his nose in the satchel, giving it a sniff.

"Yeah, you wish" you laugh "just peppermint tea. Don't want you accusing me I put a love spell on you" Eddie smiles and lays your head on his shoulder while you play with the tassels of your bag, letting you close your eyes for the twenty minutes of the train ride.

Once you're home he slings the guitar case off his shoulders and takes it out, sitting at the stools of your breakfast counter, while you empty the contents of your bag.

Herbs, oils and a new card deck.

"So, what do you need to do now?" he asks, pulling out his phone, looking for guitar tabs to practice on.

"'kay, so" you begin "I need to make tea blend, then putting stuff together for this new project I'm working on, and then break out this new deck I got from work" you say, lost in the mysticism of your to- do list.

Sometimes he finds it funny that the stuff you have to worry about is totally otherworldly to what he usually worries about.

He watches you break out the mortar and pestle while you measure a teaspoon of dried rosebuds, a teaspoon of dried lavender buds, a teaspoon of jasmine and a pinch of cinnamon. He mindlessly plays a couple chords from a song he heard at the record shop.

"What's the cinnamon for?" he asks, pointing at the jar.

"Spicing things up? Cinnamon is a spice, so could be. I'm trying out this new recipe" you say, grinding the flowers together.

"So what you're saying" he begins, looking up from his guitar "is that you're making sex tea" and the feline grin plastered on your face is enough to make you wanna smack him in the head.

"This is not sex tea, Edward" you interject sternly while pouring the contents of the mortar in a new jar.

You light an incense stick, a rose infused one, to set your intentions for this batch, then putting it to rest on your windowsill for the night.

"What are you doing, witchy?" he asks, following your gaze as you set down the jar.

"It's for the moon. Charges the tea" you say, nonchalantly "can you pass me that deck on the counter, please?" you sit on the carpet legs crossed, while Eddie reaches for the card deck and tosses it at you. You catch it.

He sets down his guitar against the counter to goes to stand in front of you as you take the tarot cards out of the deck and start shuffling them.

"What's that baby?" he asks, he swears he can never stop learning from you.

"My new tarot deck, I need to break it out. Want me to give you a reading?" you ask, hoping he'll say yes.

He truly thinks about it, because he doesn't believe in any of this stuff, but saying no to you and watching your eyes darken with sadness is something he doesn't want to put himself through.

He is a weak, weak man.

He shrugs. "Alright then" he says, sitting down on one of the cushy pink pillows on the floor of your apartment "gimme a reading, you little witch"

Your ringed hands shuffle the gold filigree cards.

"I'm gonna do a regular spread, 'kay? Just past, present, future" you look at him, and he swears he sees your eyes twinkling again in the light of the glass lamp on the side table.

You fan out the cards on the carpet and let him pick three cards.

He's reluctant about this, all he really wants is to cook dinner together and spend the evening with you.

You spread the three cards out and unveil the first one.

"Okay, so that's The Empress. Means you have a significant female figure in your life. It usually represents feminine beauty, abundance" you say, explaining it to him.

"You got some abundance, alright" he huffs a laugh, quickly silenced by a deathly stare. You didn't like it when he made fun of what you liked. You roll your eyes at him.

"Sorry, witchy. Keep going" he smiles, like he's about to crack another joke.

"Yeah, okay." you flip the middle card "what luck. You got the lovers" you say, unenthusiastically.

Eddie's eyes light up at the possibility of a joke "Is that the card that tells me I'm getting some sick pussy in the next five minutes?" he asks, his tone makes you want to throw the empty box of cards at his head.

"It looks like you're not taking it seriously, so what's the point" you go to stand up, but he stops you.

"Sorry, baby, please don't leave. I'm enjoying this, Sorry, I won't make any more jokes, I promise" he pleads, and a wicked idea sparks in your head. He sounds really pretty when he begs.

You let out an annoyed groan as you sit back down and you unveil the last card, his future.

Ace of wands. Sex really was in his cards tonight.

"What's that, baby?" he asks.

"Ace of wands. Looks like you're gonna get some 'sick pussy' after all, Munson. Lie down." You command.

He flushes red. "Huh?" you reach under your long skirt to remove your panties.

"I said lie down, I'm giving you what the cards said" you stare at him, expectation in your eyes as he lays down on the brocade carpet, unsure if he should feel afraid or like the luckiest motherfucker alive.

"Better put in the work, pretty boy" you say, crawling on top of him, he looks at you, eyes blown as you lift your skirt, climbing the length of his body. You reach a resting place right on top of his mouth.

It takes him a second to register that you're sitting on his face, and his tongue darts out of his open mouth, to shyly have a taste.

"C'mon now, Eddie, where is the passion? You seemed really passionate about cracking jokes earlier, didn't you?" you cooed, holding up your shirt to look at his eyes, twinkling and darkened as his tongue begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

He gets the hang of it as your hips begin to grind on his face, his tongue darting in and out of your hole as his nose bumps deliciously against your clit.

"Mmm fuck" you gasp as you raise your hips to let him breathe, but he just pulls you down harder. A gasp escapes your mouth as the sound of your moans and Eddie's slurping fills the room.

Even he hears it, because you can see his eyes roll to the back of his head as a resounding hum escapes his lips, vibrating against you, wet and sensitive.

A whine leaves your mouth as you begin to get more desperate, grabbing a handful of his hair, grinding your hips harder against his tongue.

"Doing so good for me, Ed." you say in a feeble attempt to keep the reins controlled, but his tongue works magic on you, making your brain turn to mush.

"There you go don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop" you command, and his tongue flicks against your clit, catching it between his teeth to begin to suck at it.

A mewl leaves your lips, feeling the familiar warmth in your belly begin to form as you pull harder on his hair, moans becoming more high pitched and strained as Eddie makes quick work of his tongue on you.

"'mgonna cum on your face, you want that?" you ask, a rhetorical question, because of course he wants you to gush all over him.

And so you do. You come with a silent scream, riding the orgasm out with the last few snaps of your hips, as your breathing stills and your vision goes white.

Eddie's also panting like a dog under you, aching in his pants for you to make him cum.

You get off his mouth, his chin coated with your fluids as he gathers them on his fingers and sticks them in his mouth. You can't help but mutter a "good boy" as you reach for the belt of his pants.

"Sit up" you command, as he goes to straighten his back and lean against your purple couch.

You take off his shirt "I'm gonna ride you, yeah?" he looks at you like you've just discovered that aliens are real.

"God, yes please, please" he says, looking up at you as you unzip your top off, and you swear his eyes grow bigger at the sight of your chest, your bra still on. A longing sigh leaves his mouth.

You unbutton his jeans and lower them to his mid thigh along with his boxers as his cock slaps against his tummy. He hisses at the feeling as he watches you align yourself on top of it.

"You want it, Ed?" you question, an aura of cool, calm control exuding from you.

He whines. "Please, I want it so bad. Please put it in" he begs, and you've never realized how pretty his voice sounded when begging. Whiny and high pitched, nasal, almost as if he were about to cry. A prayer for you to fulfill him, make him whole.

Like he is nothing without you.

Is that what it felt like for him to see you crying on his cock every night? A rush of power washes over you, as you motion to sink down on him, but quickly going back up.

He lets out a whiny cry, a bratty child without his candy.

"Uh- huh. Beg me to fuck you, Ed" you say. You swear you can feel him shiver, his cock jumping from underneath your skirt.

"F-fuck, please. Please fuck me. Please my love, my witch, my high priestess" he rambles, your hand creeps up his thick neck, wrapping around it "fuck mmm please, I'll do anything. I'll give you everything" a frenzied speech, his words speed up at the feeling of your nails scratching the skin of his neck.

He'd let you sacrifice him to the devil if you asked him.

Feeling his pulse point with your nails as you begin to squeeze the sides of it, a needy gasp escapes the pretty boy's mouth.

Flushed a pretty red, sweat clinging to the base of his neck and forehead, hair curling and sticking to his feverish skin as you begin to sink down on him.

Inch by inch, slowly feeling him fill you up, as a quiet "oh" escapes you once you've taken all of him.

His breath is quick and labored, quiet pleas rolling out of the sweetness of his tongue, where the taste of you lingers. The love potion you'd been administering him all along.

Eddie Munson is not a religious guy, but if he needs to pray to his goddess to get you to fuck him he'll do it.

But you start moving. A slow, feline movement of your back, almost as if you and Circe were the same creature, a shapeshifter from another world. A goddess, an empress of his body and mind. He was wrapped around your finger.

Your hands tighten around his neck as you grind yourself down on him, he whimpers.

"Mmmm, so big" you mutter against his ear, biting his lobe. And everything you do makes him whine and buck himself deeper inside you, hitting the spongy walls deep inside you, needing more of you. Needing you to swallow him whole.

And you comply, raising your hips and lowering them, bouncing yourself on him as if you were only using him to chase your own pleasure. The thought of it makes Eddie shiver and moan, a strangled sound coming out of his constricted throat.

He hopes your hand leaves a mark on his neck, so people know he's yours. So people know that the witch next door spelled him and he is now in love with her. He never wants to get away from her.

"You- you're so good" he whispers, hips rising and falling on his cock, head lolling as you feel yourself get close again.

"Yeah, baby? Thank me, then. Thank your goddess for making you feel so good" you command, and his hands travel through every inch of your body, feeling every ridge and crease and bump. Wanting to feel you, wanting to worship you.

"F-fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you." a prayer to his goddess, for making him feel so good. "Please more, I- I'm so-"

"You're close aren't you?" you coo, cradling the back of his head with your free hand. Making him look at you.

"'M so close, please let me let me let me please" he begins to chant, too far gone from the feeling of your nails digging on the sides of his neck, scratching his sweaty scalp, tongue tracing the outline of his lips as quick and labored breaths escape him.

"C'mon, cum for me" you whisper in his ear, letting go of his neck and latching your lips onto him, leaving a few purple bruises on his milky skin.

You feel him spill inside you with a whine, shivering, while you ride him for all he is, chasing your own release.

You follow him soon after, biting down on his shoulder. The taste of his sweaty skin lingering on your tongue.

You stay clung to him for a few minutes after, quiet and panting as he revels in the post- orgasmic feeling you've just given him.

"Never thought I would've been the submissive type" he huffs out with a laugh as you climb off of him.

"Well, you're welcome. Gonna go have a milk bath, be right back" you stand, reveling in the feeling of his spent spilling out of you.

He hears the shower turn on and as he's getting dressed, Circe comes to nuzzle on his lap.

He raises an eyebrow.

Where has she been the whole time? The rooms of your apartment were all open when you got back. She was probably just taking a nap in your bed.

He shrugs as he delivers a couple pets to her head.

Meanwhile in the bathroom, a spell book is suspended mid air as you look a spell to get rid of a hickey that Eddie had left on your neck.

mini taglist: @strangerstilinski, @stuckonthefiction, @elegantkoalapaper, @gravedigginbbydoll, @eddiesxangel, @reidsbtch, @bangaveragewhitewine, @chaoticharrington, @hideoutside, @monstxrteeth, @the-local-pendeja, @thornsnvultures, @strangerfreaks, @unverifiedmeatsuit, @strangerfreaks, @starlitlakes, @thebejeweledwatercat, @aphrogeneias, @chrrymunson, @amira0303, @paradise-summertime, @onegirlmanytales, @piecsesrising, @feralamdtiredrat, @m0llygunn , @angel-upon, @lavendermunson, @cowboylikemunson

[slattlicker]

Write ANY spicy story about the schlitties (schlatt’s man tits). I…. I want to respectfully admire and ‘study’ them…… 😳👉👈

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * peer-reviewed tit study ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: he brings you lunch during a study session. you ask him to help you practice. he volunteers his body. things get clinical—fast. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: to the scholar who requested a respectful study of the schlitties…i hope you know this got wildly out of hand.

warnings: explicit content (MINORS DNI !!!) · med student/nurse!y/n · blowjob (m receiving) · power dynamic · public tension · interrupted spice · tit fixation (m & f) · mutual tit grabbing · car sex vibes · dom!schlatt energy · research-based flirting

enjoy, overachievers (｡•̀ ᴗ -)✧

✧✧✧

the practice room smells like disinfectant and stress.

you’ve got your laptop propped up, highlighters scattered, and your folded scrub top draped over the back of a chair. the table in front of you is meant for training—ideal for learning vitals, practicing physicals, or quietly melting into a pile of regret while prepping for exams.

which is exactly what you’re doing.

until the door creaks open.

"i brought food," comes a familiar voice. casual. teasing.

you blink up, startled—and then nearly drop your pen.

schlatt leans in the doorway, brown paper bag in one hand, and that smug little smile on his face. he’s wearing your school hoodie. it fits poorly, in that it’s clearly not his, but his broad frame makes it look criminal anyway.

"what are you—how did you get in here?"

he shrugs, stepping inside like he owns the place. "guy in the lab coat outside owed me a favor."

"you bribed an emt with an energy drink again, didn’t you."

"allegedly."

you groan, but you’re already smiling as he sets the bag down on the table and leans over to kiss your temple.

"you look exhausted," he murmurs.

"that’s because i am."

"then let me help you study."

your brows lift. "you want to help me with… medical exams?"

he leans against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest. "yeah. be your little fake patient or whatever."

you raise an eyebrow. "you offering to take your shirt off for educational purposes, big guy?"

he grins. "you tell me."

✧✧✧

he’s shirtless on the table five minutes later.

you’ve barely touched your sandwich. he’s already unwrapped his, humming through bites like this is the best day of his life.

you try to be professional. you do. but it’s hard to keep a straight face when your mock patient is sitting there with his legs dangling off the side, tan skin on display, and that cocky look in his eye.

“vitals?” you prompt, grabbing your clipboard.

“sure,” he says. “but only if you warm your hands first.”

you shoot him a look. “you think this is a massage?”

“no, i just think you touching me should be a luxury experience.”

you sigh, setting the clipboard aside.

“pulse?” you ask, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. his skin is warm. his smirk deepens.

“elevated,” you note.

“wonder why,” he murmurs.

“blood pressure?”

“skyrocketing, sweetheart. must be the hot nurse.”

you glare.

he chuckles.

you step closer.

“breath sounds...” you say, placing your fingers lightly against his ribcage.

he inhales.

so do you.

your hand stalls.

you blink.

he grins. “you good?”

“i’m fine.” you clear your throat. “i’m being professional.”

“you’re being flustered.”

you scowl, reaching for the stethoscope. “lay down.”

“buying me dinner first might’ve been nice.”

“schlatt.”

“okay, okay.”

he lies back across the table, hands behind his head. the stretch of his torso should be illegal.

you place the stethoscope against his chest.

and immediately regret it.

because now you can hear it.

the steady beat of his heart.

strong. confident. comforting.

you glance up.

he’s watching you.

“…normal,” you say.

he smirks. “yours?”

you roll your eyes, moving to write down the fake results.

then, lowly:

“i think you skipped a step, doc.”

you glance over.

“palpation,” he says. “gotta check for tenderness.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’re not tender.”

“try me.”

you move your hands slowly over his chest, palms flat. it's a little ridiculous—he’s just fucking there, all warmth and muscle, and somehow still smug even as you prod his sternum.

"mm. yep," he says. "definitely tender."

you poke him, hard.

“ow.”

“babies don’t get lollipops after exams.”

“but what if i was so good?”

you sigh, bracing your hands on either side of him, leaning over the table.

"you’re the worst patient i’ve ever had."

"yeah? but i’m still your favorite."

you stare at him.

he stares back.

the silence simmers.

then:

"you gonna write me a prescription or what?"

you raise an eyebrow. "for what?"

he grins, hands finding your waist. "for another exam. i think i need a full work-up. maybe… over dinner? in your dorm? with less clothes and more hands-on testing?"

you laugh despite yourself.

“you really want me to ace this exam, huh?

he leans back on his elbows, chest rising slow. “wanna make sure you know your anatomy.”

you eye him. “mm. think i’ve got the basics down.”

his hands slide up your sides, deliberate. “then let’s get into practical application.”

you snort, but your heart’s already racing. you should scold him—remind him this is technically a school facility, that the table beneath him is meant for pretend patients and sterile technique.

instead, you step between his legs and tug his waistband.

“guess i should run another check-up.”

he watches you with a kind of greedy calm, eyes dragging down your face, your uniform, your mouth.

“thorough this time,” he murmurs. “real hands-on. i’ve got symptoms.”

“oh yeah?” you slide his sweats down his hips, slow. “what are we treating?”

he inhales as you wrap your fingers around him. “swelling.”

you bite back a smile. “localized?”

he huffs a laugh. “worse when you’re close.”

“noted.”

you sink to your knees.

he swears under his breath, one hand bracing on the table, the other brushing through your hair like he’s still trying to play it cool—even as you lick a slow stripe along his length. his thighs tense beneath your hands.

“fuck,” he mutters. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

you hum around him in response, mouth warm, slow, wet. you take your time—letting him twitch and strain and clench his jaw, watching the flush creep up his chest.

his voice is wrecked when he speaks again. “you keep doing that and i’m gonna forget what my name is.”

you pull back with a slick pop, eyes up. “tell me if anything hurts.”

“only if you stop.”

you laugh, and duck back down.

he groans louder this time, grip tightening in your hair, not to guide—but to ground. he’s already close, and he knows it. you can feel it in the way his thighs shift, the sharp hitch in his breath. you hollow your cheeks a little, just to watch him fall apart.

and then—

a knock.

“sorry to interrupt! just a reminder we’ve got this room reserved starting at two!”

silence.

utter, fucking silence.

you freeze.

so does he.

“oh my god,” schlatt says, half-choked.

you glance up at him, trying not to laugh, your hand still curled around the base of his cock.

he whispers like it’s a war crime. “you can’t stop now.”

you mouth 'we have to'.

he slaps a hand over his face, groaning like he’s being punished for a past life. “i’m gonna die in here.”

you snort, squeezing his thigh before rising. “then hurry up and tuck that thing back in before they add public indecency to your autopsy report.”

he glares at you, but it’s all for show. his ears are pink.

you hand him a tissue from your bag and fish around for your lip balm like none of this is out of the ordinary. “c’mon, schlatt. shirts on. pants up. act natural.”

he grumbles something about unfulfilled promises and cruel women in positions of power while cleaning up and shimmying back into his sweats.

you smooth your hair, give your reflection a once-over in the dark window, and open the door just wide enough to peek out.

two undergrads stand there awkwardly with clipboards, eyes wide when they recognize you.

“hey,” you say sweetly, “thanks for being patient. if you could just give me two more minutes? then the room’s all yours.”

one of them gives you a thumbs up. the other stares at schlatt—who, behind you, is clearly still adjusting his waistband—and mouths is that your boyfriend?

you shut the door with a snap before answering.

✧✧✧

the walk to the parking lot is suspiciously silent.

not out of guilt. not really. more like shared tension—like you both know damn well what almost just happened and your bodies haven’t gotten the memo it’s over yet.

the second the truck’s in view, schlatt veers toward the passenger side like a man on a mission—but then stops short.

you blink. “uh. you good?”

he glances at you, eyes a little wild. “get in the back.”

you laugh. “what?”

“front’s too cramped.”

“for what?”

he doesn’t answer.

just opens the back door, crawls in, and looks at you expectantly.

and maybe you should say no. maybe you should remind him you both have places to be. maybe you should pretend you’re above a little heat-fueled make-out session in the back seat like a pair of hormonal teenagers.

but your hands are already gripping the door.

and your knees are already pressing into the leather as you slide in after him.

he closes the door behind you.

and that’s all the warning you get.

his hands are on your hips in seconds, pulling you into his lap with a groan like he’s been starving for this. your knees bracket his thighs, your mouth finding his fast—hot, needy, and a little reckless. all the breathy restraint from earlier boils over.

his hands move up your back, under your shirt, fingers greedy against your skin.

you arch into it, one hand threading through his hair, the other gripping his shoulder.

he grins against your mouth. “you’re real handsy for someone who called things off twenty minutes ago.”

“you’re real smug for someone who almost got caught with his pants down.”

“you didn’t seem to mind.”

“i minded plenty,” you whisper, kissing the edge of his jaw, “but you looked so pretty, i got distracted.”

he groans, hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. “say that again.”

you press your forehead to his. “you looked pretty.”

“fuck.”

he kisses you again, rougher this time—biting at your lip, letting out a noise when your hips shift over his.

your fingers skate down his bare chest, dragging slow as you pull back to look at him, breathing hard. he’s flushed, pupils blown, lips wet.

“what?” he asks, breath catching as you swipe your thumbs across his nipples. again. deliberately.

“just thinking,” you murmur, fingers teasing the swell of each pec. “they really are perfect.”

“they’re not even—”

“no, shut up. you’ve got better tits than me.”

he chokes on a laugh. “that’s not true.”

“look at you,” you say, giving one a light squeeze. he jumps. “they bounce. they’ve got mass. shape.”

“stop,” he wheezes, hands tightening on your waist. “i’m gonna develop a complex.”

“a good one,” you hum, leaning in to mouth at his chest, sucking a bruise right under his collarbone. “like a… medical marvel. patient zero for pec envy.”

he groans, head thumping back against the seat. “jesus christ.”

his hands come up, tugging your shirt until it bunches under your arms. he wastes no time reaching for your bra, pulling the cups down until your tits spill out into his waiting palms.

“you really wanna compare?” he says, low and smug, thumbing over one nipple until it hardens under his touch. “’cause baby, you’ve got no idea how obsessed i am.”

“show me.”

he does. with both hands and then his mouth—sucking at one, rolling the other between his fingers, humming like he’s tasting something decadent. you arch with a gasp, fingers tightening in his hair.

“god,” you whisper. “you’re ridiculous.”

he pulls back, lips shiny, eyes gleaming. “admit it.”

“what?”

he gives your tits one last squeeze. “mine are better.”

“you’re delusional.”

he flicks his tongue over your nipple and grins. “say it.”

“never.”

he laughs—open, shameless, so him—and then leans in again, kissing between the swell of your breasts before dragging his mouth back up to yours.

“fine,” he mutters. “we’ll settle this later. in bed. with scientific analysis.”

you groan against his lips, hips grinding down on him. “can’t wait for the peer-reviewed tit study.”

“baby,” he breathes, biting your lip on the next kiss, “i am the peer.”

the windows are fogged. your clothes are barely on. and when he kisses you again, it’s all tongue and heat and wandering hands.

until—

a distant door slams.

you both freeze.

he pulls back, panting. “was that—?”

you scramble off his lap, breathless. “we need to go.”

“what?” he blinks. “no, c’mon, just two more minutes—”

“nope,” you say, tugging your shirt back down. “you said yourself. front seat’s too cramped. you want more hands-on testing, we’re gonna need a controlled environment.”

he’s already climbing forward again, one arm snagging his shirt from the floor. “your place. now.”

“your driving better be as good as your tits.”

he snorts. “buckle up, doc. we’re skipping straight to the home visit.”

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

[maximwtf]

“Piecing a plan back together.”

Ifa x Reader

Words: 1630

Google Docs Pages: 2,5

Warnings: G/N reader, ruined plans, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship.

Summary: You made dinner plans but the day got busier than planned. Thankfully Ifa is not one to give up so easily. 

AN// Hi guys! Another day, another fanfic. My hands have been feeling pretty uncomfortable again, enough to slow down my writing a little but we never back down in this house. I’ll add him to the characters I’m willing to write for again in the future, see if I’ll come up w something else too. I love this man  :”D 

“Piecing a plan back together.”

The two of you had initially made plans for dinner and you had even helped Ifa out at the clinic that day to ease the workload, just in case he’d otherwise be running late. Ifa had been busy for quite some time now after the war, which you’d told him was understandable. Not once had you complained, yet you could still see that he felt bad for the way your usual time for being together had been cut short. 

He’d sometimes come home very late at night or get in bed hellishly early in case someone came in at night or stole him away the minute the first rays of the sun peeked out. Which honestly wasn’t a problem, he always came back. But this didn’t seem to sit right with him, and so he had requested to take you out for dinner. 

But by around halfway through the day, you’d began to wonder if the dinner was even going to happen. And you had been correct, because later those plans had started to seem more like supper was the next best choice. Yet, even that had started to slowly seem like a stretch, when you looked outside and saw how the sun was slowly setting. 

By the time the last client had left and Ifa had been able to clean out the front desk area for tomorrow, it was already too late to get a table anywhere. It was getting dark outside and the hopes for even supper were getting slim. 

You watched him turn to you while dusting off his hands and saw how his gaze fixated on the window behind your seat. A slight grimace appeared onto his face when the time of day dawned on him, understanding the somewhat saddened look on your face now better. 

“Babe, I’m sorry.” There was a moment of silence from him after, eyes squinting a little as he thought of what to do, starting to feel a little guilty. “We could…potentially make it if we left now?” He asked a little sheepishly, knowing that he’d been the one to promise this to you in the first place and it’d been his work that had gotten in the way again. But truthfully speaking, he wasn’t even sure if he himself had any hope in his words. 

You pursed your lips, brows furrowing in a slightly apologetic way. Finding it somewhat charming how he was trying to fix the situation. “I’m not sure if…even if we ran I doubt-..” You muttered the last parts, not really wanting to admit out loud that the timeframe for any kind of outing was closed by now. 

A sigh passed through Ifa’s lips as he walked over to your seat with slow yet steady steps, kneeling down to take your hands in his. Running his thumbs over the backs of your hands while seemingly thinking of what to say. “Yeah, you’re probably right…” He mumbled while chewing his lower lip, eyes looking aside. You knew he felt bad for making you both look forward to this and having it end up like this. But it’s not like you were mad at him, it wasn’t really his fault. “I’ll make this up to you…it’s just uh..” He added when you didn’t say anything, seeming a little on edge. He wanted to try his best and think of something else you could do with the remaining time, which in all honesty was sweet of him. That by itself was able to pull a slight smile on your face.

You shook your head gently, a quiet chuckle escaping along with it to try and ease the mood. “We can just go to bed, you know. Try some other day.” You said after, watching as his gaze bounced back to you in an instant. “What? No, no we can’t do that.” He replied, voice even a little worried you dared to even suggest that, amusing you further. “Besides, I’ve got an idea. Up you go dude.” He added with a more airy and confident tone as he stood back up. A promising start…

You followed along, eyes keenly on him as you rose from the chair. “And the new grand plan is?” You asked, slight hesitation slipping into the curious tone you’d tried to go for. A small spark of that former upset still taking root somewhere at your core for the change of plans, which didn’t seem to go unnoticed. “You’ll see, c’mon.” A quick reply from Ifa as he stopped by you, peppering a few chaste kisses to your neck, cheek and temple. A silent apology along with a desperate attempt to offer you some hope again. Which undoubtedly worked, causing a faint smile to form on your face as he took a hold of your hand in one swift motion. Pulling you towards the living quarters. 

He turned a corner, opening a cabinet before speaking again. “I have a few drinks here…maybe some leftovers.” He spoke while placing said items to the counter, near the both of you. “We could have a..picnic outside and if we’re lucky..stargaze?” Ifa added before turning back to face you, a humble yet hopeful look on his face. Quite clear that he was putting on the front for your sake, which in and of itself was sweet to watch. 

You stared at him for a moment, a mere tease which seemingly worked since he appeared somewhat distressed due to the lack of response. It was only the subtle laughter you let out that seemed to ease his mind and boost his confidence back up. Of course he had come up with something to save the night. “Hey, don’t laugh! I think I also have some snacks left. Come help me carry these…” He said, taking your ‘response’ as acceptance to the new setting. Merely the sight of his confident nature coming back from your joy was enough to ease any upset that might have lingered. You wanted to see where this would go. Picking up a few of the items he'd left behind before following him. “I didn’t laugh at you!” You giggle at him again while on your way to the terrace. 

You watched as Ifa spread a felt across the terrace before placing down the food he had with him, encouraging you to join him by patting the spot beside him. You placed the jerky and a few fruits between the two of you and settled down. 

The sun had almost fully set by that point, washing the sky with warm colours before it would all be overtaken by colder shades of the night. But for now it was peaceful and still warm. Even a little oddly silent, now that you thought about it. Which was quickly fixed by Ifa chiming in. “You alright bro?” He asked while unwrapping one of the snacks for you. You knew he was trying to keep his tone calm and collected but there was a hint of guilt still somewhere in there. And to be fair, you’d be lying if you said the change of plans hadn’t been upsetting. But it wasn’t like this was the worst possible outcome. You gave him a nod as an answer before accepting the jerky he was handing you, nibbling away at it. Though this didn’t seem to fully convince him, yet it didn’t provoke him to bother you with asking again. “Y’know, this kinda beats any fancy dinner plans anyway.” He kept talking, which funny enough was keeping up the mood. 

Your eyes followed the direction he was looking. Finding a few stars already visible in the sky, a sweet sight. You gave him a chuckle, finding it sweet how hard he was trying. Not only with you, but with everything he ever put his mind to. “Suppose you’re right.” You hummed out along with a breath, finding the setting relaxing after the busy day.

Ifa leaned back to peel a fruit for the both of you, but you stopped him by placing a hand over his for a moment. “I’m grateful you chose to still spend time with me. Even if the plans got a little ruined.” You told him, holding his gaze with a slight smile on your face to enhance the words. You found him staring back at you for a while, as if the world had stopped for a moment. It almost made you laugh. He came back to it, pulling you a little closer to him. 

“C’mon, you say that like there was a chance I wouldn’t.” He laughs, back to his usual demeanour. “Well, yeah. But you could have just gone to bed in case someone came in at night.” You protested, as if you hadn’t just tried to be sweet earlier and this was now a topic you had to defend. But in a way you were being honest. Especially after the war, there’d been many cases when he’d barely been able to sleep a full night. He was so willing to put his clients first, that he’d rise from bed at any hour if needed, just to treat saurians and by some point, even the people. “Pfft, I wouldn’t bail on you like that dude. C’mon, give me more credit than that.” He laughed, hiding the affection swirling in his chest rather well. If only you hadn’t known him as well as you did. You hummed, giving him a subtle eyeroll. “I didn’t mean it like that anyway, just accept the compliment.” Which in turn earned a laugh from him as you leaned your head against his shoulder. 

“Hah, I know. I’m just messing with ya.” He hummed, taking a moment before you felt his hat get pressed onto your head. Hearing from his voice he was proud of himself for saving the night.

AN// I’m not even kidding yall, ruined plans w people who are generally happy hurt me more than any other form of angst like XD Unironically writing this was very painful, lolll

[royonninjago]

Something Interesting about the Forbidden Five's Elemental Powers

We still have little in the way of the actual personalities of the rest of the Forbidden Five, but now that I'm pretty sure that we have all their Elemental Powers (assuming there isn't a mistranslation or something), I think I've stumbled across a pretty interesting link between all of them.

Domination.

Each one of their powers roughly translates to a form of control or manipulation, which could play into why they're so dead set on conquering every realm in existence. As for my why I think this, here is my reasoning:

Brute Force This power represents domination through violence and right of conquest. It is the oldest and rawest form of control, representing the concept of might makes right. From what we've seen of Nokt and his "everything is war" mentality, I feel that this is especially fitting.

Fear This power represent domination through sheer terror and psychological manipulation. This form of control is a lot more primal than Brute Force, as it exists inside everyone. We haven't gotten as much screen time with Rox, but what we have seen is that she is much smarter than Nokt as she not only is a prolific wielder of Theroxian magic and is the one who created the Wolf Masks, but I think that it can be inferred that she was a large contributor to the "Elements of Betrayal" plan, if not the mastermind behind it.

A quick aside, but since Doc Wyatt has confirmed that Nokt and Rox are the leaders of the Forbidden Five, I think what that means is that they take leadership roles depending on the situation. Rox is more of a big picture strategic and plan making type of leader that decides what to do, when do to it and how it should be done. Meanwhile, Nokt is the on the ground leader that leads troops into battle and makes quick on the fly decisions that affect the flow of battle. This especially seems to be the case within the context of that flashback scene of Rox making the Wolf Masks while Nokt returns from battle with Zarkar as a prisoner.

Also, from here on out it is purely speculation based on the rest of the Five's Elemental Powers and their designs and motifs surrounding them.

Swarm This power represents domination through mob mentality and group think. I know that in the teaser trailer it looks like they're just controlling a large amount of and turning into a swarm of insects, but since this Element is called "Swarm" and the one who wields it is a giant bug person, I think it's safe to assume that any insect that operates under a hive mind is fair game. Besides, this one seems to be pretty self explanatory, after all how many people have done something just because other people are also doing it? As the famous "I can't remember who said it" once said, "a person is smart, but people are stupid".

Misfortune This power represents domination through superstition and faith. For thousands of years, people have been living in a chaotic and unpredictable world, and to cope they have been turning to the supernatural to rationalize it. And, historically speaking, those who have claimed to be in control of these supernatural forces have become very powerful and influential within their communities. And, historically, not all people with this kind of power have used it for exclusively good intentions. I mean, look at the shit that went on during the dark ages and the crusades and you'll understand what I mean. A miscellaneous and not fully formed thought I've had is about the chains around Zarkt's body and his Element being Misforture paralleling Pandora's box being locked up and holding in all the world's evil and misfortune. If someone who knows Greek mythology could put the pieces together then that would be cool.

Decay This power represents domination through culture and tradition. I admit this one is a bit of a stretch, but I think that the best parallel for this power is how eventually all institution erode and lose their sense of purpose, eventually becoming ripe for someone to usurp their power and influence for their own selfish needs. It's a story that has been told and repeated for as long as civilizations have existed, and as a mummy person Kur would be perfect for this Element since they most likely have seen the rise and fall of empires and would know exactly what to do. Read into that how you want.

I'm interested to see how the other members of the Forbidden Five are as individuals and how they interact with the Ninja and each other. If you have any other ideas to add on or refute or whatever, I'd love to hear them!

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 11

Part (11) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

It is 1am. I stayed up waaayyy to late to finish this, but if I didn't get it out now, it would have to wait until Monday, and I really didn't want you make ya'll wait.

This one's a little rough, loves; so grab an emotional support cock(tail).

Btw - little aside! For anyone who no long wants to be tagged, feel free to shoot me a dm or you can submit another taglist just saying to be untagged. For those that want to be tagged, please remember to give me your tumblr name. I've received a few email addresses and several names that don't seemed to link up to anyone. Sorry, but there's not much I can do with that ❤️

Warnings: heavy into medical procedures; a lot of grief, guilt, thoughts of self-doubt; near-death experience; blood; gore; needles; cpr; body horror; eye injuries; profanity. I think that's is, but, As always, please let me know if I've missed tagging something!

WC: 3,867

I used to love forests. Agamar boasted a rich abundance of biomes, but the farmlands where I was raised were far from anything so wild; thus, the thought of finding myself lost in unending stretches of trees so tall and numerous as to grant an artificial night to those trapped within their shadow was mesmerizing in a way that forgave any thought toward what danger those shadows might conceal. I knew better now.

I’d lost Emmy while flying over a forest; the scent of campfire smoke dancing just beneath that suffocating tang of fuel. I’d nearly lost Tech to the dangerous fungus thriving in the rokna trees of Endor. And then my brother… No. Forests no longer held that tantalizing mystique. They were beautiful. And they were deadly. And, as I stood between two of the countless, towering trees mere meters from the still forms atop the ramp of the Marauder, I realized how much I’d come to hate them.

My entire body was shaking with adrenaline and fear and rage, wide eyes darting from the dark armor to the crying girl, pistol still clenched in her trembling hands.

“Sweetie… I need you to put down the gun. Okay?” I murmured, the thin vail of calm forcing my words into something far removed from the desperation simmering beneath them. Her gaze darted to the weapon held before her as though just as terrified to find herself still holding it as she was at the thought of letting it go.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… just set it down.” I pressed, some ancient, feral instinct forbidding me from shouting at her hesitation. One hand slowly pulled away from the grip, but it was the other one that still had a finger pressed far too snugly against the trigger, and I wondered if she’d ever held a gun before.

“That’s good… You’re doing great… Look at me, honey.” I whispered, surprised at how quickly her attention snapped back to me. “It’s okay. Just put it down.” Her fingers began to loosen. The instant the weapon that looked far too large in her hands began to fall, I darted forward. I wanted to scream at her; to berate her for what damage she might have caused, for the delay her fear had forced between my men and the care they desperately needed, but I didn’t. I raced forward and instantly locked her to my chest, quiet shhh’s leaving on barely controlled breaths as I carried her rapidly into the ship, stopping only when the outside world was hidden by those worn, metal walls and quickly settled her atop Hunter’s bunk.

“Alright, baby; I want you to stay right here for me, okay?” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was far from a request, hands shaking as I swept the hair from her face to ensure she was looking at me. Snot covered her upper lip as tears flooded her cheeks, her entire body convulsing with sobs, but the small nod she managed in response was enough for me to quickly press my lips to her forehead before turning on my heel and sprinting back outside.

It was Hunter’s pistol. I kicked the damn thing inside if only to get it out of my way before dropping to my knees beside them, searching for signs of blasterfire or crushed plastoid or breath, and finding neither.

No. That wasn’t right. Crosshair’s torso was still shifting beneath short, jilted gasps. But Hunter…

“Hunter? Hunter, can you hear me?!” I didn’t wait for a reply I knew wasn’t coming as I struggled to untangle them, belatedly realizing he’d collapsed while carrying his brother up the ramp.

“Cross? Hey-hey, you with me?” I asked, begged as I eased him onto his back, but his body merely flinched with shallow breaths, faint grunts far too akin to whimpers catching on trembling lips. But he was breathing. He was hurt, but he was alive. My heart jolted as I quickly threw myself at Hunter, fingers slipping beneath the sharp notch of his jaw as my other hand quickly yanked at his helmet.

Numb. There’s a quiet that comes in moments like this, born of hard-learned necessity as even a taste of the emotions hiding just beyond the distant storm would bring with them doubt. Hesitation. And when even a second of such hesitation could be the difference between life and death, if takes very few mistakes to learn how to hide oneself in that quiet, to let hands move and thoughts rage with a careful detachment.

My body no longer shook as I wrestled the heavy chest plate from his limp form. I didn’t look at the deathly pale skin that gleamed beside the faded half-skull tattoo, nor at half-lidded eyes that were so violently wrong without laugh lines dancing at the corners or that brooding intensity as his mind raced to find solutions to impossible problems. In that moment, he was a number. He was a list of vitals and pre-existing conditions and a rapidly evolving treatment plan. He was patient 1, triaged and assisted and listed by priority, and if I held to that as I should have, I would have let him die, but I watched with a pointed lack of emotion as I finally freed him of that damned armor, his body falling back to the ramp with a thud I couldn’t bring myself to worry over in the wake of how wrong that stillness was.

It was a thoughtless action, the way my fingers twined together as my hands stacked atop each other above his chest. I needed to move them – both of them – out of the risk of enemy fire. Hell, I needed to move for that same reason; needed to get Hunter on level ground to maximize the efficiency of my compressions; needed to check for lung capacity and inevitably insert another chest tube; needed to see just how bad the chemical burns still eating into Crosshair’s eyes were and try to figure out some way to help him. I could still hear the girl crying and wasn’t surprised to see her standing at the very corner of the hallway, peaking out just enough to watch us, and I’d never felt so impossibly, irrevocably alone.

Curses spitting from my lips, I abandoned the half-completed count of compressions and threw myself to my feet. Couldn’t get deep enough… The tantalizing wealth of muscle I’d so shamelessly admired every time he’d see himself into my bed beneath the guise a massage that we both knew had nothing to do with pulled muscles or stiff joints, that breathtaking display of power that saw him so effortlessly through the endless missions and struggles of this war left his chest too stiff to readily yield beneath the too weak thrusts of my palms.

If I could get him inside – get him on a flat surface, then I could push harder, I could force his damn heart to beat and chase all threat of that encroaching chill from skin I so clearly remembered feeling like fire against mine.

“Honey, there’s a button on that interface, there. Can you press it – close the ramp?” I asked breathlessly as I began dragging Crosshair inside as well. A slightly louder groan caught in his throat making my heart drop. I barely noticed the girl dart forward, tiny hand nearly slamming onto the controls as movement returned to those long limbs.

“Shh, Cross, I’m right here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I have to help Hunter first.” If he heard me, if he heard the crippling apology that threatened to rend my breath into hiccuped gasps and rob me of that blessed detachment, he was too lost in a growing agony to offer any form of a response. My hand shifted beneath the desperate need to reach for him, to somehow ensure he knew I was there, but that would waste precious seconds I didn’t have, and I quickly spun back to Hunter, jaw tensing anew at the utter absence of life before me.

Airway. Breathing. Circulation. It was rote. Mindless. But something in me still died at how cold his lips felt against mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I nearly broke at how much effort it took to push even a whisper of breath into his lungs. Crosshair was starting to move, clawed hands reaching toward the black visor I only just realized was shattered, deep cracks spider-webbed across the dark crescent. If I looked, I could just make out slivers of skin between some of the larger cracks, but I couldn’t see enough to even guess toward the damage hidden within as I wrenched the medpack from my shoulders.

Hunter’s body rocked listlessly beneath the force it took to shove the chest tube between his lower ribs, expression void of the pain I’d never been so eager to see on his handsome face. What poured from the fresh wound was dark and thick and filled the small room with the heavy scent of copper and sick, and I refused to even look at it as I dragged the sheers down the front of his shirt, half ripping the fabric away in my haste.

I didn’t hesitate before arching my body over him and slamming my elbow into his chest, ignoring how the sound of ribs cracking beneath the strike was enough to make even Crosshair flinch, ruined helm shifting uselessly toward me for just a moment before that pain overruled his attention once more. My knee pads scrapped loudly against the metal grate as I pushed myself up enough to straddle Hunter’s waist, cupped hands returning to their position over his sternum.

“Crosshair… Cross, if you can hear me, you need to try to get that helmet off.” I panted, voice undulating with the rhythm of my entire body beating quickly against his brother’s chest. His head shifted again, the movement jerky and only barely noticeable, and I couldn’t imagine how the wet crunch, crunch, crunch that so perfectly marked the passage of time must have sounded in the dark, eyes surely blinded by whatever cruel thing had been used to cripple him.

“I know; I know, baby – I’ll help you as quickly as I can, but I need you to help, too.” I pressed on huffed, rapid breaths, relieved when his shaking fingers began groping at the rounded ridge following his jawline, but I couldn’t ignore how quickly that trembling was getting worse, the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth breaking between barely restrained groans that so wanted to be screams, and I realized that Hunter must have given him something stronger – something that managed to knock him out before I reached them, and it was rapidly fading.

But I couldn’t do anything for him. Not yet. Not until I managed to force some bit of life back into the man below me. Kriff, was I just wasting time? The longer I worked on Hunter, the more potential damage Crosshair suffered… I could only guess toward how much time had passed since his heart… how long he’d been down before I reached them… and the longer he’d been like this the greater the risk of…

No. No, no; I couldn’t think like that. Scowling at the way my hand was just beginning to shake again, I reached out to check for a pulse, straining to mediate my own breaths enough for me to actually feel for his heartbeat over the frantic racing of my own. Nothing… I quickly leaned down to push two more breaths into his lungs, wincing at the way his nose cracked slightly between my fingers as I pinched his nostrils shut.

“He’s… i-is he…” I could barely make out words through how shaky his breath was, and I instantly found myself wishing I hadn’t heard him at all.

“I’m doing everything I can for him, Crosshair; just focus on getting that helmet off, and I’ll try to get you more meds soon.” There was that careful detachment again, automatic response unhindered by the grief and panic I tried so hard to ignore.

“To-… told ‘im t… l-l’ve m…” I couldn’t think about the sob that robbed the strength from his voice, nor the hiccuped gasp that followed as his hands clawed over his ruined visor, my teeth grinding into the inside of my cheek to keep my own breath from breaking.

Still no pulse. The precious few seconds it took to dig into my bag once more made my skin crawl, some wretched whisper in the back of my head telling me everything that could go wrong, everything that I’d done wrong; that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough; that I was killing him – that I was killing both of them.

Guilt made my stomach churn as a small drop of crimson marked where I’d nicked him with the razor as I rushed to clear enough hair from his chest for the electrodes. It was stupid. Such a tiny wound… and yet my eyes kept trying to return to it, as though I hadn’t just shoved a tube through his side, as though I hadn’t just broken several ribs to allow adequate compressions, as though the man beneath me wasn’t, by all medical standards, already dead.

The small device let out a warning trill, and I quickly jumped clear of him, waiting anxiously for the timer to finish. Hunter’s body seized beneath the violent surge of electricity, torso snapping up, spine locking in a tight arch. And then he crashed back to the metal grating, rocking listlessly from the momentum.

I didn’t wait for the AED to finish reassessing, fingers reaching for his throat the instant his back hit the floor. Whatever momentary lucidity had granted Crosshair the clarity of mind to mumble those heartbreaking words was gone, crushed beneath an agony no longer muted by whatever drugs Hunter had given him. His legs dragged uselessly against the metal beneath him, deep, keening groans occasionally breaking into a barked scream as he writhed in pain. And, still, there was no sign of life beneath my fingertips.

One more… I’d grant myself only one more moment of denial, one final attempt to bring him back…

“Dammit; come on, Hunter!” I didn’t mean to let the words escape me as I pounded against his chest. “Don’t you do this – don’t you kriffing dare do this!” I remembered the first time I’d performed CPR on a real person. “We need you, dammit! Come on!” The patient had already been pronounced. “Come back! Please, please, come back!” But residents were encouraged to “practice.” That knowledge that they were already dead, however, did nothing to relieve me of the sharp rush of adrenaline, the desperate urgency to somehow do better – be better… to save them… That knowledge did nothing to rid me of the consuming guilt of failure when I finally walked away.

I couldn’t silence the sob as I pressed my lips against his one last time, pushing the air from my own lungs into him with every unspoken plea and promise and curse forever forced into a silence I feared I’d regret until my own heart stopped as well.

Something beeped. Doubt robbed me of recognition. Fear forbade me from even looking. Barely ten percent of patients come back from something like this. Some horrible, broken part of me had accepted his death the instant I’d realized he had no pulse, but denial had granted me the strength to try anyway. Now, that denial refused to let my eyes fall back to the small device connected to his chest, but Crosshair was screaming, and the Senator’s daughter was crying, and there was too much at stake for even a moment to be lost for something so useless.

Still, I couldn’t understand the dancing line steadily making its way across the monitor. I’d seen it countless times before, but…

My chest bucked in a sharp gasp, body finally remembering how to move. In an instant, I was at Crosshair’s side, hands grabbing at his in an enraging struggle to finally rip that damned helmet off.

“Crosshair! Cross, baby, I’m going to help fix it, but you – ugh! – you have to… stop… fighting me!” I grunted, finally trapping one of his hands beneath my arm long enough to grab the ruined bucket. His scream turned desperate the instant the light reached him, and my stomach dropped. The skin around his eyes was scalded, red and oozing, and how could I possibly give him any words of reassurance that might offer even a breath of comfort in the face of those wounds?

I offered no warning before jabbing a hypo against his neck. He didn’t notice it anyway, lips wrenched clear of teeth gnashing around hitched gasps and feral cries he couldn’t begin to restrain.

“I’ve got you, Cross.” I murmured as those frenzied movements began to fail, one arm wrapping around his back to help guide him carefully to the floor while the other snatched for my med scanner with some futile hope that it might be able to identify whatever toxin was searing into his flesh. “That’s it, love; just breathe for me; okay?” I wasn’t sure if the drugs helped, or if they merely left him too weak to thrash anymore, and I wanted to shout apologies until my lungs gave out, but I didn’t turn away from the small scanner, eyes quickly studying every word that scrolled across the screen before dropping it to snatch my comm.

“Tech! Wrecker! Do you copy?!” I shouted, already pushing myself to my feet and sprinting toward the medbay.

“Yeah,” Wrecker answered barely a second later. “They okay?”

“I’m working on that,” I nearly cringed at the exhaustion in my voice, but quickly moved on. “I need something to neutralize an acid. Are you in a position where you can look this over?”

“Do you have an approximate idea of what the substance is?” Tech asked, words breathless in a way that made my guilt spike. I shouldn’t have to ask them… I should be able to figure this out myself… but the chemical equation dancing across the scanner was far too complex for me to work through in time.

“I’m sending it now.” I replied, fingers already flying over the scanner to share the readout.

“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised to hear the dread in Wrecker’s voice, but if he recognized the chemicals, then there was hope that he knew how to safely wash it away. “Yeah… think I can tell yuh what yuh need.”

Tech didn’t interrupt him. This wasn’t hardware or trivia or anatomy. This was chemistry. And, while I wouldn’t have second-guessed a word the pilot may have said, Wrecker’s knowledge was a matter of passion. The same interplay of atomic bonds and volatile reactions manipulated to detonate a building could be used to form acids powerful enough to melt through entire ships, and I trusted his word without a moment’s doubt. Still, the time it took to prepare the solution was torture, and I couldn’t run back through the ship fast enough to begin to ease that crippling guilt.

He was barely moving when I got back, shivering body curled onto his side, one hand clutching at his eyes while the other was locked around Hunter’s arm, and I felt the tears threaten to suffocate me as I realized he was too disorientated to recognize the steady rhythm still singing from the small monitor to understand that his brother was alive.

“Crosshair; hey-hey-hey, listen to me.” I murmured quickly, satchel of equipment dropping carefully to the floor as I rushed to his side. “He’s alright. Hunter’s alright, but I need to take care of you now.” If he heard me, he didn’t respond, and I didn’t waste additional time trying to explain.

My heart was racing, anticipation searing through my nerves like lightning. He wasn’t going to like this. Kriff, he wasn’t going to like this…

He barely flinched when I gently laid my hand on his forehead, but the instant the first drop of liquid touched his cheek, whatever illusion of weakness the meds granted was gone. His limbs lashed out in a frenzy of panicked rage, kicking himself away while his arms swiped toward me in a vicious attempt to push me back. Cursing, I spun out of his reach just long enough to regain my footing.

Any other day, I’d have no hope in holding him down, but the body can only withstand the degree of agony he’d been subjected to for so long before even his muscles began to fail, so when I pinned his arms at his sides, my own legs quickly wrapping around him in a powerful hold, I had just enough time to empty that first syringe entirely, flooding his face with the neutralizing fluid.

I knew it would burn at first, and my face twisted into a sympathetic scowl at the fresh cries of a hurt I couldn’t imagine ripping through his already raw throat, but by the time I was halfway through the second, his thrashing began to ease, jaw hanging open around sputtering coughs as he spat out what trace amounts of fluid accidentally slipped past his lips.

“Good.” I murmured, hand once more settled atop his brow in an effort to carefully keep him still. “I know; I know it hurts, but this is helping, right? It’s getting better?” I expected no response, and he offered none, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the tension slowly fading despite the occasional twitch and choked grunt.

“Honey, I need to help you open your eyes, now. I need to make sure we rinse all that gunk out.” I warned, and my heart ached at how quickly that tension returned. “I know, but we’ll go slow, okay?” Voice quiet, gentle in a way I could only hope he might understand, I whispered to him, thumb already moving to pull at his upper lid as my thighs tightened at the way his arms wrenched against me. His head thrashed, desperate to escape my touch, but I followed him with ease, relentless until a dozen empty syringes lay strewn about the cabin, tossed aimlessly that I might hurry on to the next.

“Almost done.” I breathed, but he’d already begun to fade, body only occasionally managing a weak flinch as I pushed the last of the solution over his other eye. That redness was still there, and only time would tell how well his eyes would heal… but the danger was over. I quickly coated the abused flesh in a generous layer of bacta before securing thick pads over his eyes with bandages.

They were alive. I could still see the steady rhythm of Hunter’s heartbeat scrawling atop the monitor beside him, and the cruel acid used to incapacitate Crosshair was neutralized. They were okay… Even the little girl had stopped crying, wide eyes watching me with an emotion I was far too exhausted to try to name as I staggered to my feet. Couldn’t leave them here… I’d get them to the medbay… get them settled… then I’d let myself breathe…

Next Chapter

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[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/buttercuparry/764763195839741952/while-op-le-bjorn-has-deleted-the-doc-containing this is the first of the ao3 donation wank I have seen. Does this have proof behind it?

--

Uh, what proof? They reference the many obvious scam donation posts, which anyone with one single functioning brain cell will realize are scams. (Do not cry about this statement in my comments. You know they are fucking obvious. Don't make me block you for lowering the collective intelligence around here to the level of plankton.)

The "member leaving" thing is not some secret. A volunteer was asked to not use that particular inflammatory phrase in OTW's internal work chats. Again, these are work chats. Political fighting is wildly inappropriate there regardless of how valid or important the topic is. Citation: I am an adult who has worked in an office for at least thirty seconds at some point.

Or do you meant the ~AO3 just siiiits on itttt~ nonsense? Running websites is expensive. Having a little money set aside and not spent instantly in case of emergencies is responsible. The budgets are publicly available. This talking point cropped up years ago when AO3 was leaving money sitting in a paypal account, which was indeed a bonehead move (and one that has long since been corrected). It tends to get regurgitated nowadays when people go "But their initial goal was X! How could they now need Y!" Anyone familiar with any fundraising will know that stretch goals are normal.

[moonlilymusings]

⋆˖☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

warnings: !MDNI! gn!reader, subby baizhu, CANON BAIZHU HE’S SICK!! light angst? i mean it wasn’t intended to be sad but not including zhu’s illness is illegal, dry humping, m!receiving mostly we don’t need to cum when there’s a pretty princess on our lap right, not proofread i’ll edit if i see something wrong later 🙏

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

“Is the doc in?” You knock on the doorframe to his personal room behind the pharmacy. Baizhu has his back turned to the door as he fills out what you could only assume are prescriptions. When he doesn’t repond, but mumbles out some numbers to calculate, you approach his side, setting a hand on his desk to look down at what he’s doing. Baizhu glances up, surprised to see you and he quickly jots down his number then returns to you with a serene smile.

“What brings you here so late?” He asks, setting the his writing supplies aside and placing his hands against his back to stretch. You notice Changsheng isn’t there on his shoulders like she usually is, then you also notice Qiqi is nowhere to be seen either.

“Just wanted to pay my favorite doctor a visit. Where have your little helpers gone?” You ask, brushing hair from his face as he removes his glasses.

He rubs his face tiredly. “Qiqi was drug away to a sleepover with Yao Yao.. Changsheng has left to go find something to eat.”

“How long will she be gone?” You ask, trailing your fingers from the apple of his cheeks to his neck, following them with quick kisses that make Baizhu hum like a cat purrs.

He smiles and cups the sides of your face, kissing you lightly. “Soon, probably. She’s not one to dawdle.” You click your tongue in annoyance, but continue your mission. That snake will simply have to learn to live with it, or let you have some privacy for once.

You hook your hands under his thighs and lift him up slightly, making him wrap his arms around your neck with a wary chuckle. You sit where he once was, facing the back of the chair and then you set him back down, on top of your lap. Baizhu adjusts his rear to be comfy against your thighs then his smiles and leans down, mouthing at your lips as your hands squeeze at his ass and thighs.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack,” the good doctor murmurs against your lips as he tries to grind against your stomach. You grip his hips a little firmer.

“Don’t joke like that I might think you’re being serious.” You nip.

It’s rare when anything escalates from just kissing, between conflicting schedules and short visits, and his condition, the two of you very little get to satisfy each other. Hell, you don’t know if he even does anything for himself while you’re gone.

You lift a knee between his legs, giving him a good bump to rub against, making him bite his lip as he gyrates against you, his body resembling his serpentine friend.

That damn crop top.. the way he dresses should be outlawed. You tug the hem of his pants down bellow his hips, letting his half hard cock peek out. You rub his tip with your thumb, kissing his jaw as he lets out open mouthed moans of pleasure, his hair sticking to his forehead.

He’s sweating a lot, you notice. Kissing his cheek, you place a hand on the small of his back. Baizhu opens his eyes, his fingers digging sharply into your shirt as he listens to you and repeats the phrases you give him, confirming his wellbeing. He takes a deep breath when your hands disappears into his pants, fondling his balls and stroking and squeezing his sex. He comes quickly after that, his whole body shuddering as he lays his head into your shoulder, panting deeply.

You grab a couple tissues from his desk and clean him up before tucking him back in, kissing his cheeks and cooing at him for doing so well.

Baizhu smiles softly, before looking away and coughing into his arm waving a hand at you when you show concern.

“I’m okay,” he says, clearing his throat.

“You need to lay down,” you pick him up easily and he lets you, walking him over to his bed where you both lay down.

“Was it smart of me to do that?” You ask him, tucking his hair behind his ears as he gazes up at you, the back of his hand caressing your cheeks.

“Mm.. we’ll see, I suppose.. but whether or not it was, I’m glad you did it,” he grins cheekily before covering his mouth and turning away as another fit of coughs overtake him. You rub his chest, watching him with worried eyes, regretting making him exert himself so much. He must’ve felt you looking at him like a sick dog as he pats your cheek. “Don’t look at me like that. I could have told you to stop, but I didn’t. I wanted this, so just-“ he coughs into his arm once more. “Just lay down.”

And so, you lay down and he wraps his arms around you, and you him and he quickly falls asleep.

⋆˖☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[starlene]

Rilla of Ingleside Book Club: Chapter 1

It's LMM book club time again! I'm glad. Can't wait to read what all of you guys have to say.

Personally, I really liked how writing a post every day motivated me to stick to the daily reading schedule last time, so I'll try to do that this time, too. I doubt I'll have anything too deep to share, just personal ponderings about the day's chapter – but isn't that the point of being in a book club!

I'm reading the Finnish translation again. It's by Kerttu Piskonen, from 1962, and unfortunately, it's abridged. The book still has 34 chapters, though, so only one less than the original. I'll find out which one is missing and supplement with Project Gutenberg when necessary.

I really didn't like Rainbow Valley when I was younger, so I don't think I've read Rilla of Ingleside that ofter either – twice before, if memory serves. But I'm looking forward to going back to it now, when I'm a bit older, with a bit more understanding of history and hopefully also a little bit more patience than I had before.

~

I'm a huge fan of Jekyll & Hyde the musical, so I'm really enjoying the drama with Doc the cat. It should be mentioned, though, that in his original novella, R. L. Stevenson specifies it's Dr. Jekyll who has the heavy tread, while the original Mr. Hyde walks lightly.

~

The chapter began so ominously, with Archduke Ferdinand being mentioned in passing, but there's so much gossip about the neighbourhood in the paper that I'd almost forgotten about that by the end of the chapter. Modern day Susan clearly wouldn't be one to doomscroll on social media, the way she just waves the international news aside.

~

Translation notes:

It feels a bit weird to me how the translation makes Anne and Susan use the formal you with each other – it feels cold to me that Susan's been working for them for two decades and yet, they haven't become informal with each other. But maybe that's just how it looks like from a 21st century point of view; maybe keeping up the boundary between employer and employee like that was important in a setting where you lived together and saw each other all the time. And of course, it's way more amicable than the super old-fashioned way you sometimes encounter in old Finnish fiction where you don't use the second person when talking to servants at all, but always say "Susan needs to do this and that" instead...

[liveontelevision]

Bite Me (Continuation) Teaser

Vampire Lucifer x Reader

Hello :) writing is hard

Here's a part of something I wrote for some more one-shots with Vampire Lucifer (I have like 15k words just sitting in a google doc and they haven't even hanky panky-ed yet) It's just getting really plot-heavy, and I'm waiting for a good time where I can really focus and put my all into it!

But I reeeally like this part, so-

♡ ♡ ♡

"Let's get you cleaned up." With a sigh, he sweeps you off your feet quite easily. You would've protested, but the relief of not standing on your own two feet after such a treacherous journey had you melting into his arms without a complaint.

He opens one of the few doors in the corridor, one you were sure was empty before, to see it housing an intricate bathroom. The tub was large, the counter was sleek and cool, and it was full of dozens of soap, scrubs, and salts, decorating the shelf nearby. With a little gasp of astonishment, you're placed carefully on the edge of the tub.

"You didn't have to carry me, dummy." You watched him walk around the room and gather various bottles and jars, setting them aside on the counter after mumbling some agreement as to what he had picked was correct.

"Ha, you certainly weren't complaining." He hums, with a flick of his wrist your attention turns to the water spout that had turned on. You noticed the water was immediately at a comfortable heat while running a hand underneath. "Plus, your shoes are disgusting, I can't have you dirtying the floors." You laugh at him, but his look back at you had you stifling it quickly.

"Sorry, sorry, you're right." You start to undo your shoes, flexing your aching soles with another pathetic groan. Lucifer turns with a small concoction he has whipped up in a little wooden bowl. Sitting beside you, he ran his hand under the water with a hum and sprinkled it across the top. You could swear you heard chimes coming from the water. It immediately sparkled and glowed into a golden haze.

"Wow.. that's a bit much for some muddy shoes, don't you think?" You're hesitant to spoil the calm waters with your body, but when the smell hits you, you're fluttering your eyes shut with a hum. It's fantastic. When you return your attention to him, he's already slipped off his vest and is moving on to untuck his shirt. "W-Whaaat are you doing?" You scoot away from him a bit, your eyes wide at even the thought of his bare skin.

"It's.. we're taking a bath, are we not?" He's genuinely confused by your nerves.

"We??" You sit in silence after, Lucifer holding his shirt to cover what he had taken off just moments ago.

Like he was embarrassed.

You take a deep breath after much thought and start to pull off your own top as well.

"Are you sure? You seemed a little uh.. hesitant.. just now." He's shielding his eyes as if he wasn't the one to suggest a shared bath.

"Sure, I mean.. it's just a bath right?" He nods in response and continues to undress, facing away from you. You did no such thing, facing him and keeping your eyes on his body. The confidence you gain from seeing him flustered has you smirking to yourself. You saw him peek into the mirror, hoping to catch your reflection. When he realizes you've been watching the whole time he scoffs and quickly steps into the bath. 

"You are such a pervert." He rolls his eyes with his words. You gasp dramatically and pretend to weep at his words before following suit.

"This was your idea, Lucifer." He leans his back against the tub, slowly lowering himself into the water with a content sigh. Propping himself up with his arms on either side of the tub, his eyes flutter shut and his head lulls to his shoulder. Relaxed as he is, he doesn't expect you to position yourself in front of him, your back pressed against his chest. You did your best to avoid any sort of.. unholy contact, and the water had turned an opaque gold with whatever he had mixed into it.

Shifting your shoulders, you sigh, leaning your head against his chest with your own eyes shut. When you open them, you tilt your head back to look up towards him. He turned his head away quickly as if he could hide the fact he'd been staring at you these past few minutes. You chuckle, trailing your hands from the base of his legs to rest comfortably on his knees. The action makes him shutter.

"S-Stop that.."

"Stop what? I'm just getting comfy." You lay your head on his chest to look up to him again. He's glaring down at you, despite his daggers, his face is obviously heated.

He retaliates, moving his hands to your shoulders and sliding them down gently until his hands are placed atop yours. He becomes impossibly close to your ear,

"I missed you, darling~" He breathes against your ear, and despite letting out a startled yelp, you cock your head for him to gain better access.

"I-I missed you, too.. Lucifer..." You envied that he didn't have a heartbeat, considering yours was rapid at the moment. The heated moment calms a bit, when he starts lifting handfuls of water onto your shoulders and neck, rubbing the warmth into your skin. You let your head fall back far enough to thoroughly wet your hair, when he then proceeded to run his claws from the back of your neck to your hairline, circling his fingers for an incredibly satisfying little message. Occasionally, he'll pull your hand from the water to kiss its back. He'd run his hands down your hips and onto your thighs at some point. It forced a little moan from your lips, but that seemed to startle him. He pulled away silently, returning to running his hands across your back and through your hair. You're nearly ready to fall asleep in his grasp before you hear his voice.

"Why did you come back?" He seems distraught.

"Oh.. Well, I just.. I missed you. Your bed more than anything, actually." Your teasing isn't easing his mind as you thought it would.

"You have friends you can stay with, I know you do. It's much safer for you back in town. I'm just.. I can't fathom why you'd want to risk going to a literal Hell hole just to be by my side.." You turn your head to see his expression, and to your surprise, he has tears welling in his eyes.

"Oh my god, Lucifer..!" Your voice breaks with worry. You turn your body to face him and proceed to wipe his cheeks clear of any tears that had fallen when he blinked. "W-What are you talking about? I would stay by your side forever if I could! I.. I thought you knew that.." 

He seems to benefit from having something to toy with, you watch him reach forward to your shoulder and start twirling your hair between his fingers. He brings you close enough to brush his nose against it, partially for the scent, but mostly to keep you close. You free his hand from your hair to kiss his palm.

"It's just.. hard to believe, I suppose." Your heart is aching at his words. Moving your hand to his cheek, you pull him into a kiss, passionate and loving. One you hadn't felt since your last dalliance. As your lips part you press your forehead against his.

"I'm sorry. I'll just have to tell you every day from now on."

"Tell me what, exactly?" He's fishing for it at this point, you can tell by his sly grin. But you're more than happy to oblige.

"That.. I love you. And I never want to leave your side because of how happy I am with you. I'd go to Hell and back for you, Lucifer." You press another quick kiss to his lips. "If you'll let me."

You see his eyes go a bit wide, conveying his nerves are still very present. He lets out a breathy chuckle,

"Since you're so insistent.." He says softly. Your eyes immediately light up, and you wrap your arms around his neck to meet his lips with a smile. He returns it.

Feverishly.

His hands trail your back, settling on your waist and pulling you closer to him. You pull him closer still, his back lifting from the edge of the tub to meet your chest. The sensation of your skin touching his has him breathing hard into your kiss. You shift your hips, moving forward to slowly lower yourself on his lap.

You're snapped from your fever by the sensation of being lifted by your waist and the frantic sound of water washing over the side of the tub. You're pulled away from his lips and finally catch his nervous expression.

"Sorry! Sorry, I.. I got too excited, I-" You stammer and begin to move away, making enough distance to allow him to rise from the bath. 

"Nono! It's okay, you're fine, you're.. fine- I just uh.. the water was getting a bit cold, I'm feeling chilled is all!" His nervous laughter is only making you more concerned. You have no problem with holding off on those kinds of activities, but his reaction leaves you a bit embarrassed. 

After wrapping a towel round his waist, followed by a robe, he grabs the same for you. With an outstretched hand, he assists you out of the tub. You attempt to take the towel from him, but he pulls away and falls to his knees in front of you. Starting from your feet, he thoroughly dries you with the towel, the softness of it leaving your skin tingling. You hold onto his shoulders to brace yourself, examining your skin to distract yourself from getting too.. worked up again. It's incredibly soft, and whatever he's used, has left a sheen to your skin.

So that's how he glows..

He stops with his hands on your hips, forcing your attention back to him. As he looks up to you, he presses a small kiss to your stomach, never daring to break eye contact.

♡ ♡ ♡

I was missing my Vamp Luci days, until SOMEONE (cough cough @bat-boness) made me a GORGEOUS DRAWING OF HIM and my love was rekindled, ngl

ANYWAY I'm in the middle of editing a completely unrelated fic, which I hope I can post sometime this week :D

[chdarling]

Its a curse. No matter what story I read I always have to compare it to yours. Your writing and characterization is just perfect especially your Lily and James. I loved how you made James re-think his actions and when he questioned himself about being a bad person. Lily is often either a goody-goody or the biggest bitch alive. It really got me thinking when you said that shes kind but not nice. I am so excited for Lilys reaction when she finds out that the dog she revealed her secrets to is actually Sirius omg 🫶🫶🫶

I know its not a common question but when and where do you write? Do you have like your writing place or do you just begin if you have an idea. And another: Have you written many later scenes without writing the earlier ones?

Thank you so much 🥺❤️

I write in a lot of places!

I have my insane power user desktop set up (I have 4 monitors inherited from different jobs that thought it was less expensive to just give them to me when I quit rather than have me ship them back lol), but tragically this space has been spiritually tainted by remote work so I mostly only use it for plotting purposes when I need multiple screens. (I look like a serious business hacker gal with all my screens until you zoom in and see they’re all about my blorbos).

I’m not at Terry Pratchett levels yet but this is the vibe:

I also have a little secretary desk in my living room and this is where I tend to write the most actual prose. Unplug the Internet, close everything except my scrivener doc, sit in the slightly uncomfortable dining chair my kitten has chewed to bits, and disappear from the world for hours. This is why I have back pain. :)

I also write on my phone a lot, usually when walking. I will 100% stop in the middle of the sidewalk (or politely step aside if it’s crowded, I’m not a monster) and hash out a full scene of dialogue if it arrives while I’m commuting, which it often does. Yes I have been late to work this way on more than one occasion haha.

As far as the when, that varies. During a good, fruitful writing season, it’s any moment I can get. During periods of burnout and block (which tragically I am weathering right now), I have to make a concerted effort. I have made it a habit to write every day first thing in the morning (well, after feeding the cats, I’m not a monster). These days it’s mostly just a free write/brain dump of everything in my head, but hey, it’s words. During better writing times, I have been known to crank out an entire chapter before work 😭

And to your final question, oh yes, I write totally out of order. I have more of TLE4 written than I do TLE3 haha. But I find this fun because then I get to sneak in all sorts of foreshadowing nonsense. 😈

Thanks for the kind words and fun questions!

[elderwisp]

hi! Im so sorry if this is the wrong place to ask, I've looked for answers for this before so I'm just not sure,,

i absolutely adore your sims and your story! Its completely inspired me to create a story w/ my sims as well! the only thing is I'm quite overwhelmed with it all and I don't know where to start :(

do you have any tips? Whats your process? there's so many things to use and I'm just curious what you use! Thanks in advance and no pressure to answer if this is the wrong place :))<33

HAI :D OMG EXCITING <3 no worries! my inbox is always open for assistance and i'd love to help! here's a bunch of tips ranging from writing to technical to artsy stuff:

the start:

⟡ i should preface this story did not begin as one typically would which is say following the example of how to write a novel in a year. my writing style for this project started out with my interest in the characters created. my desire to wanting to know why certain oc's acted the way they did and that's where it all began. what started out as short stories of certain individuals reworked into something much more authentic. this was the hook for me so you gotta find that one sliver of interest and run with it. you can most certainly utilize tools like character sheets, pinboards, storyboards to assist you but i find that if i'm not connected to the story, it's difficult to use them

⟡ with that being said LOL invest the time in fleshing out your character because when you understand how they work, when you believe in them, the easier it'll be in creating scenes and writing dialogue. for me, it's almost intuitive writing for characters to the point where i will easily check myself and rewrite a scene because it didn't align with a certain character

⟡ while the influence of your own ideals/experiences eventually bleed into an oc, it's important to identify that, otherwise a cast of diverse characters eventually feel the same. this was something i struggled with for years which is why i could never really begin until now!

⟡ it's good to ask yourself what sort of story do you want to create. the best question is is it plot driven or character driven? what sort of tone do you want to set? do you want to blend them? i think there's a huge stress on just doing things for fun and not taking things seriously but i do want to challenge others to consider what that might look like for others. sometimes people like to create grand posts or fun slice of life posts and neither is more valid than the other. it's truly up to the author

technical stuff:

⟡ i'm gonna be honest with you, i'm not as organized as i once was in how i go about plotting things however! in the beginning, i would utilize sticky notes with ideas written on them and then shuffle around how i wanted things to play out. now i use a dingy little notebook LMAO but i've heard good things about milanote! as for dialogue, i do use google docs but i do think they're under fire for using your things for ai training or somethin O_O

⟡ i do use photoshop to edit my photos and that usually looks like cropping, color/contrast enhancing and sharpening. i do add dialogue last because when i sharpen it all together, the font looks cwispy! there's this mini tut by @/stinkrascal on how to format the text so it's all even if that's the style you're going for! anyways it changed my LIFE lmao! right here are some free alternatives. also this is an older post in which i shared my process and it includes some tips and tricks with photoshop (you can also see how i used to format text lmaooo)

⟡ knowledge is power. if i find myself really struggling with certain aspects, like maybe the logistics of a character, i'll set aside some time to learn from certain authors, commentators or directors. even if it's a short clip of seeing how they approach something as simple as their thought process behind how a scene supported a character to something as small as the significance of Isha's hat from Arcane

misc writing tips:

⟡ ooh! because tessellate is such a large group of characters, it can be challenging to structuring a plot. so i started off by slowly introducing characters rather than all at once. i also break up character plots into arcs but with that comes filler episodes to help space out big moments. i like to utilize filler episodes as bite sized pieces that introduces the readers to newer characters while also allowing there to be breaks in between. those filler posts highlight certain events, ways of living, etc that might influence how things play out in the future. a good example is kai, we're nearing the end of his arc but all of those little moments in between really helped shaped how things played out!

⟡ when i think of conflict, i think of it a lot like a boiling pot. it starts out at a neutral temperature (your foundation), before bubbles begin to form (minor annoyances between characters), steam hissing (the lead up) to an eventual lid popping off (the conflict). the build up is the most important part to the pay off!

⟡ my best piece of advice for darker themes is really understand the topic and stray away from stereotypes as it diminishes a lot of depth in certain subjects as well as does more harm than good. recognize that at the end of the day a weakness does not define a person as they are a person through and through. approach it with compassion rather than judgement.

⟡ i know i know everyone says to read your dialogue out loud and that is incredibly important however while doing that, think about the flow too. as a writer, because we are goal oriented, sometimes dialogue can be turned into what will progress the plot which makes things feel a bit unnatural and sometimes lacking the proper flow. remember to consider the personality of a character. how is a line delivered through a character who is brash versus one who is a bit more reclusive? also! here's a great video about the stiff dialogue in veilguard that shows what unnatural dialogue can sound like.

⟡ remember, comparison is the thief of joy. it's easy to get caught up in recognition and likes. there was a time where i consistently got 3-5 readers and that was it. there are moments now where certain posts are incredibly inconsistent in engagement and sure, it can be disheartening but then i think about the handful of individuals that consistently comment, the specific asks about how a certain post made them feel seen and interact and i remember why it's i chose to write. it isn't the recognition i seek, it's the connection. it's important to have that one thing that gives you the strength to continue because truthfully, things can be inconsistent and that's okay.

the artsy stuff:

⟡ i am a huge fan of cinema, animation and photography. i think consuming a lot of media and art has helped train my eye especially if i feel as if my screenshots are becoming repetitive. it's good to see how different directors go about framing dialogue. comic panels are amazing as well since artists find new unique ways of captivating an audience through levels like coloring, framing, posing and such! it's honestly why i introduced some vertical shots to black out bars in story posts because of that unique angle! remember, media is meant to inspire you! after watching the latest season of Arcane (haven't finished it yet tho) it genuinely relit a fire under my ass LMAO

⟡ different angles, lighting and positioning can help elevate a story. the aesthetics of a story can really add another layer of depth however it's important to remember that it is a supporting role, not the entire role

⟡ i do use my own reshade and i've formatted it to have similarities of a film camera as well as my preference of color correcting. i lean heavier towards contrast, colors and shadows however i always encourage for people to look into what supports their vision the best! the lightroom shader by quint and pd80's contrast/brightness/saturation shader help with color grading in game as they do have sliders that tweak certain colors. the sepia shader is great for adding a cinematic tint but it can conflict with relight and the way the lights are presented. relight of course can add those shadows in lighting. i'll sometimes have two presets, one for up close shots to further shots because sometimes zooming out can create inconsistencies in your preset as things might look to muggy or like a disco ball LOL (ps what helps with that is adjusting bloom if used and messing around with shadows/midtones/highlights/saturation with that lightroom shader)

last but not least, a story is a labor of love, it's a tool in which authors can utilize the pen to their own manner whether it's to communicate ideas or to simply tell a tale. don't be afraid to dive deep into the layers of your story and remember each piece can be important factor but it's entirely up to you as to where you want that focus to be. it does take a lot of courage to start but i truly believe if it's something you cherish, it'll always be worth it!

i do wish you the best of luck! thank you for trusting me enough to give you some tips and tricks! i tried to lean more into the more finite details as i felt like this is what truly helped me throughout the years! <3 also here is a complimentary meme i made:

[anony-man]

Chubformers drabble #154!

Characters: Whirl (& Rung - IDW)

Word count: 1.4k

(CW: heavy topics of body dysmorphia ahead. Read with caution and please take care.)

“I dunno, doc,” Whirl said yet again, his pincers clamped together and his one-optic gaze fixed on the floor. “All this talking and stuff… it just ain’t really working.”

They were trapped in a cycle again. Rung often spent hours struggling to dissecting  Whirl’s poorly phrased worries and doubts filtered through cruel remarks and depreciation marks, and today was no different. It was hard sometimes, knowingly sitting across from Primus incarnated and watching him furrow his brow, adjust his glasses, and stare down at his scribbled notes for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. If murder and violence hadn’t been two things they went over in detail the first hundred or so sessions, Whirl might’ve been a little more open about his desires to test out the immortal aspects of Rung’s being when the skinny psychiatrist kept giving him that clueless look. 

The room was silent aside from the rhythmic tap of Rung’s fingers against the armchair and Whirl’s pincers fidgeting in his lap. The copter’s helm lifted from gazing down at the floor ever so often, if only to stare at the doctor from across the room before giving another full-body huff and staring back down at the floor, or at his lap. 

For once in his life, Whirl wasn’t intentionally trying to be difficult. It just… happened. It wasn’t his fault as much as it wasn’t Rung’s fault, or the fault of the bots who stared at him from across the bar late at night with sorrow in their optics and disgust in their expressions. It didn’t convince him any more, to be honest, but they’d been over it time and time again, just like the conversation at hand. He wasn’t trying to be difficult, and Rung understood. He didn’t blame anyone—or at least, he tried not to, and Rung definitely understood. What else, what else… ah, the kicker. 

He didn’t feel like himself anymore. The body he carried, the face he saw reflected, the limitations forced onto him… hell, at least Eyebrows tried to sympathize with his situation. He could tell though, when he stared into Primus’ face and saw soft, troubled blue optics staring back at him, that while Rung may have sympathized, he certainly didn’t understand.

It was a shame, really. The guy made a half-decent shrink the rest of the time. 

“I…” Rung began, the words catching in his throat before he could continue. 

I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Whirl parroted back in his helm. Could you perhaps explain it a different way?

Psh, no. What more was there to explain? He was stuck in the wrong body, how hard was that to get? 

“Eh, don’t psyche yourself up over it… heh, get it? Psyche yourself up? Y’know, since you’re—“

“Whirl.”

Uh-oh. Rung only used that voice when he was calling him out on his bluff. Whirl took a moment to reassess, to check his posture and unfurl the lanky limbs he called legs nowadays out from underneath him. He’d apologize for getting sidetracked, if only to make Eyebrows feel better, but he’d learned early on that despite his disposition, the doctor meant business behind closed doors. 

The copter tried not to fidget too much as Rung adjusted himself as well, having set aside his notes and taken off his glasses. He was still and silent, his expression stern and his gaze unfocused, like he was lost in his own helm. The back-and forth between making progress and falling three steps behind again never really involved this side of the psychiatrist, but since he was already feeling too melancholy to keep at pestering the poor mech, Whirl did as he was instructed and waited. 

“We haven’t made much traction in regards to discussing your… um.” He paused, reached for his glasses, then settled them on his face. “Your… past. I’d rather not prod, and I’m happy to lay this topic to rest again if you’re not willing to discuss it, but…”

“The empurata slag? Yeah, yeah,” Whirl cut in with a wave of a claw. “If talking’s what you’re getting at without talking, then I got another thing comin’ for ya—“

“Have you considered approaching this from a different angle?”

That caught him by surprise.

“Whadya getting at?” he pressed, leaning in and narrowing his optic. It was meant to be intimidating, if only because he wasn’t fully understanding what Rung suggested, but it didn’t seem to work. “I talk Cybertron, Eyebrows, not medical jargon.”

“Try to think about it, Whirl,” Rung continued, his advice still just as unhelpful as before. “We can’t change the past, but… we can at least try to change the future, right? Wouldn’t you agree?”

“…I still ain’t gettin’ ya.”

Rung readjusted his glasses and crossed his legs. “Why don’t you do me a little favor?”

Much like it normally did when Rung was involved, a “little” favor ended up being code for requesting something much, much bigger from the poor copter. Whirl didn’t mind all too much in the end though. Especially not when for once, Primus himself actually seemed to have his back—or what was left of it, at least. 

He supposed the skinny psychiatrist was right in some sense of the matter, but that didn’t mean he was about to admit that outright. Still, Rung made a good few points that stuck out to him in that short lesson… and Whirl simply couldn’t seem to put them out of his helm. 

It took him a few months to warm up to the idea. Change had been bad enough, and even now, change was never easy. Still, he supposed his shrink didn’t claim that the new look would ever be easy to attain, let alone maintain, but he sure as hell tried. Besides, the more he tried, the more he liked it, and the more he liked it… the more comfortable he felt. 

Doing the doc a little favor didn’t seem to equate with evolving himself closer to bearing a body he could manage to look at every morning and every night, but if the shoe fit, why not wear it? As it seemed, packing on weight when he was actively trying to gain it was rather easy, and keeping said weight on his frame was even easier when he enjoyed the results. It took months of trial and error, of struggles and setbacks and all of the messy stuff that happened when you were stuck with such a miserable fate as he was, but he did it.

He made the change—sort of. He liked himself better, at least, with a soft gut and a frame he could almost fondle. It wasn’t the body he’d had before; he still missed his soft colors, his simple corners, the intelligent pair of optics staring back at him through the reflective glass. He wasn’t recovered, per se, but he was recovering, and that counted for something.

“You know,” he said one day, several months after the first breakthrough. “I think you’re really onto something here, Eyebrows.”

The words came easier nowadays. It was simpler to accept his fate and acknowledge his struggles, especially when the pincers folded in his lap were fondling the curves of his twisted frame instead. It felt nice, for once, and though he knew being in control wasn’t something he could always attain, it felt good to at least get a little handle on it for once.

He was softer now… curvier, plumper, and it was all thanks to him. Not the oppressors, not the government, not even Rung, though he did appreciate the skinny bot’s help pushing him in the right direction. No, this was an achievement for him to be proud of, and he had himself to thank for the success.

“It’s different,” he continued, his pincers still poking and pinching and prodding, too busy exploring the soft mesh of his frame to be caught nervously fidgeting in his lap. “But I like it… it’s nice. It’s a good little change for me.

And indeed it was. It wasn’t perfect, and it didn’t solve everything, but… it was nice. It helped. 

Whirl liked feeling good. As it seemed, he also liked feeling soft—but only physically, not emotionally. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, and as Rung would always say, progress was a step in the right direction.