#I very much trust your assessment re: type

[antoncrane]

re the uncharted post: Sam Drake is your type :D

Damn it lol. I supposed the next question here is: If I read story round ups for the previous games, then can I jump straight into A Thief's End? :Ic

#I very much trust your assessment re: type #So now I've got to move it the 'serious consideration' stage lmao #heroofshield #lozz blah blah

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

good boy, m | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader

summary: Being a professional dominatrix meant you encountered some... different work problems. Such as your client radiating big dom energy. In another world, you probably would have let him do it because this was the Kim Taehyung, but he’d paid for a dom, so he was going to get what he paid for. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; sex work; smut (fem reader, choking, a cock ring is involved; handjob, (so much) edging; tit-fucking, f-masturbation, penetrative sex); idol!BTS - sub!Taehyung x dom!reader

--

“I don’t think you should be here.”

He placed a hand on his chin, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

It was an extravagant hotel room. They were sitting in the two chairs, the marble table separating them. His legs spread, smirk on his lips. Your legs crossed, head high, looking at him through your lashes. Oh, you knew this type. Expensive suit, neatly combed hair, manicured nails. Sculpted face, moody doe eyes, beauty almost unreal. Baritone voice like viscous honey dripping into your soul. Kim Taehyung. You knew what he did for a living, but that wasn’t your problem. No, there were other things on your mind. You had questioned it during the entire screening process and now he was here. You read his assessment from the health clinic. He was clean. That wasn’t the issue here.

The problem was, if you pay for a dom to dominate you, you can’t also be dom.

You tapped your index finger against the back of your hand. Shit like this pissed you off. It felt like you weren’t being taken seriously. He radiated power and he was doing it on purpose to provoke you.

You tilted her head and scoffed. “You really going to sit there and tell me you’re going to call me Master like a good boy?”

His smirk grew wider.

“I am a good boy.”

It took every ounce of your self-control to keep yourself centered. You could be submissive, sure, for the right dom. But that wasn’t what you were paid for. And that wasn’t the session he paid for.

“Who referred you?”

He waved his hand. “I wrote it on the application.”

“Answer the question.”

The ice-cold edge to your voice made him falter. Taehyung collected himself quickly, which was both impressive and infuriating.

“Park Jimin.”

That was a good time. You let the smile show, just a little. Still, you hadn’t expected Jimin to share such information. Privacy was privacy after all. It was nice to line your pockets, but you did have to operate in secrecy.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Your eyes flickered to his. Dark honey brown, with a slight tinge of unease. Taehyung moved his dark hair a little to shroud them, but you missed nothing. You didn’t answer. Instead, you slid your hand across the marble, nails clinking, and turned your palm up. Beckoning him. You saw Taehyung’s shoulders stiffen ever so slightly. Ah, finally. You were in your element now.

“Why ‘Master’?”

You pursed your lips. “Because I am not a mistress.” You added weight to your words, not overbearing, but firm. Unwavering.

“I am your Master.”

That did it. Taehyung bit his lip, shifting in his seat. You knew there would probably be some resistance later, but you would deal with it then. For now, you turned a little in your chair, fully facing him. The intricate black silk wrap dress you wore floated with the movement. It covered most of your body and yet it clung to your curves, hinting at your lingerie. It was a relatively simple outfit. That’s how you liked it. You curved two fingers toward yourself.

“Safe word?”

Taehyung frowned. “I don’t need a safe word.”

A muscle twitched above your eye. “Safe word.” Not a question this time.

Taehyung hesitated. Your eyes narrowed. His widened a little. You knew what you were doing. Poised like a predatory feline, all power and no mercy. Almost as if you could reach over at any time and pounce.

“… Bear.”

You blinked slowly. Then you tapped your finger on the table three times. He watched your hands, fascinated.

“If you’re gagged. Three taps.”

You could tell the word gagged was setting off alarm bells. Good.

“Look at me.”

Taehyung’s dark brown eyes slid towards you.

“Tell me you understand.”

He nodded. You shook your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him.

“Yes, Master,” you said, implying you were not going to say it again.

“… Y-yes, Master.”

Okay. That was your cue. You stood up, heels snapping against the hardwood. He moved to rise as well, but you held up a hand, freezing him in place. You glided in front of Taehyung, leaning against the marble table. His eyes flickered up to you. Your bare leg came out from between the fold of your wrap dress, hiking up the slit. His eyes immediately fixated on the movement. There was a simple black garter wrapped around your thigh. You hooked a finger under it and snapped it against your skin. It made him jump, knuckles white as he clutched the armrest of the chair.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his chin and pushing it back. His hand came up involuntarily to grab your wrist. Your eyes flashed dangerously in the low light.

“Who’s in charge here, Taehyung?” you murmured dangerously.

He blinked. You could feel his pulse shuddering under your fingers. He let go, lips parting slightly.

“You are.”

You pressed your thumb against his lips, a slow smirk forming on your lips.

“That’s a good boy.”

His pink tongue snaked out and licked your thumb lightly, experimenting. This little shit. You pushed your thumb into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. Taehyung made a panicked noise and you dug your nails into his chin. Leaning in close, your eyes piercing into his, daring him. You grabbed his other hand and placed it on your thigh.

“Three taps?”

After a moment, Taehyung shook his head.

“That’s what I thought.”

You yanked your hand away. Taehyung jerked from the force, body shuddering. You cracked your neck sharply and he jumped, not expecting the sound. You pointed at his outfit, moving your finger up and down.

“I told you to wear clothes you don’t mind getting ruined.”

He looked down at his dark teal suit and white dress shirt. “I did.”

This guy. You shrugged and used one hand to slide down the front of your dress, fingers spreading across your stomach. Taehyung’s gaze was glued to your movement. Your fingers hooked around the other side of the slit. The covered leg. You flung it aside and unhooked your knife from its sheath. Taehyung’s eyes widened.

“Don’t–”

It was a matte black blade with a snake head. Completely custom. You turned your head and spoke evenly, without emotion.

“Stay still.”

The knife shone in the light. Taehyung held up his hands, swallowing.

“Bear.”

You stopped moving. He blinked. You could tell he was trembling. His eyes found yours and he licked his lips nervously once again.

“I don’t want you to cut me,” he stuttered out. “I mean – you can’t. My company–”

“Taehyung.”

He stopped talking, panting slightly in his panic.

“I am not going to cut you.”

His eyes searched yours, looking for the lie. You almost laughed, but you stopped yourself. He literally thought you were going to stab him. Well, yeah, you got a little crazy sometimes, but you weren’t a serial killer. Your clients showed up on TV every day.

“I was going to cut the buttons off your shirt,” you explained, pointing to the dress shirt in question with the tip of the blade. “That’s why I asked you if I could ruin your clothes.”

“… O-oh.” Sheepishness and embarrassment flitted across Taehyung’s features. “Oh, I… sorry, I…”

You placed the knife back in its sheath on your thigh. Strapped it back in and re-covered your leg. It seemed to calm him. You reached out and cupped his cheek. Taehyung looked up at you. You let a moment pass. Two. You were giving him the chance to tell you to stop.

“You said you didn’t need your safe word,” you remarked, a smile dancing over your lips.

Taehyung’s face flushed. “W-well, I didn’t think…”

You leaned down, cutting his words off. “Shh…” Eyes on his, reestablishing trust. “I not going to hurt you…” you paused, smiling softly. “That bad, Taehyung.”

He swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

“Hmm?”

He cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, Master.”

You smiled, nails scraping his cheek as you let go. “That’s a good boy.”

You straightened, tucking your tongue into your cheek. You placed a hand on his knee. Taehyung started as you hoisted yourself into the chair, straddling his lap. His eyes went wide. You forcefully closed his legs with your thighs, placing a hand delicately on his shoulder. He was now eye level with your tits. He looked up sharply, unsure what to do. You grinned wickedly.

“I will skip the knife for you,” you drawled, flexing your fingers. “My good boy.”

Your words were getting into his head. His breathing was becoming shallow. Your fingers snaked over the placket of his shirt, not quite touching him, just hovering. You could tell Taehyung wanted to be touched. In fact, he kept raising his chest to get you to touch him. You chuckled darkly and he froze, realizing that you knew.

“You are very impatient.”

Taehyung chewed on his lower lip. “Sorry… Master.”

You smiled, just a tad too wide. Then you gripped the sides of the button placket and ripped it, the muscles of your arms tensing as you tore it apart. Taehyung’s eyes turned into saucers, sucking in a breath sharply as buttons flew everywhere, one smacking you in the breast before flying off into the distance. You smacked your hand against his tanned chest and he gasped sharply, hissing as you dragged your nails up his pecs. You pushed him into the armchair, hand crawling around his neck. He gave you a panicked look but you took his hand, placing it on your thigh.

“Shh. I got you.”

Trachea between the pocket of your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t press on it. Instead, you focused on the blood vessels on either side of his neck, just below the ears. Taehyung was freaking out. You placed your other hand on his chest, drawing patterns on his skin. It was soft, deliciously golden. God, you wanted to touch him like this for ages. But, no, you needed to focus.

Taehyung whimpered, his large hand gripping your thigh. You leaned in, tongue snaking out and licking his lips lightly. He gave you his best puppy eyes and you almost gave in.

“Now, now,” you whispered, breath hot against his lips. “Trust me.”

Then you began to choke him.

He sucked in a breath, squirming. You didn’t move, almost frozen as your gripped him, watching the emotions fly across his face. His blood pumped underneath your fingertips, struggling. You watched for lightheadedness, expressionless. Your hand snuck down his stomach, tapping against his pants. You heard his breathing hitch as your fingers hovered over his crotch. Heat. You pressed down. Hardness. A lazy, amused smile formed on your lips. Taehyung whined, brown orbs pleading. You clicked your tongue.

“Naughty boy.”

Tighter. His eyes rolled back into his head, lightheaded and hazy. You palmed him. A thin moan escaped his lips as your fingers grazed across his erection, pressing down on the head. Fuck. He felt big. You let go suddenly and grinded your hips against his, all the blood suddenly rushing back to his brain. Taehyung yelped, slamming the back of his head into the armchair. Good thing it was made of plush velvet. You hissed; jaw clenched at the hot friction of his hard cock against your clothed, wet pussy.

You were a dom for a reason after all. It got you off.

Taehyung tried to touch you but you grabbed his wrists, squeezing them. He growled in protest but you snapped your teeth at him, solidifying your authority. He whimpered, the small red marks on his chest heaving with every breath.

“Look at me.”

Brown eyes on yours.

“I own you.”

It was a scene, you knew. It was all an act, but, fuck, you knew you were a good actor. Yeah, if other people knew, they would call you all sorts of shit. But you knew your worth. You knew your power. And in this moment, you let Kim Taehyung know it too.

You heard him gulp.

“Yes, Master.”

You let his hands go and pushed his blazer and torn shirt down his broad shoulders. God. His body was beautiful. If you weren’t working, you would be worshipping it. Now you were worshipping it… in a different sort of way. He began to pull his arms out but you pushed him back against the chair, trapping his hands in the tangled fabric. Taehyung pouted at you, but you smiled at him innocently.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you Taehyung?”

He nodded quickly, so quickly his dark brown curls flew up and down. Cute.

“Don’t move, okay?” you said, almost playfully. There was a slight edge to your voice. “You promise not to move and Master will give you a good reward.”

His eyes shone with hope. You really wanted Taehyung could keep his promise, because quite frankly you were also nearing desperation. You straightened, scooting back a little. Your fingers played with the tie of your dress, slowly teasing it apart. His eyes brightened as he watched the silk unravel. The slinky fabric was falling off of you, revealing your black lace bodysuit. Your dress fell to the floor with a heavy thump. His eyes trailed up your legs, to the garters, to the knife, up your chest, to your face. You didn’t need latex and leather to show you were a dom.

It was all in your smug, smug expression.

You sauntered off him, lightly kicking your dress away with your heel. Your briefcase was on the hotel dresser and you opened it, selecting a few items. Taehyung craned his neck to see, but turned away quickly as your attention was back on him. You placed the velvet pouch on the marble table and held up the condom.

He blinked at you. You grinned.

“Ah, wouldn’t it be nice if I used this first?” you wondered out loud. Then your playful tone dropped, replaced by coldness.

“It would be.”

You heard him gulp loudly. You tilted your head, advancing on him. Your eyes shifted down, looking at his quivering legs. You placed a hand on his knee, feeling a shiver course through him. Sliding up, nails walking over the expensive fabric. You undid the button deftly. Pinching the zipper, you tugged up, indicating him to raise his hips. It was an awkward position and you did it on purpose. Slowly unzipping, revealing his erection. Your mouth almost watered seeing it strain against his navy underwear. Still, you maintained patience, pulling the pants down his legs, leaving them at his ankles. Taehyung shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re embarrassed now?” you chuckled, sliding your fingertips under the elastic.

He turned his head away, not looking at you. His cheeks and ears were red. “Y… yeah…”

You shrugged and wordlessly pulled his underwear down, calmly and deliberately. He winced as his erection was caught in the fabric. You yanked up, lifting his hips, and uncovered his cock.

Thick, hard, huge, almost red with strain. Your breath caught in your throat, but you continued, pushing the navy boxer briefs past his knees. You really wanted to sit on it right now, but instead you reached over to the velvet pouch and pulled out a circular piece of black silicone. Taehyung spied it out of the corner of his eye and tilted his head at it curiously.

“What’s that?”

Oh, innocent boy. You smiled at him.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He furrowed his brow. Your tone indicated that he should be very worried about it. But the next second was dominated by your fingers wrapping around his stiff cock. Taehyung sucked in a breath, surprised that you were touching him so soon. You stroked him slowly, adding a little pressure under the base of the head. His pupils expanded, blown wide with lust, a low moan falling from his lips. Pre-cum leaked down your fingers. You spread it with your thumb, his chest shuddering at the touch. You placed the silicone ring on the head and pushed it down. Slow, slow. The unyielding pressure seemed to be a new feeling for him. Taehyung squirmed at the foreign object, thrusting your hand.

You lifted your head and made eye contact.

Then your reached over and pulled the remote out of the velvet pouch.

It took Taehyung less than a second to realize what was going on. That was the amount of time it took you to press the button, bringing the vibrating cock ring to life. His eyes flew open.

“F-fuck!”

His arms flexed, but you clicked your tongue sharply. Taehyung froze, breathing shallow and raspy, chest jerking at the stimulation. You stroked him faster, tearing a groan from his throat.

“Just enjoy yourself, Taehyung,” you purred, knowing it was a lot. He was barely hanging on, body shuddering as waves of pleasure racked through him, back arching as he rutted into your hand. His eyes were rolling back into his head. His cock was turning an angry red in your hand, trying to cum but it was constricted by plastic. You continued to jack him off calmly, watching his face twist in agonizing lust.

“P-please…” he groaned, shaking his head in despair. “Oh, God, please, turn it off...”

You continued, changing the vibration setting to a dull thudding. His body writhed, legs caught in his pants, head thrashing against the velvet. He knew his safe word. You stroked him faster, harder, and he gasped your name, begging you, pleading you.

“I’m going to cum, please, oh, fuck, please,” Taehyung whined, almost hoarse with desperation.

You turned off the cock ring abruptly and squeezed the head of his cock, hard. He nearly screamed at the sudden cutoff of his orgasm, tears springing in his eyes. You removed your hand and he whined, the whine turning into a cry as you turned the cock ring on again, a steady three-beat setting this time. You didn’t touch him. His cock was sticking straight up, veins straining. So thick, so hard, so delicious. You knelt slightly, entranced. Pre-cum slid down the length. You looked up at him from below, smirking. He was almost sobbing at the edging. Even now, Taehyung was handsome. You opened your mouth, saliva pooling at the tip of your tongue.

Oh yeah, you could be a slutty bitch if you wanted to.

You let it fall, plop, plop into his cock. He shuddered as it splattered over his hot length and balls, coating them. You grinned, pushing down the straps of your bodysuit. You cupped your breasts and fished them out, bouncing them in your hands. Taehyung’s brown eyes grew wide, fixated on your quivering nipples. You leaned forward and placed your tits on his knees.

“A-ah…” he breathed as you rubbed your nipples against his leg. “So… soft…”

It took a little maneuvering, but you managed to snake between his legs, rubbing your nipples against his vibrating cock. You sighed softly, allowing yourself to feel the pleasure. His cock was warm and slippery in your cleavage, the vibrations traveling through your nipples as you pressed them against it. You clicked for a different setting and Taehyung’s eyelids fluttered as it intensified. He was practically humping your chest at this point. Your hand slipped between your legs. You rubbed your clit through the thin lace, moaning softly. It was obvious you were getting yourself off and it was frustrating Taehyung he couldn’t do the same. You squashed your breasts together with one hand and pressed your nipples against his vibrating dick. It felt so good that your eyes closed, furiously rubbing your clit as the pleasure flowed through you. You were so engrossed in chasing your orgasm that you almost forgot Taehyung was there, sucking in a tight breath as your juices soaked through.

“I can smell it…” Taehyung muttered, thrusting his cock into your tits.

You smirked before moaning deeply, falling into his lap as pleasure flooded your senses, clit throbbing as your cum coated your fingers. Taehyung whined and you opened your eyes to his frowning pout.

“Alright,” you purred, standing up. “You’re right. It’s time for your reward.”

You turned the cock ring off and gently pulled it off him. He sighed gratefully at the release of his over-stimulated cock. Your hand wrapped around him once again. But Taehyung was furiously shaking his head, trying to squirm away from you as you stroked him.

“N-no, Master, please don’t–”

His words were cut off by his own choked groan, cheeks hot with embarrassment as he struggled to not orgasm with your hand. You knew Taehyung wanted to cum inside you and you were deliberately not letting him, pushing his limits.

“Can you hold back, Taehyung?” you taunted him, stroking him hard and fast. “Or you going to cum all over the floor right now?”

“Please, don’t, let me, ah – fuck, let me cum inside you!” he shouted, voice thundering against the walls.

You let go of his cock.

Taheyung’s eyes snapped open, body crumpling into the chair. He was panting, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, disoriented from everything going on. His words slowly dawned on him and the color drained from his face.

“If someone heard… oh, no, I–”

“Taehyung.”

He stopped stammering, eyes shifting to you.

“The walls are soundproof for a reason.”

Taehyung nodded meekly. “R-right…” He pulled his arms out from underneath him. You waited, letting him shake out the pins and needles. It must have been very uncomfortable. You let it slide for now. He seemed to realize he was disobeying and he stopped, slowly looking up at you.

You smiled.

“Bed.”

Taehyung scrambled out of his pants, almost tripping as he stumbled his way to the hotel bed. He flew past you, so he didn’t see you trying to hide your laugh as he scurried. It reminded you of Run BTS! moments, but you had to compose yourself. You grabbed the condom, leisurely pushing down your bodysuit. It was barely holding on anyway. You turned and it slid gracefully down your legs. How many times had you practiced this? You had to look good stepping out of your clothes. That was part of the fantasy.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as Taehyung whipped around, having crawled onto the bed on all fours. He had no idea what position to take. Still, you had appreciated the ass view.

“On your back.”

Taehyung sat on his ass, cock slapping against his thigh. Oh, god, the sound. It made you wet just hearing it. Your hand pressed against the bed, stalking towards him with feline prowess. He watched your tits hang as you licked your lips, giving him a devious smile. You were naked except for the garters and your heels. With first timers, the knife was always with you. You didn’t want to be that person, but your safety was the most important after all. You had a feeling you wouldn’t need it though.

“Taehyung.”

He shivered. “Uh… yes?”

You placed the condom on his cock and slid it down. “Your cock is pretty big.”

His face turned fifty shades of red. “A-ah… sorry?”

You chuckled, giving him an open-mouthed smirk. You straightened, positioning yourself above him.

“Bet you can’t last five seconds.”

Taehyung puffed his cheeks, narrowing his eyes. “Hey! That’s mean.”

And then you sat down on his cock.

Oh.

Fuck.

Taehyung immediately arched his back, swearing loudly. You could barely respond because, shit, you underestimated his size. It took all your professionalism and experience not to become a puddle of lust right then and there.

You set your jaw and rolled your hips, inhaling sharply. Taehyung was thrashing under you, clutching fistfuls of sheets and moaning loudly as you focused on your task, pussy swallowing him in each time you sank down. You clenched around him and his cock throbbed against your walls. It was obvious Taehyung was trying not to come too fast, rising to your challenge. You had ridden a lot of dick in your time, but every dick was different. And Taehyung, with his deep, rumbling voice and his thick, long cock, intoxicated you. You found yourself thrusting hard, fucking him like a madwoman, so hard that his balls slapped against you every time you went down.

God, you would never look at him on TV the same way ever again.

He reached out and you roughly slapped his hands aside, ramming him into the bed. He pleaded with you but you didn’t stop. Your hand snaked around his neck and those doe eyes found yours, begging.

Your grip tightened, choking him.

His hands grabbed your forearm. You paid it no mind, the lewd slapping so loud you were pretty sure you were going to bruise him. The only way to make you stop was to three taps or him cumming and you weren’t feeling those three taps from him yet.

He gasped and gurgled, clawing at your skin as lightheadedness threatened to throw him under. A wailing, high-pitched moan graced your ears and Taehyung’s eyes rolled back into his head.

You felt it. Taehyung’s cock lurched inside you and spurts of cum instantly filled up the condom, expanding against your tight walls and making your eyes go wide. You had to let go, to slip your hips up because – holy shit – he had so much pent up that it was actually bursting from the condom and leaking out as his cock shuddered against his thigh. You watched with fascination as it dripped out, pouring over his balls and soaking into the sheets.

Taehyung was almost sobbing with relief, completely drained as he fell against the bed. You waited, letting his breathing slow before approaching him. Carefully, you pushed his sweaty bangs from his forehead, wiping his face with the back of your hand.

“Are you okay?” you asked tenderly, petting his head.

“I… can’t… think…” he panted.

Another success.

“Good boy.”

--

masterpost

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #bts smut #taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you #v x reader #v x you

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

if your requests are open dear, could I request something ? I've had J getting wounded and being an absolute dramatic mess on my mind this week and I was thinking you could turn it into a short drabble ? Maybe smutty ? Thank you eek !!

Hello anon! 💖

Oh my goodness I’m sorry this has taken me so long!! I’ve had a lot going on and my creative ability has suffered from it but I finally finished this and I hope you like it!

Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader, whump

Word count: 1703

Warnings: blood (!), blood loss, injury, injured J, angry shouting, light smut

Hurt

You struggled to kick the door to your bathroom open, trying to support his much taller frame across your shoulders at the same time. The sound of his groans echoed off of the tile once you switched on the light and managed to get both of you through the doorway.

He growled and cursed loudly, almost pulling you down with him, when you dropped his arm from around your shoulders and lowered him into the bathtub. His chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths once his back settled against the porcelain, but you took no time to catch your own breath before springing to the cabinet to look for your first aid supplies.

You should have figured this day would come, when he’d show up at your door, shirt wet with blood – his blood, barely able to stand on his own and nearly incoherent. Where else could he go for help? The hospital wasn’t exactly a great option for a guy like him. And even with his reputation, no matter how notorious, he was bound to get hurt for all of the shit he stirred up. If you were smart, you thought, you would have had your first aid kit ready for action as soon as you started seeing Joker regularly. But, since a first aid kit was nowhere to be found, you had to improvise.

Cursing under your breath, you tossed towels and half-empty bottles of hair care products that never lived up to your expectations over your shoulder in search of something to clean up the blood with so that you could better assess the damage. A bar of plain soap would have to do.

Turning back toward the tub, you stopped in your tracks and stared for a moment at the sight in front of you. His face was twisted with pain and strands of his stringy green hair stuck to his brow, his greasepaint tacky from his sweat. His vest was open, and his shirt was plastered to his skin, the fabric saturated with blood. Another groan through gritted teeth snapped you out of your trance and you rushed to kneel beside the tub, reaching over the edge to loosen his tie and to start to unbutton his shirt.

Some of the buttons were sticky with a mixture of dried and fresh blood, making it even more difficult for your shaky fingers to slide them through their holes. Your eyes couldn’t open any wider than they already were as you mustered up an intense amount of concentration just to open his torn shirt, uncertain about what you were going to see and whether you’d be able to handle it. There was a lot of blood. Had he been shot? Stabbed? Mauled? It seemed you were in a similar position as Joker was, the adrenaline buzzing through your veins being the only thing keeping you conscious.

Holding your breath once the last button slipped free, you pulled the shirt open. A mixture of relief and nausea washed over you and made the sweat on your brow feel cold before you let out a sigh. A nasty gash in his side continued to ooze blood but didn’t seem to be as bad as you’d prepared yourself for. Gross, yes, but not life threatening.

“Look at you, hm? Gettin’ your hands dirty,” Joker panted before letting out another groan and squeezing his eyes shut when a giggle tugged painfully on his wound.

Maybe if you slapped him, his injury would hurt less. But the return of his irksome sarcastic attitude was actually quite a relief. If he could crack jokes, then he must be in okay shape despite the blood loss. You stood from beside the tub to grab a washcloth and quickly run it under the sink faucet, making a sudsy lather with the bar of soap. Returning to kneel at the edge of the tub, you reached down to start cleaning blood from around the wound.

“AHH! FUCK!” Joker shouted and firmly grabbed your wrist to wrench it away from his torso, firmly gritting his teeth.

You whipped your head up to face him and yelled back, “I have to clean it!”

His grip on your wrist tightened, wincing as his heavy breaths strained the edges of the wound while keeping his eyes on yours. “Do ya now?” His voice dropped deep and you both became still.

You stared back and blinked at him. You should have guessed he’d be the type who doesn’t like things done for him. But you doubted he’d be as thorough as you would be. Swallowing down your nerves, you answered, “Are yougoing to do it then?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he drew in a breath before resting his head back against the tub, letting go of your wrist. “If you wanted to play doctor, you should’ve just said so. I like a woman in scrubs.”

The tension in the air dissolved and he clicked his tongue before a twinge in his side made him flinch and suck on his teeth. Was he compromising? It seemed that way. It was like he had to hold on to some sort of control over the situation to let you help him. It kind of made your stomach flutter.

You smirked and answered, “Well I don’t own any scrubs… so maybe next time.”

He hummed and licked his lips, looking at you then back down at his side. His eyes told you to get on with it and you suddenly felt much more nervous. Heat rose up into your cheeks now that he was watching you and the buzz of adrenaline was wearing off, but you told yourself that you can do this.

Taking a deep breath, you cautiously brought the cloth back to his wound, gently wiping its edges. He was still at first, then tensed his abdomen when you started to apply pressure, making your heart beat that much faster. But you had to keep going. You couldn’t leave it like this and let it get infected. He groaned and brought his knuckle between his teeth to bite down on it as you got to work cleaning up the dried blood.

He growled and squirmed in the tub, making it difficult to be delicate but you bit back your desire to tell him to be still. Once the soap cleared away the last of the debris, you dropped the cloth and quickly stood to go grab a cup from the kitchen to rinse it. He wasn’t the only one who was relieved that you’d finished.

“Don’t really have a light touch do ya, doll?” he said as you re-entered the bathroom.

You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows. If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black then you didn’t know what was. “Well, you weren’t being very cooperative.”

Joker let out a sharp giggle before scrunching up his face and groaning again while he gripped the sides of the tub. You smiled to yourself and approached the sink to fill the plastic cup you’d retrieved with warm water.

“Mmm that’s ok, I like a little pain,” you heard him reply from behind you.

Turning around, you to see him flash a haughty grin at you before bouncing his eyebrows. You smirked back at him before raising the cup and dumping the of water over him, splashing away the soap as he growled loudly, and you giggled.

Of course, after all of that, you found your first aid supplies after helping him out of the tub as well as his bloodied and soaking wet shirt, but not without a symphony of curses and yelling. Once you’d applied a bandage to the wound and secured a gaze wrap that would hold him over until you could find a way to stitch him up, you lead him to your bed where he flopped onto his back.

Letting out a deep groan he said, “Ya know, you should consider a career in torture. You’ve got a knack for it, doll face.”

You chuckled as you pulled his shoes off of his feet where they hung over the edge of the bed and asked, “Was that a job offer?”

He laughed, making him groan once again from the tugging at his side and you were struck with a strange feeling. That flutter in your stomach. It was almost like pride, but not quite. The man who needed no one came to you for help. Maybe it didn’t mean as much as you thought it did, but that’s ok. The thought that he trusted you enough to turn to you when something went wrong made your heart soar and your belly feel warm.

“So, this is what that much blood loss does to you, huh?”

You smiled at him from the foot of the bed as he lifted his head and answered, “I still have some left.”

The warmth in your belly rose up to your face and compelled you to cautiously climb on top of him, careful to avoid putting any strain on his wound as you gently pressed your pelvis against his. Your heart pounded while you waited for his reaction before a low hum rumbled in his chest as his hands traveled up your sides.

Goosebumps followed his fingertips, and the heat of your breath met his when you leaned forward to ask softly, “Do you have enough left for me to help dull that pain a bit?”

His lips curved into a smile and hands lightly squeezed your waist as he answered with a deep chuckle, “Mmm let’s find out, shall we?”

Your smile matched his before locking your lips together in a kiss, his hands moving to stroke your thighs while you reached to pull his zipper down, your fingers grazing against his hardened cock. Heavy breaths through your noses mixed together while your tongues tangled together and you sank down onto his freed length, the delicious pressure making you moan into his mouth. Your hips rocked slowly against his where you straddled his lap, low groans coming from his throat as his head tilted back and his hands traveled your torso while you helped him forget he was hurt at all.

Taglist! @youmaycallmebrian @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @jokersqueenofchaos @into-crazy @killingjokee @astheworlddturns @jslittlebirdie @drreidsconverse @vipervixxen

#anon request #heath ledger joker #ledger joker #tdk joker #ledger!joker #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker x you #ledger joker whump #tw blood #tw injury #smutty fic #light smut

[firstofficerwiggles]

Interview with the Mandalorian

Pairing: Mandalorian x Female Reader

Rating: T (future parts will be Mature/Explicit)

Warnings: Mild swearing, mentions of prior violence against the reader (not described in detail)

Summary: The Mandalorian has placed a want ad for childcare and you decide to answer it. Despite having a questionable past, he decides to hire you.

Word Count: ~5400

Author’s Note: This is the first chapter in a multi-part story of Mando and childcare reader. I love romance so expect lots of fluff, but there will also be some humor, action, and angst, and eventually smut. I’m going for more of a slow burn here -- or at least trying to if I don’t get too impatient.

Link to Chpt. 2

Gif by @bestintheparsec (Thank you! You're awesome 😁)

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Wanted: Childcare Professional

Caregiver needed for toddler for all basic baby needs. Single father with demanding job, odd hours. Position requires living on starship. Looking for someone not squeamish and good in a crisis. Preferred skills: cooking, pre-school teaching, and first aid. Bonus skills: combat training or ability to repair pre-Imperial tech. Interviews at Cantina Manolita, ask for the Mandalorian.

You re-read the want ad as you headed out to the cantina. It started out normal enough, not squeamish was a little odd, yet understandable, but then, good in a crisis and combat training as a bonus skill? Exactly what type of toddler does this Mandalorian have? Still, it’s not like you can afford to be picky, what with your past. You’d been bouncing around from odd job to odd job, each one more terrible than the last. Your most recent job had been cleaning rooms at a very seedy no-tell hotel and after that, you’d rather change 1000 poopy diapers than go back there. Despite your education and years of experience, no one wants to hire someone with the stain of the Empire on their resume. Your only hope is that the Mandalorian who placed this ad will be willing to hear you out and with a bit of luck you won’t have too much competition for the job. Many people are wary of Mandalorians, so perhaps that will keep the candidate pool small. You’re secretly intrigued by the idea of working for one, as all you really know is that they are respected warriors who either stick together in tight groups with other Mandalorians or they work alone. You wonder why this Mandalorian is seeking outside help, must be a special circumstance.

Din watches as a woman in a short red cocktail dress, platform heels, and quite a lot of makeup saunters through the cantina. It’s a lot of look for mid-morning and he’s surprised when she heads straight to his table, leans down to give him a generous view of her cleavage, and coos at him, “You must be the Mando who placed the ad.”

“The ad for childcare? Yes.” Din emphasizes the word to be certain she’s answering the correct posting.

“Yep! That’s why I’m here, baby.” She winks at him and plops herself down in his booth, ignoring the chair placed directly across from him. Baby? He’s a bit taken aback, but he figures he should at least ask her some questions about the job.

“Do you have any experience caring for children?” He begins.

“Well, not exactly for children, but I am very, very caring. I’m sure I can take really good care of you… both.” She flutters her eyelashes at Din.

“So, if you don’t have any experience, why are interested in this job?” He feels like this is a fair question, especially since he was hoping to find someone more knowledgeable than he is when it comes to younglings.

“I just have so much love and I want to share it. Especially for someone who needs me, hot stuff.” The woman has been sliding closer to Din as she speaks. He tries to move away from her to keep some space between them, but with the child napping on the end of the booth next to him, he really has nowhere to go.

“Uh, ok, do you have any experience with teaching?” This interview is not off to a good start, but what if she’s the only one who shows up?

“Oh, I’m a real good teacher,” the woman replies, and then drops her hand onto his thigh just above the beskar plate and gives it a squeeze, “I’m sure I could teach you a few things,” she says suggestively.

“We’re done here. I need childcare, not, whatever it is you’re offering.” Din lifts her hand off his leg abruptly, scoops up the child, and quickly moves himself across the cantina to another table. Who shows up to a childcare interview to hit on the father? He’s annoyed at her for wasting his time. He sees the woman pouting and then watches as she gets up with a little stumble, calls out, “Your loss” in his direction and heads to the bar. Under the helmet he rolls his eyes; the next person has to be better than her.

Din has become increasing fatigued and desperate for some help as he takes care of his foundling and searches for information on the Jedi. That alone would be plenty to keep him occupied, but he’s still hunting down bounties too in order to keep them in credits for all the fuel they’re burning up as they traverse the galaxy. Although he’s been able to keep the kid with him all the time so far, it’s not easy to hunt with a baby along for the ride, and he wishes he had someone he could trust to stay with the little one on the ship, keeping him safe and hidden away. After all, they’re still on the run from the ex-Imps and other hunters. Oh, and not to mention, Din is still dodging New Republic officers for that mess on the prison ship. No wonder he’s exhausted.

Sighing lightly, he reminds himself that he’s going to find the help he needs today when he sees a young woman, much more conservatively dressed, giving him furtive glances across the cantina. Din gives her a little nod, and she makes her way over to the table, but she barely takes her eyes off the ground as she does so.

“Are you interested in the childcare job?” Din asks, hopefully.

“Y-yes, I’m h-here to interview.” She seems extremely nervous and can’t seem to bring herself to look at his visor for more than a moment. “I l-like children, um, I have done, um, a lot of b-babysitting.”

“That’s good,” Din says softly, trying to put her at ease, “Can you tell me more about what you did as a babysitter?”

Looking down at the table, she replies shakily, “W-watching them, um oh, I don’t know, uh playing games, making snacks, um just, um, helping, I guess?”

Maker, she’s so uncomfortable, Din wonders what he can say to help her calm down or if it’s worth it to continue the interview. How is she going to handle their situation, if she’s this nervous at the interview? Before he can think of anything to say, the baby pops his head up suddenly to investigate what’s going on, startling the poor woman so badly she jumps up from her chair.

“Aah!” She lets out a little cry and then stammers, “I-I- I think this was a bad idea. I c- can’t do this.” and runs off.

Din sighs; maybe the third time will be the charm, isn’t that what they say?

“Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll find someone.” He says to the child’s inquisitive expression.

Din has the feeling of being watched and turns to see a well-dressed man hovering near the cantina’s entrance. He seems to be in his mid-fifties, with sort-of a schoolteacher aura about him, but he doesn’t look particularly pleased to see Din. The man stares at him for a moment over a pair of owlish spectacles as if assessing the situation and then finally approaches Din’s table.

“I am here to interview for the childcare position, but I want to be very clear that I am an experienced and sought-after professional.” The man declares to Din in a stern voice.

“I’m looking for a childcare professional, please sit down.” At least this one is experienced and looks like he understands the position.

“I must tell you I am a strict believer in order and discipline when it comes to children, and I do not abide any shenanigans.” The way this man speaks makes Din feel like he’s back in school and he’s been caught doing something naughty.

Din clears his throat, “Perhaps you can tell me about your experience.” The man rattles off a list of schools and families where he has worked; stressing certain names as if Din should be impressed, which perhaps he would if he recognized any of them. Din doesn’t care for the fact that this man keeps emphasizing words like prominent or respected as he speaks of his past, it sounds haughty and snobbish. This guy may have a lot of experience, but his frosty demeanor is off-putting. Still, Din can’t deny that he’s the best candidate so far.

“How do you feel about living on a starship?” Din asks him.

“If the ship is in good working order and the facilities are well maintained, I am sure it will be adequate.” He says the last word as if adequate means appalling, indicating that Din’s home is not an ideal living situation. Din feels his optimism dwindle yet again, as this fussy man will likely turn his nose up at the Razor Crest before he even has a look inside.

“What is that?” The man asks brusquely. Din follows his line of sight and realizes the child has climbed up on his chair again wanting to be a part of the conversation. The man’s tone of voice is irritating, but Din restrains himself as he says, “That is the child.”

“That thing is your child?” He has a look of mild disgust on his face. Suddenly this man’s illustrious qualifications don’t matter to Din at all.

“Thank you for coming, but I don’t believe you’re suited for this position.” Din tells the man, trying to match his haughty tone from before. The man lets out a little ‘hmpf’ but then gets up and leaves the table.

“I’m sorry, kid, I know he was bad.” Din sighs again, “We’ll keep trying.” He despairs that he’s in for a full day of bad meetings, when he glances across the cantina to see a beautiful woman looking in his direction. He gives her a nod in greeting, but he’s afraid to hope that she might actually be here for him. However, she smiles warmly at him and starts towards their table. He feels his heart skip a beat; damn, she’s pretty. He watches her as she moves confidently through the crowd noting that she appears courteous to the others around her and Din thinks maybe his luck is turning.

“Good morning! Are you the Mandalorian who placed the want ad for childcare?” You ask with what you hope is a winning smile on your face.

“Ah, yes, I am. Are you here to interview?” Din feels a surge of optimism; you seem composed and he already likes you much better than the other people he’s spoken to today.

“Yes, I hope you haven’t filled the position yet?” you ask him.

“No, not yet. Please sit down.” He gestures to the open chair across from him. “Can you tell me a little about yourself and why you’re interested in the job?”

You start to introduce yourself expressing a keen interest in children and briefly mention your training and experience as a teacher, when you notice two little green hands gripping the edge of the table next to the Mandalorian. Slowly a small green head covered in soft white peach fuzz lifts up to reveal two shining dark eyes and a pair of giant pointy ears.

“Oh my goodness,” you breathe out in delight, “aren’t you the most adorable child in all the galaxy?” You cannot control yourself from fussing over this little one. You really are a pushover for cute kids, but this one is beyond precious. The child smiles at your words and lets out a happy cooing sound. Totally entranced, you make goofy smiley faces back at him causing him to giggle while you completely forget that you are supposed to be doing an interview right now.

Din watches your face as it transforms itself from an expression of polite professional interest to a look of absolute adoration. Your eyes are sparkling as you look at the child, your smile is positively beaming, and you’ve clasped your hands together at your chest in utter delight. It’s like watching someone fall in love all in one instance. He feels that he could ask you to do anything for the child and you would. He reaches over and picks up the little one drawing your attention back to himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just, he’s so cute, um, what was I saying?” You quickly turn your head back to look at the Mandalorian, trying to remind yourself that you’re supposed to be impressing him with your childcare skills not going ga-ga over his son.

“It’s ok, he is cute.” Din responds amiably, this interview is already off to a better start than the others. You seem like a genuine person to him, someone who makes friends easily, who would be pleasant to have around. “You were telling me about your teaching experience.”

“Yes, yes, so my most applicable experience is my time as a pre-school assistant teacher. I worked there when I was earning my degree in Linguistics and Language Teaching at the main university on Riosa. I always loved that job so much and have really wanted to work with children again.” Oops, first mistake, mentioning Riosa is risky, he has to know of the Empire’s former presence there.

“So did you work with many toddlers at the pre-school?”

“Oh yes, so many toddlers. I’m very good at keeping them entertained with games and stories. I know how to set limits and help them learn about rules. Oh, and I also know how to make many snacks and meals that little children love.”

“He does seem to always want to eat, so that would be helpful.” The Mandalorian chuckles a little at that and gives the child a pat on his head.

“I also understand that children can be messy and I’m really good at cleaning and doing laundry too.” You try to think of what else you can say to show that you’re a good option for him. But before you can, he changes the topic.

“So Linguistics? That’s an impressive choice of studies.” He nods his head as if he approves.

“Thank you, I specialized in language structure and syntax. I speak Rodian, Naboo, Sy Bisti, and some Ubese too.” You hope you don’t sound like you’re bragging but none of your recent employers have been interested in your language skills in the slightest. It’s nice to hear that he thinks it’s notable and you do want to impress him if you can.

“Also impressive. All languages of commerce or politics. That’s very practical.” Again, he sounds like he values these skills. “But you don’t have a career in linguistics now? I would think someone with that background wouldn’t be interested in taking care of a toddler.”

“I truly do love children, and well, things don’t always go as you plan, do they?” You were really hoping to answer more questions about childcare or first aid or really anything else, but it looks like you’re going to have to get to the touchy part of the interview. The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything, and you can tell he’s waiting for you to explain.

“When I finished my degree, I was invited to join a prestigious research group. I thought it was an incredible opportunity, a chance to work with professors and other academics. I had to take several difficult qualifying exams before they even offered me the position, and when I did so well on them, everyone I knew was very impressed. I really thought I was going to do something fantastic. I found out too late that the research group was just a front and really it was part of Imperial Intelligence. I had been living in my happy academic bubble, I knew the Empire was on Riosa but they never paid any attention to the university, and I was too naïve to realize I had been recruited to be a code-breaker.”

You pause there, internally cringing again at your stupidity, and wondering if you should continue or if he is going to end the interview right now. While he’s sitting more rigidly than before, he gives no indication that he wants you to stop, so you decide to plow ahead with your story.

“For a while, I tried to be terrible at the job, pretending that I couldn’t break the codes, that they were too complex for me. I hoped they would think they made a mistake and let me leave, but they saw through the ruse. They punished me, and I knew I had to start doing better or they would likely kill me. So I did what I was told, but only about a third of the time. The rest of the time, I would purposely leave out crucial information from the messages I broke. Or sometimes I would just change it completely. I tried to be strategic and do it without a pattern so they wouldn’t catch on to what I was doing. Eventually though one of the other code-breakers figured out my secret and he turned me in.”

You pause again at the memory of that betrayal. You had thought that Kerrick cared for you. You quickly look up to avoid any tears springing to your eyes and take a calming breath.

“What happened next?” The Mandalorian asks you.

“I was punished again, more severely than the first time. I suppose I was fortunate though, because they deemed I was too valuable an asset to terminate. They didn’t send me back to code-breaking. Instead, they forced me to teach Sy Bisti to a class of officers. It’s one of the languages their droids couldn’t translate. I didn’t try to make trouble again. I didn’t think they would give me a third chance.”

Din watches you carefully as you tell him of your experience with the Imperials. The expression on your face and the way your shoulders have slumped tell him that you’re ashamed of what happened to you. That you feel responsible and likely blame yourself for having been tricked by them. Din doesn’t see it that way though. From his perspective, you were simply a young woman who was manipulated and then abused by a corrupt system.

“Can you start today?” You snap your head up in surprise.

“What? I- I mean yes, I can, but-” you stumble over your words, “You- you want to hire me?”

“Yes. The child likes you and you’re the best person for the job.” He’s very straightforward about it.

“You’re sure? Even with the Empire stuff?” Your words sound lame to your own ears, but you need to be certain he won’t hold it against you.

He gives you a brisk nod. “You were brave to try to sabotage their intelligence, but also not too much of a fool to get yourself killed.” He’s blunt but his words are a comfort to you in a way.

That seems to be all he is going to say on the matter, as next he tells you about the living conditions on his ship. He explains carefully about his creed and the fact that you can never see him without his helmet. That isn’t a surprise though as it’s one of the only other facts you already knew about the Mandalorians. Besides, after spending time with so many helmeted Imps, it honestly doesn’t seem that odd to you. At least you’ll know this helmet doesn’t plan to kill you. You arrange to meet him in a couple hours at his ship after you’ve had a chance to pack your things. You’re so elated to find someone who wants to hire you for a decent job and who doesn’t loathe you for your past that you completely forget to ask him about the need for combat training.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you’re packing up your meagre belongings it occurs to you that you didn’t ask him anything about himself or really much about the child at all. You realize you don’t even know their names. Maybe you should slow down and find out more about this Mandalorian and his son, but honestly you’re willing to take the risk. You’re sick of this awful city and the terrible jobs you’ve been forced to take here. At least you know that the Mandalorians were enemies of the Empire, so that’s a bonus in your eyes. Besides from the job description in the ad, it seems like this Mandalorian has to be at work a lot so you’ll probably be alone with the child most of the time. You’ve never seen a species like the child before, but you’re willing to learn all about him so you can be successful at this job. You gather up your bags, leave a few credits for the landlord, and head to the hanger, enthusiastic about a new life.

Din is watching as crates of supplies are loaded onto the Razor Crest, and he thinks about his new hire. From the moment he saw your reaction to the kid, he knew he was going to offer you the job. His only concern is his own attraction to you, and, he has a little nagging guilt that he didn’t explain anything to you about the dangerous aspects of the job. If you knew the Imps were after the child, would you still be willing to take the job? Din knows he’ll have to tell you about that, but maybe he’ll wait until the Crest is in hyperspace before he does. Yeah, it’s underhanded, but he doesn’t have the time or the patience, quite frankly, to try to find other childcare. Plus, there’s a good chance your knowledge of the Empire will be helpful to him. Din hopes you won’t hate him too much for withholding information. He sees you enter the hanger, and once again you smile when you see him. Din’s pleased that you don’t seem intimidated or fearful. So many people look at him with trepidation or dislike, and although he’s learned to ignore it, when someone actually smiles at him, it’s such a pleasant change. Besides, you have a pretty smile.

“Hello again!” You call out to the Mandalorian, as you make your way towards him. Seeing him standing next to his ship, you’re suddenly struck by what an imposing figure he is in all that armor. He’s quite tall and obviously very strong. A whisper of an emotion runs through you, almost like desire, but it’s been so long since you’ve felt anything like that you can’t really place it. You forget all about it though when the little green toddler spies you and immediately runs right for you with a happy face. You drop your bags and crouch down, holding your arms out to him and scoop him up when he reaches you.

“Hello, buddy! Are you excited to have a new nanny? I’m excited to be here.” You tell him cheerfully as you give him a hug. You stand up again to address the Mandalorian, who’s come over to help with your bags. “I’m sorry, I was so happy to get the job earlier, I completely forgot to ask the child’s name.”

“That’s ok.” He tells you. “I don’t, um, I don’t actually know his name.”

“Beg your pardon?” He doesn’t know his son’s name. You try to keep your expression neutral, but you can’t help but give him an odd look.

“He’s a foundling. I rescued him.” The Mandalorian doesn’t elaborate. You remind yourself that you don’t know much about Mandalorian culture, so maybe that is typical for them. He hasn’t told you his name either.

“Well, what do you call him?” You look down at the little one in your arms.

He shrugs as if it isn’t important, “Kid, pal, womp rat,” he supplies, and in anticipation of your next question he says, “You can call me Mando.”

“Alright.” So, no names then, that’s different, but whatever works for him.

“C’mon, I’ll show you around.” Mando offers picking up your bags.

“Oh, you don’t have to carry those, I can get them.” He just gestures with his helmet for you to go ahead, so you head up the ramp into your new home.

The child babbles to you as if explaining things as you look around the hull of the spacecraft. It’s very utilitarian, but you figured it would be, Mandalorians don’t strike you as the types to think of creature comforts as a priority. The little one babbles at you again and extends an arm towards a section of the hull where you can see what looks like a mattress covered with a blanket and pillows that look new and unused. The Mandalorian comes up behind you and says, “Like I said before there’s only one bunk in the ship, but I thought this would work for you?” He sets your bags down next to the bed.

“This will be fine.” You’ve slept in much worse places, your cell in the Imperial Intelligence compound springs to mind. In any case, it’s nice to know that he’s thought to provide this for you. Other employers you’ve had would probably just make you sleep on the floor.

Din takes you on a brief tour of the ship, mostly making sure you know where the essentials are. He keeps waiting for you to make a comment about the ship’s age or make a joke about it being a clunker like everyone else does. But you surprise him, as you simply take it all in with a pleasant expression on your face. Although when he gets to the weapons locker, he sees your eyes widen in surprise. He realizes that he hasn’t told you what he does for a living, “I’m a bounty hunter, and weapons are part of my religion.”

“Ah, I see. Well, it makes sense you’d have a cache like this then.” You give him a nod, as if to say this seems completely normal, even though you’ve never seen so many weapons outside of a military facility. However, if it’s part of his religion the last you thing you want to do is insult him about it.

“Do you know how to shoot?” Mando inquires.

“Yes, I do. I had to take a course on marksmanship at the university.” You wince again at your innocence back then. A college that requires a course on shooting? No wonder it had been a recruitment ground for the Empire.

“Did you pass?” Mando wants to know.

“With high marks,” you reply, ever the top-notch student.

“Good. Do you have a blaster?”

“Uh no.”

Mando turns back to the locker and considers it before choosing one of the smaller guns in there. He hands it to you saying, “Here, this one should be good for you. But let me know if you think something else would be better suited for you.”

“You think I’m going to need a blaster to care for the child?” You try to keep from sounding incredulous as you stare down at the gun that he’s placed in your hand and then back at the sweet toddler who’s currently propped up against your hip.

“No, of course not, but you’ll need to be prepared when we’re off the ship.” He seems very matter-of-fact about it.

“Prepared for what?” Where does this man plan on taking you?

“Just, prepared.” Is all he says in response.

The baby makes grabby hands towards the blaster and you carefully hold it away from him. “Can I keep it in the locker for now?” you ask feeling a little uneasy. You might know how to shoot, but you’ve only ever aimed at targets in a shooting range and the idea of having to use a blaster for protection is frankly terrifying. What have I gotten myself into? Will I never learn?

“Yes, just remember to take it with you whenever you leave the ship.” Din stows the blaster away again and then says, “We should get going now,” and motions for you to head up the ladder to the cockpit. He probably should have waited to give you the blaster until later. He can see the questions and the anxiety in your eyes and he knows he’s going to have to come clean about the danger he’s putting you in. But sticking to his plan, Din says nothing and focuses on taking off and setting coordinates to Dantooine, the last known position of his next quarry.

You try to stay focused on the child in your arms, but you can’t keep yourself from staring back at Mando. The need for a blaster has brought your original question back to the forefront of your mind, and although it’s pretty much too late to ask now, you figure you should.

“So in your ad, you said, combat training was a plus. Why exactly did you put that in there?”  

You watch as he puts the ship into hyperspace, before he turns to you. You’re just starting at the black visor in his helmet, waiting for him to speak, when he finally says, “There are Imps after the kid.”

“Excuse me, what?” You hope you heard him wrong.

“I rescued the child from some ex-Imperials. They have a bounty out on him.” Din decides to leave out the part where he originally collected on that bounty, delivering the child right to them. He’s doesn’t want you to despise him so he figures he’ll keep that part of the story to himself.

“What do they want with him?” You’re still holding the little one tight, and you look down into his big, dark eyes and wonder what those terrible people could possible want from this adorable child.

“He has some kind of powers, like uh, like a sorcerer, or something.” He tells you sheepishly.

“Like a sorcerer?” You repeat, o-kay.

“I know it sounds strange. But, have you ever heard of the Jedi?”

“Oh, yes, I know a little about the Jedi. Wait, can the child use the force?”

“You know about the Jedi?” He seems excited to hear that. “What do you know? Do you know any of them?”

“I know the Jedi were once an order of knights and they had the ability to wield the force. Have you ever heard New Republic people say ‘May the force be with you’?” That phrase has been everywhere, so you feel like he must have heard it.

“Yeah, but I really have no idea what they mean by it.” Din feels a little embarrassed to finally admit that to someone. He hopes you don’t think him dumb for not knowing.

“From what I understand the force is like this invisible energy that lets the Jedi manipulate things with their minds. The phrase is meant to give you hope, sort of ‘May the positive energy be with you and bring you good things’. It’s a bit ironic though because for such an optimistic phrase it’s actually how Imperial Intelligence successfully broke several Rebel codes since they put it at the end of so many messages.” As much as your viewpoints aligned with the Rebellion, you had wished someone in their command had been intelligent enough to realize that you shouldn’t put a known saying into your coded messages. You look over to Mando and he gives you a nod in response, so you continue.

“I also know there were some Imperial commanders, very high up, who were pretty obsessed with the Jedi. They were always looking for any information about them. They thought there was a Jedi working with the Rebellion and any messages we decoded about him were supposed to be flagged as extreme priority. But, I never saw anything about him. So, that’s all I know.”

“That’s the most anyone has been able to tell me so far, so it’s very helpful.” Mando replies. He’s silent again for a bit and he seems to be looking down at the child. “It is my task to bring the child to the Jedi, he’s one of their kind. I’ve seen him do things I can’t explain. He- He’s special.”

Looking down at the little toddler in your arms, you remember how the Imperials treated you, and the years of damage, fear, and violence that they rained throughout the galaxy. You can’t possibly let them get their hands on this innocent one. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe,” you tell the child. And then you look at Mando, “I promise.”

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

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged for Chapter 2, please let me know. Link to Chpt. 2

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[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 19 - THE KING’S GAMBIT

Good evening all. So now that we are all caught up with the previous two chapters, I am posting the most recent chapter called The King’s Gambit. This one also is NSFW. It will be the last of this type for a while, since are many other things these two babies need to do, like go back to work. 

Why did this chapter take so long? I don’t know. All I know is I couldn’t get it right. So thank you to @scubalass​ who kept on me until it become something worth posting.

I appreciate any thoughts, comments, suggestions, recommendations that anyone may have. Any questions anyone has fire away.

So without any further delay, I give to you, for better or worse:

Edinburgh to Scotland

Chapter 19

The King’s Gambit

The pale cold light from a winter sun came through the bedroom window. It was the type of light that illuminated but did not lend warmth. It was, however, warm and cozy in bed next to Claire. Jamie didn’t want to get up by a long shot, but the reality of life would intrude today and there was no sense in postponing it.

He quietly got up rummaging through a drawer finding an old pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt; he dressed quickly turned and looked at Claire sleeping.

Her hair was a wild mess, like a dandelion puff that exploded. She’ll hate it, he thought. He, on the other hand, rather liked it as he thought it suited her, ferocious and untamed. Maybe that was what he loved about her. She reminded him of the Highlands, fierce, unrestrained, yet warm, loving, and tender as a spring flower. And beautiful. He gently brought the blanket up to cover her properly and silently left her to her slumber.

Claire turned onto her side searching for Jamie only finding a cold empty bed. Cracking one eye open she scoured the room for any sign of her Scot. To her dismay, he was nowhere to be found. She wiggled her bum intending to burrow down into the inviting bed for a few more minutes of sleep when the enticing smell of fresh coffee wafted under her nose pulling at her like a doomed sailor to a siren’s song.

Standing up, Claire smiled at the pleasant soreness between her legs remembering their amorous activities of last night and earlier this morning. Thinking she would find him in the kitchen, she wrapped her robe around herself and padded off in search of her Scot and coffee. 

She found him seated at the island, a coffee mug in hand staring intently at his laptop. Leaning over, Claire wrapped her arms around him resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” she murmured, placing a delicate kiss on his cheek.

Jamie took her hand lovingly kissing her palm, “Ye slept well then, lass?” he inquired. 

“Very well. Better than I have in a long time,” Claire replied sounding pleased.

She turned her head to observe the screen realizing he had logged in to the hospital’s portal to review their upcoming OR schedule.

“I see you’re busy checking our calendar.”

“Aye, I have. There’s a CABG followed by a mitral valve repair/replacement as soon as we get back. The remainder of the week is just as busy.” He was crestfallen at not being able to help her. “Ye ken I canna help ye. So I was looking tae see who was free.”

Claire poured a cup of coffee and sat next to Jamie to review the surgical roster. “Look, I think Pound is free all week. He’s getting ready to graduate and could use more hands-on time. And he is quite good. I trust him. I think we have our problem solved,” Claire said as she sipped her coffee. “Do you think you could cover my other duties while I’m operating? That should ease the burden on the two of us.”

“I can. Now I just need to tell the Chief,” Jamie rolled his eyes and grimaced with the prospect of having this conversation with the pompous old windbag.

“Then I shall leave you to it,” Claire grabbed her cup and stood as if to leave wanting to give Jamie some privacy for the phone call.

“No, I dinna want ye to leave,” he reached out grasping her hand.  It was strange how he had come to rely on her in such a short time. Claire became his pillar, his strength. 

“I dinna like the man. He may be Chief but…there is just something about him that’s no’ right.”

She looked at him with sympathy. “I know what you mean. I have thought him to be rather Janus-faced, friendly and kind but insincere and unscrupulous. I have heard rumors about how he treats other surgeons,” provoking a shiver to run down her spine. “But, he likes you. I don’t think there should be much of a problem.”

“Aye, that's what I fear. “I dinna like his attentions,” he huffed. 

“You are very talented and a much better surgeon than he is. He knows it and I have a suspicion he doesn’t like it.”

Jamie blushed at her praise. That kind of praise coming from Claire Beauchamp meant something.

Tightening his grip on her hand, he pulled Claire closer. He looked up at her beseechingly. “Besides, mo nighean donn, this affects you as well. We have been partners long before we became…more.”

He didn’t know how to define what they are. Boyfriend and girlfriend? That sounds rather like high school. Lovers? That they were. But it did not encompass everything. Companions, partners? That still did not cover what their relationship was. He was at a loss to explain what their relationship should be called. What would explain it enough without demeaning its significance? Did it really matter how they referred to each other? She is the love of his life. And that’s what mattered. 

“Ye need to be part of the discussion and the solution.” He looked at her encouraging her to stay. 

“You’re right, Jamie. We need to face things together.”

“Aye, there’s the two of us now,” he smiled with the thought. Whatever they faced they would present a united front. 

Taking a deep breath, Jamie placed the call. 

“Good day to ye Ainsley. Dr. Fraser here, would the Chief be available?” Jamie inquired almost hoping that he was not. Get it over with Fraser. If not now then it will be later. Jamie heaved a large sigh.

“Aye, Dr. Fraser. Let me connect you.”

Soft nondescript music played as he waited for his boss to pick up the line. He puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling with impatience, anxious to get the call over with.

“Jaamie,” the honeyed voice drawled. “How is my favorite surgeon? Hum? Ready to come back with all these new techniques that will improve our department?” The avarice was apparent in his voice. His greed extended not only to money, but to position, fame, but most of all power.

“Weel, sir that’s the reason for my call. I had a wee accident while in Boston injuring my right hand and I’ll no’ be able to operate for a few weeks.”

Claire placed her hand on Jamie’s thigh giving it a gentle squeeze in support.

“You what!?” The Chief sputtered. “Where was Beauchamp while all of this was going on??” He muttered under his breath, but obviously not low enough not to be heard, “Damn the woman! You think she could control one man.”

Claire’s hand went to cover her mouth to smother her laughter. She expected nothing better from him. “Utter arse!”

Jamie scowled at her, for laughing. Claire shrugged her shoulders, leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“She was no’ there when the accident happened. I should be fine in a few weeks. In the meantime, Dr. Beauchamp and I have assessed the situation and devised a plan that will allow for our caseload tae go on unimpeded. I believe that Dr. Elias Pound is available to assist Dr. Beauchamp with the surgeries while I assume the teaching, rounding, and clinic duties. We believe this is a satisfactory solution.”

“It seems you two have everything sorted. I can always count on the two of you to rise to the occasion.” There was a brief pause in the conversation accompanied by some soft muttering from Sandringham’s end. “Jamie, I want you to see our hand surgeon, Dr. Hildegarde de Gascogne to manage your care. As you are aware, she is world-renowned and I want only the best for you, my lad.  You are a very valuable asset to our department, ” he wheezed. ”Ainsley will call you with an appointment.”  Sandringham’s feigned attempt at concern was easily heard in his voice as it was hollow lacking sincerity for Jamie’s well being.

His tone became unctuous and slick, “Are you in much pain, dear boy? Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“Ah, no. Thank ye, Dr. Sandringham. Dr. Beauchamp and I have this well under control. I’ll be expecting Ainsley’s call.” 

“Very well then. Oh, and Dr. Fraser do be more careful, hmm?”

“Aye, sir. Good day tae ye.” He exhaled heavily now feeling able to draw a deep breath.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” Claire said with a smirk.

“Easy for you tae say. Ye dinna have tae speak tae the man.”

“No, I didn’t. But, he thinks I should have prevented you from injuring yourself.” Little did Jamie know that Claire did blame herself for his broken fingers and that he re-injured his hand a second time.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I promised ye I would beat Frank into a pudding if I ever saw him. ‘Tis an honor tae care for ye, protect ye.”

She looked up at him as if he were her knight in shining armor, “I don't know if I ever thanked you for coming to my rescue that night, but thank you.”

Claire sat on his lap snuggling up against him resting her head in the crook of his neck. Jamie wrapped his arms around her waist bringing her closer to him. She relaxed into him feeling safe and loved in his strong arms. Her fingers wound their way through his ginger curls. His hair had grown and was longer than he usually wore it.  “I like your hair a little longer, especially when it curls. I don’t want you to cut it.” 

“As ye wish mo leannan.”

They sat enjoying the peace between them listening to each other's breath.

Jamie leaned down placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do ye ken how much I like to hold ye?”

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?” sighed Claire.

“I do it because I like the nearness of ye.”  He smiled at her shyly as if he were going to impart some great secret. ”There is a hole here in my chest,” he said letting one hand go from around her waist and pointing to his heart. “’Tis been there my whole life. I dinna ken what it was or what caused it, this hollowness there. Now that I found ye I kent what ‘tis. ’Tis a chasm that only ye can fill, Claire. Ye are the missing piece of my heart. And when I hold ye close tae me, ‘tis no’ empty. It doesna hurt anymore when yer near me.”

She kissed his eyelids, the tip of his nose, cheekbones, finally finding his mouth. She kissed him lightly. Growing bolder, she allowed her tongue to trace his lush sensual lips savoring the taste of him. 

Jamie groaned deeply. “Claire,” he whispered her name reverently as if saying a prayer. He looked at her as if she was the embodiment of all that is holy. As if she was sent to him by the gods for him to cherish and love.

Leaning forward her mouth pressed near the tender lobe of his ear as she breathed, “Do you want me, Jamie?”

“Ye dinna ken what ye do tae me mo chridhe. How am I tae resist ye? My body is here tae serve ye as ye wish.

Jamie lowered his face, bringing his lips to hers. His tongue caressed the seam of her lips, seeking entry. Her lips were soft, warm, and yielded to his desire. She opened to him like a flower in full bloom. Their tongues twinned together engaging in a ritual courtship dance.

His cell phone rang and vibrated on the table. He saw it was Sandringham’s office and pushed the phone away with annoyance expecting the message to go to voicemail.

“So, where were we?” He queried as his tongue licked the sensitive skin at the juncture of Claire’s neck and throat. Using his teeth he bit her causing Claire to erupt in chill bumps as she moaned in pleasure.

His hand slid between the folds of the gossamer fabric that covered her. Her skin was warm, silky. And her breasts ah...they were full and heavy. He ran a finger over a nipple making it harden and round just like a perfect pearl. How he longed to take it in his mouth and suckle like a babe at her breast. 

His mobile began to chime and vibrate. It skittered on the slick granite top, pulling their attention to the offending little device. Sighing Claire picked it up showing Jamie the home screen alert. Clarence Sandringham. 

“I think you should take the call. He’ll keep calling. We can always pick up where we left off later.”

Jamie grudgingly answered the call. It was Ainsley with the information about his appointment.

“Thank ye kindly, Ainsley. I will be there,” as he placed the information on his calendar. 

“I’m seeing  Dr. de Gascogne Monday at 1 pm. Do ye think ye will be free tae come with me?”

“You want me to come with you? Why ever for?” She wanted to tease him asking if he was afraid of going to the doctor, but held her tongue.

He looked at Claire with soft sweet imploring eyes, “I would feel better with ye by my side ‘tis all.” The tips of his ears pinked as he thought of his need for her by his side supporting him.

“Well if you wish that I come with you, of course, I will.”

Jamie let out a breath he didn’t know that he was holding, “Thank ye Sassenach.” He didn’t want to admit he was nervous and afraid. Afraid his hand would not heal well and he would never be able to operate again. Worse yet, he feared he would not be able to care for Claire, love her, or serve her as she deserves. And she deserved a whole man, not a broken one.

Claire sensing a change in Jamie’s mood cleared her throat feeling that the moment between them had broken. The fire in their bellies had been smoored but not extinguished. She gave Jamie a light kiss on his lips, “Shall I make us breakfast?”

“Nay, lass. ‘Tis my turn to make breakfast. How about I make ye some of my famous parritch with berries? I can do that one-handed.”

“ Alright. Then I guess it’s my turn to make a phone call.”

“Tae who, Sassenach?”

“My dog sitter, Mrs. Bug. I think I should let her know when I’ll be home and pick up Ginger.”

“Aye, that would be a good idea. Ye go on and make yer call. I’ll let ye know when breakfast is ready.”

Claire dialed the number and the phone was picked up quickly. In the background she could hear the cacophony of a television playing, children laughing, and a dog barking. Her sweet girl.

“Ethan, ye wee gomeral, put that down afore ye break it. Hello,” shouted what sounded like an exasperated Mrs. Bug.

“Hallo, Mrs. Bug. It’s Claire. It seems I have caught you at a bad time. I just called to let you know I would be by to pick up Ginger on Sunday evening if that’s alright with you?”

“Claire, ma dearie, och ‘tis not a bad time.”

“Caleb, dinna make me come over there. Be a good lad and eat yer parritach. Dinna put it in yer brother’s hair.” 

“Sunday would be fine. Shall I make ye some soup? I’ll wager ye dinna eat properly while ye were away.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary, Mrs. Bug,” Claire sighed with exasperation. Mrs. Bug was always trying to feed her up.  

“Yer too thin, lass. Ye need to put some meat on yer bones. Gives a man something tae hang on tae. Ye ken what I mean?” Claire swore she heard Mr. Bug snicker in the background.

Before she could respond to Mrs. Bugs’ latest attempt to meddle in her life, there was the sound of pottery crashing accompanied by loud wailing in the background.

She seized the opportunity to end the call. “I think you are needed at the moment. I’ll see you on Sunday, Mrs. Bug. Give my regards to your husband. Take care.” Claire clicked off the call and exhaled a deep breath. She did not know how the elderly couple managed to babysit children, pets, and find the time to pry into other people's lives. She was exhausted just listening to the carrying on.

“Is everything alright, Sassenach?”

“Yes, fine. The Bugs are a sweet elderly couple. They are really grandparents to the entire neighborhood. But they take on so much that I just don’t know how they manage.”

“It seems they enjoy it. Everyone needs to feel useful,” Jamie pointed out. “Now, come and eat. Breakfast is ready milady. ‘Tis no’ as fancy as you make it, but it will fill ye up.”

He pulled out her chair waiting for her to take her seat. 

Claire lowered her eyes and a small smile flitted across her face. No man had ever done that for her before.

Jamie served her the parritch topped with strawberries, sliced almonds, and drizzled with honey.

“‘Tis no’ gourmet, but ‘tis no’ lumpy. I dinna like lumpy parritch,” he grimaced with the thought. He stood next to Claire anxiously waiting for her to taste it. Anxious being the operative word. 

Claire dove in tasting his offering. It was delicious. Creamy with a bit of cinnamon in it as well.

Jamie watched intently as she ate it. He didn't know why he was so worried if she liked the parritch, but he was. Well if he was honest with himself he knew she was a better cook than he and he wanted to please her.  He felt foolish worrying so, after all, it was only parritch. But he couldn’t help himself.  “Do ye like it Sassenach? Is it too hot? Maybe ye would like a bit of cream. I dinna want ye tae burn yer tongue. Would ye like more honey? I could make ye something else if ye dinna like it,” he worried chewing his lower lip.

Claire smiled, the tip of her tongue slipped out and caught a golden drop of honey on her lip, “Jamie, it’s delicious, really. Please sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

Pleasure lit up his face at seeing her enjoyment. Hurriedly he sat down and began to eat with great enthusiasm.

They chatted amicably enjoying their meal and each other’s company.

“Why don’t ye take our coffee into tae sitting room, Claire, while I clear the table?” Jamie stood at the sink rinsing the dishes then stacking them in the dishwasher.

“Alright.”  Carrying their mugs of coffee into the sitting room, Claire placed them on the wooden trunk he used as a coffee table. She wandered around the room looking at the objects that occupied the space as if they would reveal the secrets of the man she loved. She came upon a striking antique mahogany table that stood near the fireplace that was inlaid with white and black marble squares. Two elegantly carved chairs were situated so they sat opposite each other at the table. She ran a hand lovingly across the tabletop admiring its fine craftsmanship.

“‘Tis magnificent, is it no’?” he inquired, wrapping his arms around Claire’s waist nuzzling at her neck.  “‘Tis a family heirloom. It belonged to a great, great, great uncle who lived in Paris in tae 18th century. He was a wine merchant and a Jacobite as weel.” 

“It’s  truly beautiful. Do you have the original chessmen that go with it?” asked Claire.

“Aye, I do,” he replied, opening a side draw revealing the chess pieces. He pulled out the black Queen handing it to Claire. 

She stroked it lovingly appreciating the fine detail of the carving. “It is an exquisite piece, a work of art.”

Jamie looked at her hopefully, “Ye wouldna happen tae play would ye? ‘Tis hard for me tae find an opponent. No’ many people want tae play against me.”

Claire brightened, “I do play. Lamb taught me when I was a child.” Her face misted over with the memories of nightly chess games with either Lamb or Firouz by the campfire. Each man taught her what moves to make, strategies to employ, and tried to instill in her the value of competition, of being a good winner. But more importantly, the virtue of losing gracefully.  “Lamb believed that it would make me a logical thinker and develop strong problem-solving skills.  And he was quite right. It’s been invaluable to me as a surgeon.”  But Claire knew that playing chess had increased her already present competitive spirit. She liked to win.

His heart gladdened with the news. “Might I entice ye tae play a game with me?”

“I would love to. It’s been so long though, I might be a bit rusty.” Claire stopped remembering what he said. ‘Tis hard for me tae find an opponent. No’ many people want tae play against me. Curiosity got the better of her. “Um, Jamie? Why can’t you find anyone to play a game with?”

“Sit Sassenach, make yerself comfortable,” he offered. A sly grin spread across his face. “Ladies choice, which do ye prefer, the black or the white?”

“White. No, I’d prefer black. I don’t like making the opening move.”

“Having the opening move can give ye an advantage and ye will need it. I was Captain of my chess club in high school and in Uni. I’m no’ being bold when I tell ye I have won many competitions. I am offering ye a chance tae win.”  A cocky look spread across his face as he went about setting up the chessboard.

So that’s why no one will play with him. He was a chess prodigy. “No, I didn’t know that.” Tapping a finger against the table, Claire carefully weighed this new piece of information deciding how to use it. She played well but simply was not in Jamie’s league.  Her competitive nature rose to the surface with his challenge. If she wanted to win, and she did, she knew she would need an edge. Just, not the one he was offering.

 ”No, I stand by my choice. I’ll take black,” she smiled coyly. There’s more than one way to win this game, my lad, she thought.

The first mistake, he mused. By allowing him to open it would allow him to play aggressively. He wanted the game over in twenty moves or less. And to do that he would make use of the King’s Gambit. Bobby Fischer defeated an opponent in eight maneuvers. Jamie knew he was good but not that good. 

He opened by moving his pawn to e-4. 

Claire countered by placing a pawn to e-5.

A white pawn moved to f-4.

Smiling smugly, Claire accepted the challenge by taking this pawn. 

Just what I want, he thought as his lip turned slightly upward. Not wanting to appear aggressive and moving too quickly, Jamie sat rubbing his chin in concentration.

Looking up he watched as Claire’s fingers lightly stroked her arm up then down. Her fingers eventually traveled up, over her shoulder then down to graze over the edge of her breast. Slowly. Touching herself just with the tips of her fingernails the outline of her breast became visible beneath her silk robe. She followed the same pattern over and over. His mouth hung open hypnotized by her. He shook his head like a wet dog to dispel his thoughts. And oh what thoughts he was having.

“Knight to f-3,” he announced.

Claire smiled taking in his chosen placement.

She licked her lips jutting out her plump bottom lip as she considered her next position.

Surreptitiously, Jamie looked at that sweet voluptuous lip peeping out at him. What he wouldn't give to suck it into his mouth and tease it with his teeth and tongue. Christ, the woman was driving him mad.  Get yer mind back on the game, he told himself.

“Pawn to g-5.”

Jamie looked pleased with her play. He bit the inside of his cheek while considering his next strategic move.

Claire studied the board intently waiting for Jamie to place his piece. Her index finger gravitated to her lips gently gliding over it. Lips parting, her fingertip entered her mouth and she began to lightly suck it. Her finger floated across her lips making them glisten with the dew from her mouth. She smiled coquettishly as she dropped her hand to caress the black Bishop. Her movements were sensuous, sliding over the chess piece from top to bottom, bottom to top. She made a slight twisting motion as she stroked the piece. 

Jamie’s eyes never left her hand. His mouth went dry.

“It’s still your turn” she whispered demurely. 

“Pawn to h-4,” he choked out his words. Small beads of sweat appeared on his lip.

“Pawn to g-5” she stated sweetly. 

Jamie refused to look up at her, “Knight to g-5.”

“Hum, interesting, Pawn to h-6.” Jamie’s hand rested next to the board. She placed her hand over his and began to trace patterns over the back of his hand.

He burned from the contact of her skin on his. Gently he removed his hand, immediately regretting the loss of her caress. Rubbing the side of his nose he tried to clear his head from the sight and feel of her. He meant to win this game and she was doing her best to distract him. Weel, he wouldna let her.

“Knight to f-7,” Jamie countered hoping Claire would expose her King.

Claire brought her King forward taking Jamie’s Knight.

“Queen to g-4,” Jamie grinned, setting up his advanced attack.

“Knight to f-6,” Claire defends her King. 

Jamie smirked, after this move, he was three moves away from winning. “Queen to f-4.”

He looked at Claire, finding her absorbed pondering her next move. Her hand followed the V of the neckline of her robe. Leaning forward, her hand gracefully began to trace her décolletage exposing more and more skin with each pass of her hand. Soon the curve of her breast was exposed. 

His eyes darkened with just a sliver of blue iris exposed. A deep rumbling noise rose from the back of his throat, dangerous, predatory. 

Stretching, Claire reached for her King placing it on f-8 enabling Jamie to see her hardened nipples straining against the filmy fabric. 

He rose walking to the side of the table bending over as if to examine the position of the pieces in play. Straightening up he turned and snatched Claire’s arm pulling her impossibly close to his heated body. 

“Let’s play something else,” he growled, capturing her mouth as he had planned on seizing her King. His mouth was hungry for hers. He licked, nipped, and tasted her mouth with kisses slow and erotic. One hand reached up and cupped her head while the other drew her closer against him, jealous of the space the air between them occupied. His kisses deepened, searing her lips. His hand buried deeper into her curls, as his kisses became more demanding.

 Claire melted against him, her mouth open to him as her robe gave way leaving her exposed. He palmed her breast roughly feeling the puckered nipple under his hand. He rolled it between his fingers causing her to whimper. 

“Yer a right dodgy player Claire. Ye dinna play fair teasing me, distracting me throughout the game,” he snarled. “And for that, yer coming with me. We’re gonna play a new game.”

He lifted her, threw her over his shoulder, and strode with single-mindedness toward the bedroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Fraser? Put me down this instant!” Claire bellowed kicking her legs, hitting him in the back in between fits of laughter. 

“Haud yer wheesht, woman!” 

Jamie unceremoniously dropped Claire onto the bed. Standing at the side of the bed he loomed over her. His breath harsh and his chest heaving. His eyes were glazed over with lust. She lit a fire in his belly that needed to be put out. He licked his lips anticipating what was to come next. 

Claire scrambled to her knees backing away from him just a little.

Raising her chin in defiance, “What do you plan on doing to me?”

His lips curled into a smirk, “I’m going to kiss ye.”

She blinked. “We’re going to play a kissing game? Isn’t that childish?” she asked in confusion.

“Oh no, lassie, ‘tis a verra good game. ‘Tis one where I get tae devour ye and leave ye with naught but yer cries for mercy.”

Claire studied him, trying to puzzle him out. She eventually gave it up as a lost cause.

“Um, well I do like kissing you.”

“I ken that.” His eyes gleamed.

Jamie crawled up onto the bed. His body radiated so much heat it could be felt from several inches away. He was a blazing inferno.

He sat back on his haunches fixing her with a piercing look. 

Claire’s spine tingled under his scrutiny. It was unnerving her.

“Give me yer mouth, Sassenach,” he requested sweetly.

Claire leaned forward and placed a quick peck on his lips.

“Ok, so we’re done, right?” she asked nervously not quite knowing what to expect. 

“And ye call that a kiss? Tsk! Nay, we haven’t even started yet,” he grinned wickedly.

Jamie removed his shirt then sat back to remove his sweatpants. 

He shifted himself to sit so his back rested against the headboard. “Come here, sit beside me,” he requested, patting the space next to him.

Claire hesitated for a moment then moved to sit beside him.

His arm came up wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

“See, that’s so much nicer, is it no’?”

“What are you up to Jamie?” she asked one eyebrow quirked in question.

“I told ye, a nighean I just want to kiss ye.” 

He cupped her face, turning it toward him. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips. Slowly he lowered his face until their lips were a breath away. He placed a kiss so light it felt like the wings of a dove floating across her lips

“‘Tis pleasant?” he whispered into her mouth.

“Yes,” Claire replied breathily.

“Good. May I kiss ye again?”

“Mmhm.”

Brushing an errant curl away from her face, he tilted her head back seeking out her mouth like he did that morning. Still sweet from the honey and berries he ate for breakfast, he fitted his lips to her’s. Slowly he increased the pressure on Claire’s mouth molding them together creating delicious friction. 

Jamie pulled away momentarily giving her a sinful grin. His eyes engulfed her, finally settling on her mouth. He felt like a man drowning and only her kiss and her breath could save him.  Her mouth was his lifeline. Jamie lowered his head and began to rain kisses across her mouth lightly at first then deeply, possessively.

Jamie broke away, resting his forehead against hers. Tenderly he brushed his lips across her cheek, then to her ear to nibble at the shell. Finding her succulent earlobe, he drew it into his mouth caressing it suggesting things yet to come.

Claire dropped her head back whimpering, making an offering of her alabaster neck to him. She pulled at his hair, dragging him closer.

Jamie plied his attentions to the long column of her neck, nibbling, sucking her sensitive skin. Using his mouth he gently nudged her robe off her shoulders letting it drop off her shoulders, and slide down her arms pooling around her hands and bum. 

Claire sucked in her lower lip gently biting it.

He grinned. Softly, he placed tiny kisses along her shoulder working his way down her arms until he reached her hand. He kissed her wrist, her palm. Raising her hand so she could see, he took each finger into his mouth and sucked each digit in its turn.

Claire began to shudder and breathe heavily by the time he finished with her thumb.

Jamie repeated his ministrations to the opposite hand, arm and shoulder. Dropping his head, he lowered his lips brushing them across her chest down to her breast. Finding her nipple he began to suckle one then the other making each one harden and pebble. He scraped his teeth gently against the tender nipple as it slipped from his mouth. 

She became restless, shifting her body arching her back needing to come closer to him.  Claire gasped at the sensations running through her.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is more delightful than wine,” Claire whispered. 

“Quoting Scripture are ye?” Jamie smiled broadly knowing what he was doing to her.

His mouth and tongue trailed kisses down over her belly, slowly, languorously. “Beautiful, yer so beautiful mo nighean donn.”

“Jamie, I... I... ah...Oh, god.”

He chuckled, as he felt her melt with each kiss he pressed on her. She deserved every slow torturous one he would give her. After all, fair’s fair.

Jamie continued his downward trek, kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh, behind her knee, down to her toes. Using the opposite leg he began his ascent toward his ultimate goal.

“Jamie, please, I need...I want...more. Please, Jamie.”

“Do ye no’ like my kisses? Do ye want me tae stop?” he asked, giving her a soulful look. His voice was full of hurt and disappointment.

 Leaning up on her elbows to look him in the face, “No, no. I mean I want more. Christ, I don’t know what I mean.” And she flopped back onto the pillows, biting her lip and began uttering odd throaty sounds.

He smiled smugly, “Then ye shall have it.”

Reaching her core, he blew softly over it causing Claire to buck. 

“Hush now, Sassenach let me kiss ye.”

His mouth settled into its work, beginning to kiss her most intimately. Lightly at first then pressing deeper lavishing all his attention on her sensitive flesh. 

Claire moaned and whined. Her hands tangled in his hair sliding down to cup his face. Close, she was so close. “Jesus H. Roooosevelt Chrissst,” she hissed.

And then he stopped and rose up to sit next to her. He was hard as stone but was determined to see this through. She needed to learn it wasn’t nice to manipulate someone especially someone who loves them. “What would ye like to do now, Sassenach? Watch a movie? We could read a book, perhaps? Maybe a nice brisk walk instead.”

“Whaaat? What do you mean what do I want to do? I want you to finish what you started,” she snarled with frustration.

“Oh, but I did, my own,” he said as he leaned over to kiss the crown of her head. I said I wanted tae kiss ye and I did. I also said I would leave ye with naught but yer cries for mercy. And I did that too.” A satisfied grin plastered over his face.

“Mac na galla,” she shouted at him as she picked up a pillow and swung it at him beating him ferociously wherever she could reach him.  

He laughed at her use of Gàidhlig to swear at him while trying to deflect the blows of the murderous pillow.

“I surrender madam, I surrender, ” he laughed. She looked so fierce his wee Sassenach lassie. Eyes flashing, skin flushed with anger, all pink and rosy. She was glorious.

“That isn’t very nice of you, Jamie Fraser. To leave me all worked up wanting, needing…” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Now ye ken how I felt during the chess match.”

She looked abashed as she clutched the pillow to her chest. “Well, I wanted to win,” she muttered petulantly as she gave him a sidelong look.  “I mean you were bragging about what a great chess champion you are, so I resorted to using my womanly wiles. I had to do something to even the playing field,” she retorted. Claire turned her head away as she picked at an imaginary loose thread on the pillow slip, “I shouldn’t have done that. It was very poor sportsmanlike behavior on my part,” she blushed. “But you set me up, Jamie Fraser. You didn’t tell me you were some great chess champion until after I agreed to the match. That wasn't fair either,” she glared at him.

“Aye, yer right, and I’m sorry for it. Forgive me, Claire?”

Her facial expression softened from annoyance to tenderness, “Yes, forgiven. Forgive me too?”

Jamie tipped her head up and looked into her eyes that reminded him of liquid honey fresh from the hive. “Forgiven, mo ghràdh.”

“We could have a re-match if you like.” 

“I dinna think so, ye’ll cheat. Ye canna help it,” he glowered at her. “Let’s just leave it as a draw, hm?”

“You’re right about that,” Claire laughed. “I don’t like losing. A draw it is.”

“Come here mo chridhe, ” he beamed holding open his arms to her.

Claire eyed him suspiciously, “What are you planning to do?”

“I want tae kiss ye, ” he chuckled.

“Oh no, you don't. You're not going to get me all riled up again and not finish the job. I'm no fool you know.”

“Never thought ye were. I just thought we could start at the beginning and see where it takes us,” he proposed as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sound like a plan?”

Claire launched herself into his arms, ”Aye, that sounds wonderful.”

***************************************************************************************

CABG - Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting - Treatment used for blocked coronary arteries. Open heart surgery.

Mitral Valve Repair/Replacement is a treatment used to repair if possible the mitral valve. If it is not repairable, it is replaced either with a tissue valve made from the lining of a pig or cow’s heart or a metallic mechanical valve. It is possible for any heart valve to be repaired or replaced, not only the mitral.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is more delightful than wine - Song of Songs 1:2 New International Version of the Holy Bible

#edinburgh to boston #Chapter 19 #the king's gambit #an arousing chess game #sandringham is the chief #vacation is almost over #back to work soon #mrs. bug #outlander fanfiction #My writing #Here Goes Nothing

[hoidn]

master post of disturbingly accurate miscellany.

sagittarius moons constantly put on a cheerful facade to cover their sadness. this often leads to internal bitterness and frustration which gets translated into violent urges and a certain amount of hostility towards others. they may often try to hide it and to keep being in-your-face happy but one can definitely feel an aura of suppressed anger around them. like a feeling of hair-triggered temperament lurking beneath the surface. [source]

-----

venus in the 4th house: you feel like home. living in a comfortable, safe and beautiful house is very important to you, just like establishing a family. your relationship with your family, friends and significant other is of utmost importance to you and you feel the need to create a loving atmosphere for them. although being nurturing is an amazing quality, your attachment to your partner can be so overwhelming that it can lead to break-ups. you’re terrified of stressful situations, scandals and chaos, and you absolutely need to focus on being in a peaceful environment and one where you can pursue your happiness. very nostalgic and overprotective of loved ones. you need your partner to constantly reassure you of their love to you or you’ll go crazy with feelings of jealousy and insecurity. you love helping others, and you inspire love and trust in those around you. [source]

-----

saturn in the 5th: (I fear)…I’ll never feel true happiness. That I’ll always be holding myself back. That I’ll never achieve my true potential, that my light will always feel dimmed. That happiness will be taken away from me at any moment. That my anxieties will always be eating away at me, even when I’m surrounded by the ones I love. That my inner child will always feel neglected, and that, because of that, my creativity feels blocked. [source]

-----

the most noticeable difference between the negative (earth and water) and the positive (air and fire) venus signs for me is that the first really see love as a state of total reception, they connect it more to a passive state in which you can fully grasp and empathize with the other. and the second see love more as a pull towards the object of desire, an inspiration for movement. it’s like earth & water venus is the being towards which the fire & air venus gravitate. [source]

-----

i’m yet to meet a cancer venus that really enjoys cooking. i know a lot of people with this placement and they all really appreciate it when someone cooks for them and often comment on people’s cooking and know the best places where to eat…also they’re often on some type of special diet, be it out of their own will or due to health issues. but i’ve never see one that loves to cook. [source]

-----

So what is Virgo Vision? It’s a penetrating style of seeing the world, people and situations. People with V.V. will auto-scan for nuance and connections that are missed by most people. And then they cram the data into a complex details matrix that assesses it at Warp Speed.

Within microseconds, the Virgo or Virgo Rising formulates a multi-level analysis. They’re witty, informed and lauded for their ability to wisely parse complex circumstances. They streamline convoluted thought and design processes. They save people and organizations significant time and money via their V.V.

[...]

It’s an asset but also a liability. How could something so clearly a mercurial super-power be in any way the latter? Well, they can’t turn it off. Ever.

People with V.V. don’t have the comfort of overlooking something, to ease their passage through a stressful work week. Their mind is perpetually analyzing and making pertinent connections; if they are in an environment where people don’t care about those connections, the Virgo Vision doesn’t power down and go into ‘rest mode.’ It up-regulates into even faster operation.

If the person with V.V. can’t share or be understood, they gaze inward, running over every error, wrong step, miscalculation and poorly worded comment ever.

Details and data swarm their consciousness. They either freeze or default into a Saint Virgo stance. Without an appropriate outlet, the Virgo Rising or Virgo Sun person makes themselves the project. Every glance in the mirror is a call for a fix. Each meal a breakdown of the macros. They don’t view the scenery; they map it.

These people can lose the plot and replace it with a list of continuity errors and anachronisms.  They’re well beyond that old cliche about not seeing “the forest for the trees.”  People with Virgo Vision know the topography, soil components, leaf blight, mythology associated with that style of tree and the article they read on forestry four years ago. [source]

-----

Mercury Retrograde

When Mercury is retrograde at birth, the thinking processes are generally more acute, and the sense of humor rather quirky. People with Mercury retrograde take in information differently than those with Mercury direct in their natal charts. How many people are born with a retrograde Mercury? Roughly 18%.

Some people with this position struggle with doubts about their perceptions or their ability to learn, and there can be a lot of thinking, double-checking, and reviewing of thoughts and ideas before communicating them.

Neptune Retrograde

Those born with Neptune retrograde in their chart might tend to hide their vulnerabilities, their spiritual side, or their compassion, as they feel somewhat uncomfortable expressing them. These things can very well exist, and they run deep, but Neptune retrograde natives prefer to keep these things private. Deep faith can be missing, so that these people might be naturally mistrustful. When they are left to fill in the blanks, they might expect the worst. There can be a big fear of dreaming too big dreams, as they are afraid of being let down. [source]

. . . . .

Mercury is the planet of communication and how you express yourself and learn, and so those of you born with Mercury retrograde tend to feel very misunderstood. The energy of Mercury retrograde in the natal chart is actually very similar to that of Mercury in the 12th house (and how misunderstood you must be if you have natal Mercury retrograde in your 12th house!). You have difficulty communicating clearly with others, with being heard, with understanding others as well, and with using your mental energy properly.

[...]

There’s a tremendous amount of mental energy and power that can be unlocked with Mercury retrograde in the natal chart. It just usually takes a while to let go of the fear, isolation, or insecurity that accompanies this position. The insecurity can really kill the Mercury retrograde native. You need to work on developing confidence in your mental abilities, your ideas, your opinions, your words. Growing up feeling misunderstood no doubt caused that insecurity, but it’s a skin you must shed in adulthood, or you get stuck in that insecurity forever. You can be a quiet person, one who stumbles over their words publicly, or who is unfailingly truthful. You can have a wicked sense of humor because you interpret what you see in the world differently and point out the things that are so ridiculously absurd. 

[...]

When transit (moving) Mercury is retrograde, this is when you thrive. The rest of us are completely hopeless, and you’re speeding along. This is because the retrograde energy is natural to you, so when Mercury is in his normal forward motion, you’re uncomfortable, but when he’s retrograde, you’re at home. This is a time when you can make great progress and really get your point across. You should make the most of the times when Mercury is retrograde. You can also work on better understanding the proper ways for you to communicate, express yourself, and learn during Mercury retrograde, so pay close attention to that. [source]

-----

However, when Mercury is in retrograde, this planet is way more introspective, thoughtful, and skeptical than usual. When moving direct, Mercury is fast-paced and eager to connect the dots, and while it might make you seem like a slow thinker when you have Mercury retrograde in your birth chart, it's only because you're doing a lot more thinking than anyone else would even think to do.

The truth is, being born during Mercury retrograde gives you an advantage when it comes to contemplative and all-encompassing thinking. You see every angle of an idea because you naturally have a tendency to look backwards and sideways, which is something Mercury is not naturally aiming to do. You have a tendency to review your choices and re-do things over and over again until you get it right. [source]

-----

With North Node in Libra, our South Node is in Aries. With North Node in the seventh house, our South Node is in the first house.

A tendency to rely on the self so much as to alienate important others in our lives, to be excessively competitive to the point of a me-first attitude, to take things personally, and to be impatient, rash, and impulsive at the expense of personal happiness are some of the issues this position suggests. With this position, we need to work on sensitizing ourselves to the needs of others, to learn tact and cooperation, to put ourselves in another’s shoes, and to let go of an overwhelming self-consciousness that is blocking our desire to win. We are often afraid of the demands that a partner might put on us, and we don’t naturally look for feedback, preferring to act on the moment—on our own hunches and impulses. But for however hard we push ourselves, our plans will be blocked until we stop to consider the other side. We tend to go it alone, often passing up opportunities for growth because we are too focused on our own personal survival. Our impulses and instincts are overloaded, lacking in perspective, and acting upon them will often bring us strife—that is, until we learn to look at the other side, perhaps through the eyes of another. Through partnership, and through cooperation with others, we will attain the inner balance necessary for us to achieve our goals. [source]

#tree is a virgo #having a sag moon and venus in cancer is the worst let me tell you #SPEAKING OF MY SAGITTARIUS MOON

[flyonthewallmedstudent]

medicine done badly.  House Season 4 Episode 4: Guardian angels.

Watching House again. Starting to wonder why I do this to myself now.

Opening features a young mortician having vivid visual hallucinations of her corpses returning to life to assault her. Her boss then finds her on the floor having tonic clonic seizures. 

Usual alarm bells.  She’s young. She in a job that has exposure or access to toxins or hazards. Seemingly out of nowhere and without known medical risk factors she develops hallucinations and seizures. Acute things. 

Minus the seizures, a lot of junior doctors would consider hallucinations in the young as first presentation psychosis. This is often a “trap for young players.” Or they feel it’s drug induced or another mental health condition. Also, note that you cannot be diagnosed with schizophrenia unless you’ve had symptoms for 6 months. As any psychiatry program will teach you, you must always rule out organic causes - i.e. infection, malignancy, e.g. surgical or medical issues first. 

Always consider the reversible things like encephalitis or meningoencephalitis, or a toxidrome. This should be at the top of your list. If you were to consider mental health at the top, then consider self ingestion of toxins they’d have access to as a mortician. Methanol/anti freeze, ethanol etc. The things you’d consider that would widen the anion gap, cause a metabolic acidosis and seizures. 

On the side, chronic conditions like schizophrenia often comes with a constellation of symptoms, including disordered thought or poor hygiene etc. It’s never merely hallucinations. Also, hallucinations in this context is usually auditory. Hence why a mental state exam is important. 

One psychiatry once told me that you would never refer to a surgeon without doing an abdominal exam. Similarly, you should never refer to psychiatry without having done a mental state exam, and yet the majority of us do.  So we don’t have much history. There’s no exam mentioned. When they get to the first set of differentials this episode, they consider exposure to toxins. excellent.

THen we jump straight to investigations. Again, out of sequence. You gain a lot out of a basic history & exam. 

What investigations?  CT Scan was normal. Nothing else is mentioned. If you were presenting on rounds you’d never skip straight to this. 

To note, CAT scans are fast, they’re great at some things like picking up an acute pulmonary embolus or big space occupying lesions or big bleeds. But, they miss small things. They also carry radiation. 

I’d agree with house on what investigations are warranted in the situation, which are:

Bloods are easy and basic. Probably would have been done the minute she went past the threshold into the emergency department. Again, bit unrealistic.

Then we’re interrupted by House insulting his doctors. It’s Season 4, so he has new juniors. 

Again, particularly in this era, you wouldn’t (and couldn’t) spew racism or bigotry around. It’s taken really seriously and it doesn’t matter how valued you are to a health service. It’s no longer the 70s or the House of God times.  Then cue to “senior junior” doctors at the MRI with the patient. 

Also very unreal. Unless the patient was unstable - i.e. intubated, hypotensive etc. at risk of dying, there wouldn’t be a doctor in the room. Not even a radiologist. It’d be a radiographer, some assistants and a nurse. Would you get valium for an MRI? If very claustrophobic, you could get offered one, as MRIs take time and any movement will ruin the images and hence interpretation.

Apart from a radiologist, no doctor would know how to operate an MRI. Few would understand how to interpret the images unless the findings were blaringly obvious (like a large bleed). 

The team also break into the patient’s work and home. This always done in lieu of social history on this show. They find nothing. except in her fridge,

Which could be an alarm. 

She’s exposed herself to bacteria, parasites etc. if she eating food that’s not been safely regulated. I’ve seen unpasteurized milk in organic markets recently for instance.

Then they consider chemicals at work. You always consider what they have access to and whether they’ve taken something - because of the time, the young, healthy and immunocompetent don’t become so unwell out of nowhere. Toxins are ruled out however, as they report the ED would have rule it out. They don’t state that it has.  Here’s where House’s old adage of trust no one and everybody lies would help out. 

Never trust another doctor’s work per se, as everyone is human. Everyone makes mistakes or misses things. It happens. 

Usually every receiving team would then reviews all the investigations already done and quickly determines if they need to request or re-request further. We would always check to see if toxicology was actually done in the pathology. Or at least a blood gas.

The next differential is mad cow and this is somehow decidedly the most likely differential. This is so far fetched. We would never consider the most random, rarest possibility first. 

They decide that because she’s a mortician, she’s exposed herself to prions and acquired the disease from a cadaver with undiagnosed CJD (or mad cow). 

What’s the possibility of transmission from cadaverous brain tissue to mortician? Incredibly low with safe practice. Also, note that you would never brain biopsy to diagnose mad cow, you could on autopsy. But you’d use a constellation of symptoms, MRIs and subspecialty team with experience to (sort of) diagnose it. It would require a neuropsychiatry team assessment. 

How would you expect it to present? Probably not just hallucinations alone or a seizure.  Actually, rapid onset dementia (i.e. confusion, memory loss, loss of concentration) and behavioural symptoms - I mean a few months to a year. Other changes could be ataxia. Hallucinations are rare. Myoclonus (like twitching) can occur, but you wouldn’t expect grand mal or complex tonic clonic seizures - i.e. whole body with loss of consciousness. 

Going to stop there, and perhaps continue on another day. As I’ve typed up a long enough post. And the differentials are spinning wildly out of control.  I haven’t even gotten to considerations like malignancy or other space occupying lesions that could possibly lead to hallucinations and seizures in the young. But will watch some more and see what they consider next.

#medblrs #medblr #house #house md

[coffeesuperhero]

fic: you can’t go home again

2900 words, somewhere on a continuum between Gen and pre-OT3, rating: Mature. Eliot-POV, set immediately after Low Low Price, but like, in the correct universe, where Low Low Price Job came before the Rundown Job instead of after. 

I wrote this because it bugs the heck out of me that afaik there’s no in-canon answer to why Eliot cut his hair, so I wrote 2900 words of post-Low Low Price blathering to explain it to myself...and actually addressed that in like one sentence, lol. I am who I am. 

It's an hour from the house that used to be Eliot's home back to Oklahoma City, or at least, it's an hour if you care about speed limits. On this particular occasion, Eliot makes it in a little more than half that. He spends the time he made up driving aimlessly around, looking at all the shit that's here now that wasn't here when he left. What his hometown lost, this place has found. He doesn't really know how to feel about that. Good? Bad? Vindicated? He left home behind the first time for a long list of reasons, but one at the top of the list was that he didn't see a future where he was, not for himself, not for anybody else, and what do you fucking know. He wasn't wrong.

Even so, maybe he could have called at least once in the last decade.  For all the good it would have done. At least he could say he tried. But he didn't, and now there's so much water under the bridge there's an ocean where there used to be a river.

There's a parking garage entrance on his right, one of the ones downtown connected to one of the big old hotels, and he pulls into it and just sits there for a bit. Looks at the empty space on the passenger seat where the six pack of beer was sitting. Looks at the signs on the wall of the garage directing him to the hotel's entrance. Thinks about staying the night. Thinks about how he's supposed to be back in Portland in a couple of days, because he asked that nice lady from the last job on a date, a real one, because he was suffering under some kind of delusion that he could be a normal guy instead of a miserable fucking bastard whose longest relationship to date is, ha, probably the one he doesn't actually have with Parker and Hardison.  

"Fuck," he says, staring at himself in the rearview mirror.

Whatever he decides to do tonight, he's pretty sure at this moment that all attempts at normalcy are a no-go, so he pulls out his phone, finds Tabitha's number, and cancels all of that bullshit with what he hopes is an appropriately apologetic note. He doesn't type You reminded me of home and that was nice but you know what, I tried and it turns out they're right, and you can't go home again, and trust me on this one, you're better off without me, because he may be miserable but he knows full well that misery doesn't actually love company, misery doesn't love anything, and he's not passing that on to a nice lady who's just trying to run her business and go about her day.

He hits send, and then he turns off his phone and leans against the headrest.

"Fuck," he says again. Now what?

He assesses the situation. Plays out his options. So, this fucking hurts, first of all. But that's fine. Eliot's no stranger to injuries. Getting them, fighting through them, healing up after. First rule of injuries: don't fucking lie to yourself about how bad it is. Well, the first rule is probably, get yourself the hell away from whoever did that shit to you, but the second one is definitely some variation on be honest about how much it sucks. And this shit may be an emotional fucking injury but that doesn't mean it doesn't fucking suck. Hell, it's his own goddamn dad, and that bridge isn't just burned, it's in little pieces floating downriver. It'll keep hurting tomorrow, regardless of what he does tonight. It'll probably hurt for a while.

How do you treat any of that? If this was just a broken bone or a concussion or some shit he'd know what to do, but he's kind of at a loss, right now. After all, the last time he went through this particular kind of injury the way he treated it was to fuck off and join the army, and none of that is an option anymore for any number of reasons.

He looks at the hotel sign again. What the fuck is he gonna do here tonight, anyway? He's close enough to Bricktown, which has really fucking taken off since he left here, so he could probably wander into some bar, pick somebody up, bring them back to a hotel room-- and then what? Fuck them and hope in the morning it doesn't sting as much?

Maybe it wouldn't be the worst way to spend an evening but it also just doesn't hit right, tonight. He's not good company right now. Doesn't want to fake being charming or happy or whatever for somebody for a night so he can feel just a little less miserable for a few hours before he leaves this place and never comes back. He came all the way out here for a real conversation that he's never really going to have, and now he has a very real ache in his chest from years and years of regret, and whatever he does after this he just wants it to be real, too, even if it's just wallowing in real misery for a while.

That does sound more like what Nate would do, though, and that isn't particularly interesting to him. He knows where that road goes and it's not anyplace he wants to be, because if it was Nate in this situation there's a good chance he'd crawl right into a bottle and never come out. And there's Sophie, who would paint on a convincing smile while she quietly bottled up all the pain and the hurt to use later for motivation, like it was some magic potion she could drink later to fuel a con, and who knows, maybe she could, but he doesn't think he can. And what would Hardison do? Eliot snorts. Like he even has to ask. Stay, definitely. Drive back down there right now and try again. And again, and again, patiently offering his heart to people whether they deserve it or not. That's Hardison all over. And Parker-- Parker would cut and run and you'd never know she'd been there.

Except no, that's not right. That's Eliot's play, or it used to be. Parker would never have come back in the first fucking place. Parker would have known better.

If he had known better, he'd still be in Portland, probably cooking the two of them dinner, because that's how he spends more evenings than he'd like to admit, lately. That, or re-planning the menu for the brewpub, because someone has to, and it looks like that someone has to be him, because if he leaves it up to Hardison the pizza will have anchovies and pineapple and the beer really will live up to Parker's promise of mouth crimes. They need him. And-- well-- okay, he needs them, too, probably. If he wants something real, they are definitely that. Sometimes they're just real weird, but even on their worst days hanging out with them is better than sitting here alone. They're his; he’s theirs. They're family. The only one he's got.

So he starts the truck and drives straight to the airport and asks the ticket agent if there's any way in hell he can get back to Portland tonight.

But there's nothing direct from here to Portland left going out today on any airline, and no matter how much he sweet talks the nice lady behind the counter, that ain't changing. She kinda reminds of his grandmother, which honestly is just not helping his emotional state, and is probably the reason why, when he opens his mouth to plead his case to this lady what comes out is, "I just really need to be with my family," instead of literally anything else.

"Bless your heart," she says, reaching across the counter to gently pat his hand, and fuck, isn't that just the worst thing she could've said. People from other places tend to assume that phrase only means one thing, but the actual truth is that it can mean anything from boy, are you a dumbass to I see your pain and I want you to know that you are not alone in this cold dark world and I don't rightly know how but trust me, it is going to be okay, and this is the latter one, for sure. And he has held up under torture, under hours and hours and days and days of physical pain, without cracking, but this sweet lady and her voice and her eyes that crinkle up like his grandma's and her bless your heart kindness are going to be the death of him, probably. He gives her a very watery smile in response, and she pats his hand again and says, "Let's find you a flight."

It takes four connections and an overnight flight to do it, but eventually, Eliot and his newfound best friend, Miss Roxanna, queen of the American check-in counter at the Will Rogers World Airport, work this shit out.

"Listen, honey," she says, as she hands him his tickets, "I don't know what you've got going on and I don't need to, but it's gonna be all right."

"Thank you, ma'am," he manages to say, and he's glad he has to run to make it through security and find his gate because he can't stand here and do this shit much longer without spilling his guts to a total stranger.

He doesn't sleep on the plane to L.A.. He does try, he just can't get there. Every time he closes his eyes he just sees his dad's stupid hardware store. So he stays awake. He even does the crossword, or most of it. He eats the plane snacks when the flight attendant comes around with the basket of slightly fancier shit that they serve in first-class. Maybe he flirts with her a little, but only out of habit. Mostly he just stares out the window and wonders what Parker and Hardison are doing right now and why he thought he needed to leave in the first place, and then he thinks about that last job and that old guy, Martin, and realizes that he was always going to try to go home again, so maybe he can at least stop beating himself up for that.

He cuts his hair in the bathroom of the American Airlines Admirals Club Lounge in terminal four of LAX at one in the goddamn morning, because he's tired and plane-sweaty and even though they have showers here his hair just won't stop sticking to his damn neck and he's got two more flights before he's back in Oregon and he's about over it. So he palms some scissors from the lady at the lounge desk when she's not looking, hits the bathroom, and hacks it all off. It ain't clean or neat and honestly he doesn't give a fuck. It suits his mood. And when he looks at his reflection and feels a little pang that it's gone, that's even better. What does it matter? It's just hair. He's not Samson; his hometown wasn't Delilah. He doesn't get his power from it or some bullshit like that.

Because airlines are bullshit, from L.A. he actually has to go all the way back to Dallas before he can get to Seattle and his last flight, but at least after all of that the flight from SeaTac to Portland is over almost before it starts, and he shuffles off the plane and out of the airport like a zombie coming back to life. Eliot never thought he could be so goddamn grateful for Portland, so different from the home he left behind and still carries around in his heart. Portland, with all its rain and tall cedars and the looming specter of Mount Hood in the distance, is nothing like the place he left, but god, he could almost fall to his knees at the sight of all of it now.

What he means to do, when he gets in his car, is go to his place and pass out for a few hours before he inevitably finds his way to the brewpub. The drive is so easy and there's so little traffic this early that he just sort of autopilots himself around, and he doesn't even register that he's not at his own place until he's putting in the alarm code on Parker and Hardison's apartment door, muscle memory piloting his fingers through the sequence when his tired brain can't be bothered with the recall. The code's keyed specifically to him, he knows, so if anyone up there is awake and cares to see it, they'll know he's here and probably go right back to sleep, because it is early the fuck o'clock and he knows it.

He's exhausted and he feels like he's been on twice as many planes as it took him to get here, but he walks in, closes the door quietly behind him, and tosses his keys on the table by the door where he always leaves them when he's here. And it's just right. This, right here, this specific place, is just where he needed to be. He sinks onto the couch in the living room, too tired to haul himself any further, to the spare room that stays spare, just in case. Just in case of Eliot. He knows that. They've never told him it's his space. They also never told him he couldn't leave his shit there. So he's got clothes in the closet and maybe a few other things besides, a little home away from home, for the nights when he's here too late or has an extra beer or just plain does not want to go home to an empty apartment when his heart is here.

He's trying to will himself to get up when he hears the door to their bedroom open, catches a few lines of whispered conversation, first Hardison, then Parker. There's noise in the kitchen-- the soft beeps of the coffee pot, the click-hiss of the gas stove, the sizzle of bacon-- and then there they both are, right beside him.

Nobody looks at him funny. Nobody even says a word. Hardison sets a steaming cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of him; Parker follows it up with a plate of toast and bacon and eggs. A few minutes later they curl up, one of them on either side of him, holding their own plates, and nobody tells him to eat or drink, they just leave him be. But that midnight meal in the American lounge was hours ago, now, and he should eat before he passes out, probably, so he reaches for his plate and digs in, grateful that someone around here who isn't him has apparently figured out that you can have something besides hot pockets or cereal for breakfast.

The silence is comforting for a while, until it isn't, with neither of them saying a damn word, and what are they waiting for, anyway? He's never here this early unless it's for a reason, even if the reason is just that there wasn't anyplace else he wanted to be.

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing here?" he asks finally, when it seems like they're just going to keep on waiting until he says something.

"Why would you need a reason to be here?" Parker asks, and Hardison just looks up from his phone and says, "Yeah man, you're home," and shrugs, like of course there's nowhere else he would be, and god, if he's home, then no, there really isn't anywhere else. It’s funny, because up until this moment, at least in his head, home has still been a tiny town two-thousand miles east of here, but that’s not right, not anymore, and now he knows it, for sure. Looks like the lady at the ticket counter was right after all. It was gonna be okay.  

"Yeah," he says, with a grateful smile. "Yeah, okay. I'm home."

He's so tired he can't even clock who moves first, maybe Hardison, maybe Parker, hell, maybe it was him or even all of them together, but the end result is, there are two sets of arms wrapped around him and two sleep-warm people pressed against his ribs on both sides. And it's been a long day and a long year and a long life, to be honest, and he may be tired but he's not alone and he's home, so he just lets them hold onto him for a while, and he holds on right back. Maybe you can't go home again, but you sure as hell can make a new one. This one, at least, he is going to do his goddamn best not to burn to the ground.

#eliot spencer #leverage #fic #my fic #me posting fic on tumblr in the year of our lord 2020: more likely than you might think!

[rametarin]

The Fuddsucker.

I thought in my head about how to make the most milquetoast, most emasculated, most pointless firearm that the ATF would allow after whittling away every other freedom and liberty about firearm ownership. The sort of firearm that the ATF and anti-gun people would allow to exist, just as a honeypot to torture gun owners into not seeing legal gun ownership and possession as worth their trouble. Here’s what that would look like.

To start, the Fuddsucker is a handgun. Why a handgun? Because the Powers that Be that are the ATF and the masters they answer to clearly don’t mind handguns. Handguns can be used by the criminal element for small time burglary as well as mafioso work, and they cannot be used to threaten rich and powerful people from a reasonably long distance. That lack of assassination range is crucial. The ATF does not care as much about handguns, clearly, as we see in any state or city where the majority of gun crime comes from narco gangs using revolvers and pistols.

So, the gun would be a handgun. How long the barrel? Too short to be effectively accurate at any respectable range and too long to be a snub nosed for very close melee stuff. So, standard regulation orthodoxy milquetoast size.

And what would the body be made of?

Cheap steel. Designed both for easy detection by law enforcement and feds using state-of-the-art metal detectors if they need to find it, as well as to force the person to clean it often. If it’s not cared for and well maintained, the firearm owner is considered negligent and unfit for firearms ownership, and the property seized.

And what sort of bullet would it fire?

Why, a special, proprietary bullet, of course. This bullet would be a composite type material, because it’d be better for the planet than lead. It’d also be very light. Lighter than copper or bronze, and unable to be melted down to be re-used upon impact. Because can’t have metals that could be used to smelt bullets, can you? No that’d be against the law. So the bullets have to be one-shot and then lost forever unless you have a machine capable of manufacturing more of them.

This bullet would be of a caliber that was too small to do more than wound a person. We’re talking, ‘Makes the .22 look roided up by comparison’. Like the Kolibri’s ammo. Maybe it’d embed in their skin and possibly get infected and gangrenous, but the infection would be more dangerous than the penetration. You MIGHT be able to shoot a rat with it, but then you might get busted for your mental health. The bullets would come individually in tiny boxes like Funko Pops, each with their own serial number and little inaudibly chirping signature that the gun can read. The bullets’ proprietary nature allows them to assign them to a person based on an account they have with the company- which is one proxy removed from the ATF having a national gun registry- and so they can see both how many bullets you’ve bought in the past, how many bullets you currently have on you, how many bullets you’ve personally fired and how many were fired from that gun specifically. And they can limit how many bullets you’re ultimately allowed to own before raising the flags and deciding someone needs to go to your house and collect the, “excess.” You know, so you don’t get any funny ideas about hoarding ammunition for any reason.

The gun itself would not be analog and mechanical, it’d be electronic. The computer IS the firing mechanism. No computer, no functional firing mechanism. The Fuddsucker is built to monitor itself and the integrity of its systems. If it falsely or correctly senses it has been disconnected, it peeps wirelessly to home. If Home loses connection with your Fuddsucker, they phone call you to let you know, “the gun isn’t able to chirp at us to let us know it’s fully intact and healthy. You need to assess that and get it functional within 92 hours, or we’re sending someone to confiscate it. And if we can’t, you’ll be imprisoned for criminal negligence for allowing your gun to be stolen.”

The Computerized Fuddsucker would have tiny diode cameras that take pictures of whatever you’ve fired it at at the second of fire to upload them to the home site of the Fuddsucker company, for legal posterity. The gun snitches on its own GPS location, right down to the millimeter, and the vector or angle the barrel is pointed at, every single second and the exact time it fires.

The gun also will only allow you to chamber a single bullet at a time and deliberately makes the reloading process as tedious as possible while still pretending to be practical about it. So you get one singular round, and the chamber has small glowing OLEDs that light up to display when there’s a bullet in the chamber. A pressure sensor on the trigger makes these OLEDs turn red and glowing and make a tiny, consistent whining noise when your finger is on the trigger. You know, so it’s impossible for you to use the gun silently and stealthily at all.

Returning to the bullets; each bullet has to be purchased individually for a premium, and its own case serves as a gun case. To free each bullet from its case, you have to phone the company and get it authorized to use each bullet individually. Where they would write down your consent and request to utilize each individual bullet by its unique identity and signature.

The gun itself keeps a biometric lock record of all the people that have touched or held the gun, whether it was loaded or not, for evidence purposes. And you have to be holding the gun when requesting authorization for the company to allow the bullet mini-safe to open. If you break the case and remove the bullet from it without this compliance, you will be considered in violation of federal law and that will be taken as intent to commit an unlawful act.

The bullets themselves store in their own separate ammunition safe, proprietary to the company. Only bullets of that particular company are allowed to be stored inside of the compnay ammunition safe; cameras inside must be accessible to the company at any time with a live webcam feed, with a weight sensor. Any boxes of ammo discovered that are not that caliber or round and it will be considered a misdemeanor and mishandling of the gun. The ammunition safe is also biometric as well as password protected, and access is permitted only by phoning the company meanwhile for facetime.

Similarly, the gun itself has to be accessed this way, and the gun safe has to be kept in another part of your home. If your home is too small for regulatory gun safety, that’s too bad. You couldn’t have it in an apartment building, because you wouldn’t have enough distance between them. Tough shit, peasant.

In order to acquire your Fuddsucker gun, you’d need firearm insurance and to sign a waiver to all “unnecessary searches and seizures.” Just possessing the Fuddsucker means that absolutely no forms of monitoring or tapping or eavesdropping on your transmissions, conversations or contacts is considered a violation of your civil rights, because it’s in the interests of making sure you don’t go ham with your big scary gun. The Firearm Insurance industry is very pricey, and medal prices go up to handle firearm injuries or fatalities, forcing firearms owners to pay out the ass in order to legally possess and take part in firearms culture. And if you won’t play the game this way? No right to participate for you. And anyone that misuses the Fuddsucker brand firearm opens the Fuddsucker company up to being sued out of commission as liable for every injury sustained to any person shot with them.

As the Fuddsucker also records every angle and direction and GPS location and time every shot is fired, every bullet is a snitch, every bullet is individually registered and chirps its status and location every second to headquarters, it will know exactly what surface it hit, where the bullets went, where they were fired from and whom fired them. They will always know exactly what inanimate objects were damaged or destroyed, and the shooter as well as the insurance company will both have to pay an absolute premium for the destruction of both private and public property, as well as face heavy fines for negligent discharge of a firearm and willful destruction of property, possibly resulting in seizure of property, jail time and a permanent criminal record.

In addition to all this, a middleman for the Fuddsucker company will show up at your house unnanounced for the random inspection in person to make sure all your guns and all bullets registered to you are still there, the safes are intact, your papers are all together,  you don’t have any hint of domestic problems- from the main or extended family, and to make sure you don’t have signs of ownership of any analog firearm, or “hostile or harmful paraphanelia,” like bump stocks, suppressors or scary over or under barrel attachments for lights or laser scopes, like some sort of Hollywood spy or assassin!

In order to acquire your Fuddsucker brand firearm, you have to go through an expensive gun training course that “deprograms” and “decolonizes” you of your “whiteness.” Said history course will go over how your, “whiteness” is evil, behind all atrocities on planet earth, the warming of the planet, the marginalization of minorities, the deprivation of non-white communities across the globe, and these aspects of gun ownership WILL be on the test. If you are not white, you’ll automatically score higher on all written portions and fewer points will be deducted for spelling errors or grammar mistakes, because, “That is English spoken by your culture! It’s not wrong!” Accepting that you are an oppressor just by sitting at a table with another human being of a different skin color, or that a white man is your oppressor for doing such, will be as important a lesson in gun handling and safety, as trigger discipline. And if you answer wrong or dissent to answering that way, you fail the course and cannot be trusted with a firearm, as well as getting flagged for potential criminal or hate crime activities. You will be time gated from applying to the course again for a minimum of a year, to incentivize getting it right the first time. And while you’re there it might also improve your odds to donate cash or property to BLM, or any of another dozen groups.

The gun would also feature faux-wood paneling, like a cross between an electronic cigarette and a 1970s station wagon. Because only evil terrorist white supremacist gun nuts use metallic finishes on “AR style” firearms. Nice happy farmer firearms have wood grain texture. But, this wood pattern is merely aesthetic. Underneath the thin veneer are sensors that measure pressure. If it senses you’re addding after-market stocks or accessories, it squeals to home. The gun safe itself that constantly monitors the presence of your Fuddsucker’s state will be alerted, and if the undesired pressure on the skin exists too long, a representative will tele-conference with you and demand to see the gun to make sure you aren’t applying something like a bump stock, or an illegal stock to it. If you do not comply, they’ll send law enforcement to seize the gun. If the machinery is malfunctioning, they’ll send a technician to take your gun from you for refurbishing. Expect to lose access to your firearm for 4-6 weeks, and forever if they determine (correctly or incorrectly) that the cause of the damage was willful negligence or malfeasance.

You will also pay, over the course of your life, for the cost of the gun transferring back to the company (government.) Your next of kin will not inherit your firearms, but the family gets a 100 day window to proactively pursue taking up your legal firearm. If they have the property, papers, are deemed mentally fit, are willing to start paying the insurances, all of that themselves, sign the papers, then they can inherit your gun. The gun’s history will be updated for the new owner as if they bought it fresh from the company, and they’ll have to pay the cost for every bullet in the gun safe as well as for the gun safes as if they were new to transfer legal ownership to them, regardless of their condition or any improvements to the makes or models over the last 5-50 years of the product’s existence.

And after all of this, you’ll still have anti-gun people asking, “What do you need a gun for? Really? What are you going to do with that? Stop a tyrannical government? They have full auto and nuclear bombs and fighter jets. You have a Fuddsucker, Farmer Jimbob. :^) What are you going to do with that?”

[steptuna48]

Carpet Cleaning Makers

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why not do that out : #f9f9f9;border: 1px solid #aaa;display: table;margin-bottom: 1em;padding: 1em;width: 350px;">

Content

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The Best Carpet Shampoo Options for Deep Cleaning - BobVila.com

The Best Carpet Shampoo Options for Deep Cleaning.

Posted: Fri, 11 Dec 2020 13:34:40 GMT [source]

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[cowtale-utau]

Sans/Ace INTJ vs ENTP

Welp this is not the full breakdown I’m working on but. This is contributing to that? I was asked about my type choice (which I super don’t mind! I love a good debate) and this will help in breaking down that part of the full work up. It’s super friggin long. I’d apologize, but I wouldn’t really mean it. Anyway, here we go.

First lets look at the functional stacks

INTJ / NiFeTiSe (NiTe) vs ENTP / NeTiFeSi (NeTi)

Ni – Internal intuition vs Ne – Extroverted intuition

Sans is suspiciously intuitive. There was no argument that Intuitive was going to be part of his typing. How the intuition functions and is used is where we have some point of potential debate. This comes down in many ways to how Jung viewed extroversion vs introversion. Extroverts are characterized as expansive and expressive, with short attention spans and rapidly shifting focus. They also tend to have relationships characterized by breath as opposed to depth. That is, many, more “shallow” relationships, rather than fewer, “deeper” connections. Conversely introverts are more focused and narrow, spending more time and energy on fewer things they give more value. Ne tends to have a wider range of hobbies and skills, while never focusing enough to master any, while Ni tends to develop mastery in fewer, selected areas. Ne also tends to want to bounce topics and visit many areas of conversation, while Ni wants to focus in on a singular topic to explore as deeply as possible. Ne wants to have many options while Ni wants to zero in on one singular answer.

Honestly, you can see traces of both Ne and Ni in Sans personality. He has a broad range of skills, and a pretty large number of arguably shallow “friendships”. He also keeps a very small number of deeper, more developed relationships, and there is evidence of him having a few areas he has a much deeper knowledge of.

Getting into the real differences is easier when you pair Ni/Ne with their respective sidekicks. Thus we have NiSe and NeSi. If we go by type theory Ni uses information Se has subconsciously gathered to find patterns and themes in their environment. They cast a wide sensory net to take clues from all possible inputs, visual, auditory, etc. They then use this data to compile a narrow underlying pattern. Conversely NeSi, draws on repeated snapshots of experiences to compile an established pattern to put forth a range of possible “what ifs”.

A simplification of what separates Ni from Ne can be put as such; Ni  is insight, Ne is ingenuity. Both E and I express intuition in their focus on the metaphysical and theoretical. NJ's can be seen as less creative while NP's are less able to come up with convergent ideas. ENPs see several potentials in everything, they struggle to trace back to a single causality. ENPs often take a “spray and pray” method, and are surprised should they hit upon the correct answer. They won't likely trust this as the true answer until they've tested and exhausted all possibilities.

INTJ and ENTP functions are perfect flips of one another and are often mis-typed. 

INTJ: Dominant: Introverted Intuition Auxilliary: Extraverted Thinking Tertiary: Introverted Feeling Inferior: Extraverted Sensing ENTP: Dominant: Extraverted Intuition Auxiliary: Introverted Thinking Tertiary: Extraverted Feeling Inferior: Introverted Sensing

Personally I'm inclined to lean towards Ni for Sans, but both are viable options. In fact both are so viable, that this breakdown wasn't particularly helpful. But it was interesting, and fun so I'm not mad I did it. So lets try this from a different angle. This time I'm going to ignore “stacks” and look at the purely E vs I, T vs P, etc break downs, and include my personal opinions on them, and how I got to the choice I did for Sans.

Introversion vs Extroversion

E – Energy is outward, towards people and things. Gains energy by being with people, batteries drain when alone. Need stimulation and are expressive. Like variety, action, and achievement. Communicate openly without censure. Allow conversation without conclusion. Take words at face value.

I – Energy focused inwards, towards ideas and concepts. Recharge with “me time”, drained by crowds and company. Tend to be reserved, and can seem subtle or “impenetrable”. Think before they act, often taking time to make a decision.

When I first typed Sans I had to ask, is he an introvert, or just depressed. I think it cannot be argued whether or not Sans suffers from depression. The indicators are there. It is a widely accepted view. However, I do not believe this excludes him from being an introvert. I see Sans as a social introvert. He likes people in general, enjoys crowds, from a comfortable distance. He keeps most relationships at arms length, and needs time alone to recoup. Sans is a very guarded and reserved individual, who can play at being an open book. He deflects with jokes and entertainment, but how many can say they are genuinely close to Sans. Even Papyrus is kept at a certain distance despite Sans clear love for his brother. I think Sans is kinda the poster child for the misconception that introverts are isolationists that hate people. They (cough we cough) aren't. They just need time to themselves to reorient, and re-energize. And that doesn't necessarily mean complete isolation either. This can often be achieved in the company of those held especially dear, or by simply withdrawing, even around company. This can be seen in Sans choosing to be at Grillby's but choosing a somewhat “closed” location. Yes he's towards the center of the room, but he's at the corner of the bar. He directly faces only Grillby. Or a common fanon example, Sans shutting down and allowing himself to be lugged around by Papyrus. He stays physically present, and is likely taking in the going ons, but has disengaged on a personal/social level.

Intuiting vs Sensing

S – Focus on immediate thought and sensory input. Trust conscious, limiting to facts and solid data. Pay attention to immediate, material, practical and “real”.  Work on a clear schedule and use logic to work in a direct sequence. Practical, realistic, grounded, direct.

N – Process data on a deep, subconscious level, trusting “gut feelings”. Spot patterns and take broad high level “big picture” views. Enjoy ideas and theories, are willing to work with factual evidence on a “instinct”. Change and adapt plans as information changes.

While I suppose an argument could be made for either I'm inclined to pin Sans as an N. Especially if one dismisses the “Sans remembers resets” theory. One cannot deny he uses facial cues and behaviors to make “gut” predictions about the player character/Frisk. Sans does not strike me as one to stick to any schedule not externally enforced by others (Papyrus). He doesn't need solid proof to make an accurate assessment, and trusts his own instincts. Somewhat unrelated to current discussion but one could argue a case for Sans having some almost... Arrogance in this regard. He is so confident in his assessment that he calls you on it, despite having no solid, in hand, proof of any of his accusations. This is a man who trusts his own mind.

Thinking vs Feeling

T – Thing logically and with reason. Desire fairness and objectivity. Black/White mentality. Seek truth and clear use of the rules. Sometimes forget or dismiss the “person” variable. Prefer truth over tact. Analyze pros and cons, and when a decision is made, consider it done.

F – Make decisions based on the feelings and considerations of others. The 'person' element is the first and primary considered. Value harmony, and try to be tactful even at the cost of some truth. Some times overlook the “hard” facts and can come off idealistic.

Here's another area where both typings agree. Sans is very much to me a T. Despite his apparent “easy to get along with” nature he can clearly lack tact (as seen in his 'you'd be dead where you stand' line). It's clear he is capable of dismissing the “people” component as seen in a neutral run. Even if you are to kill his brother there is little reaction beyond a few (or single, I'm slightly tipsy and my memory sucks) lines about his upset. This could theoretically be blamed on the nihilism/depression we see present, but could also be tied into his objective way of thinking (and if one considers that he's at least distantly aware that the outcome isn't permanent than this way further leans into T type. He knows it isn't the end, and so can accept that even if his brother is dead now, he won't be later, allowing him to remove emotion from the equation). If his magic coloring is tied into the presented soul traits the desire for fairness and objectivity is clearly seen in his secondary (?) Justice trait. I also believe Sans very much has a Black/White view of morality/the world. You can see this in the neutral run. While he may not attack you in anything less than No Mercy/Genocide, he definitely calls you out. Even just reaching LV of 2 is enough for Sans to express disgust in both you and your actions. This suggests he has absolutely no leniency in his views.

Judging vs Perceiving

J – Decisive and controlled. Are rigid and take charge of their environments, making choices early. Specific in what they ask, and expect others to do as told. Seek order and closure. Like to have time for preparation. Enjoy being experts.

P – Feel limited by structure. Feel more in control when options are left open. Thrive with the unexpected and are open to change. Tend to be loose and casual. Work in bursts. Are tolerant of people differences and will adapt to fit a situation.

And here's the other where the two potential types vary. And I can see a case for either. Its when all the parts are taken in together that I lean towards J over P. (although if we went with the percentages system I could see him as being fairly close, and sometimes slipping one way or the other over the line. I've know a couple of people personally who do so every now and then. A close friend of mine regularly tests at 51/49 in their J/P alternating between INFJ and INFP) I think when balancing Sans' N and T it comes together more comfortably in J. His rigid morality suggests a lack of tolerance and adaptability. Once he starts something, he sees it through to completion. His desire for the cycle of resets to be stopped can be seen as a need for closure, but I think we can dismiss it as extenuating circumstances. Anyone would want it to stop after a fashion, even if they are only distantly aware of the occurrence.  I think Sans straddles the J/P line leaning slightly more into J. He needs order and routine, but is stiffed by too rigid of a structure. I think for me this ultimately came down to me viewing Sans (or perhaps Ace in this case) as an ultimately science leaning mind. He needs answers. He needs clear, clean answers, and not getting them is distressing. While he may like to keep his options open in some areas of his life, overall he prefers to know what he's getting into, and how he's going to handle it. He's a free personality, that dislikes an unpredictable world. He wants to know where the end is, and have several methods of getting there. Not knowing the answers is scary, and Sans/Ace hates being scared.

So there's that. I don't know if any of it made any sense, but there you have it. How I typed Sans and why. Bare in mind, that this is also a half fanon typing. This is at least in part, based on occurrences after the events of canon Undertale, and how Sans/Ace behaved then. (you’ll see more of that in his full workup) As well as being based on some headcanons, though I tried to be fairly sparing with them. I also find myself frustrated as to the lack of information on Sans behavior/personality prior to the events of the game. What was Sans like, before the resets, before the depression. I would love to see what Sans had been like when he was younger. Alas, this is unlikely to ever happen. But anywho, this got way long, and if you manage to actually get through the whole thing I would love to hear your opinions. How do you type Sans, and why? Is there some glaring in game clue I missed? I'm totally open to friendly discussion on the topic, if you want. I included a couple links that give a pretty good rundown of the different functions and how they come together.

https://www.typeinmind.com/nite

https://www.typeinmind.com/neti

#Undertale #Sans #Cowtale #Ace #mbti #personality analysis #character study #long post

[shaekingshitup]

My Type

A/N: I finally did it! There are probably hella typos because the app I was writing this in kept on autcorrecting everything. But I tried to clean em up. I can already think of things I wanna do differently. But i’m just happy that I’m being consistent and doing something. I ACCIDENTALLY PUT IN A “KEEP READING” JUST BEFORE I POSTED THIS. WOW. How did I do that?

Edit: I learned how I put the “Keep Reading” there and I am re-posting because my old blog was trash thanks to staff.

Songs I was listening to try and get me in the mood for this fic are here. But I trust your imagination to feel what a club setting is like. You ain’t gotta press play boo,

Warning: cursing, “the - n word”

Dani was out there givin it her all. She had to because she knew the DJ was gettin ready to spin this Petey Pablo single into her summer anthem. That shit would have her goin nuts in no time.

Hennessy on my lips

“Oh bitch, this is yo shit!” screamed Rachelle, digging in between her breasts to pull out her phone. She always had to take it to the Snap.

Hennessy on my lips

The DJ was messing with them at this point. This was about to be the third time he had teased Dani with the first line of the song. If he kept playin, she was gone have a lot of words for him in the parking lot when his set was over. She hated when they did that shit.

Hennessy on my lips, take a little sip

Privacy on the door, I'ma make the shit grip

Rachelle was hollering, “Ayyyyyy, that’s my best frannnd!” loud enough for damn near everyone in the club’s attention to be drawn to Dani.

As if someone had flipped a switch, Dani started twerkin like her life depended on it. You would have thought she was auditioning to be the lead for City Girls’ Twerk music video. All the ladies were on the floor shaking their asses. But no one was out there throwin it in circles the way Dani was- and she knew it.

Rich nigga, eight-figure, that’s my type

That’s my type, nigga that’s my type

Eight-inch big, ooh, that’s good pipe

Bad bitch, I'ma ride the dick all night

Dani was in a full squat pretending like she really had something or rather someone to ride on the floor with her. She was glad she’d chosen to rock her black romper with the white vertical stripes and the denim jacket to go over it instead of her bodycon dress. If she’d put that on tonight, the fabric would be around her waist at this very moment. Typically, she was so engrossed in her song that she didn’t even take into account the rest of the world. But this time was different. She felt…off. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone. Glancing up to the V.I.P. balcony she saw why. There was one fine ass man watching her get down. He was leaning on the guard rail devouring her with his eyes as if she was his personal seven-course meal. Dani couldn’t look away. His gaze was far too intense and he held a beguiling smolder she couldn’t begin to match. Not in public in front of all of these strangers at least.  

The moment the song was over, Dani straightened up and this nigga had the audacity to wink at her as she made her exit from the dance floor. She turned and grabbed Rachelle by the hand so they could re-fuel at the bar. Her Fairy Thot Mother really brought out the best in her. Yet every time the song was over, she needed a moment to recuperate. Sipping her Between the Sheets, Dani had to yell at Rachelle to get her attention again. Her gaze was fixated on the V.I.P level and who she could make out up there.

“Rachelle, are you listening to anything I am saying to your ass?” Dani fussed.

“Danica Albany Jones. Yo ass should know by now that I can multitask better than most can focus on one task for the rest of their lives. I hear you. You had a fine ass nigga scoping you out while you was getting it and now you’re tryna to make your dance floor fantasy a reality,” Rachelle stated still focused on the balcony.

“Fantasy? Nobody said all dat!” she kissed her teeth and rolled her eyes at Rachelle’s antics. She hated when Rachelle listened to her without looking at her. It was rude as hell and even more frustrating when the bitch was able to repeat everything she’d uttered just moments before.

“Got em!” Rachelle shouted turning back to Dani. Trying to play it cool, Dani forced herself to avert her eyes from the balcony and waited for her to clarify. “Damn, I can’t believe he really in her with that trick Trina.” Immediately, Dani slanted her eyes at her about-to-be replaced best friend.

“You really are out here checkin for Shad? I thought you were done messin with his ass?” Dani loved her best friend and she knew she was a woman on a mission. She wanted a man with a bag. She was strategic about it all and not subtle by any means. She could always tell you who was in the V.I.P section and had that shit mapped out like she drew up the damn blueprint herself. She had messed with a few ballers and other money makers. But she was perpetually stuck on stupid with Shad. He didn’t even meet the criteria for her future husband. But, the dude must have made up for what he lacked in height and net worth in the bedroom because Rachelle was rarely able to stay away for long.

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing tonight. Yo scary ass needs to go find yo stalker.” Rachelle shot back. As if she summoned the devil himself, Dani turned her head to his section and saw him eyeing her again. Once he realized he had her attention, he beckoned her up to his section with a slight head tilt towards the bouncer at the V.I.P entrance.

“Did you-“ before she could even get it out, Rachelle was downing the rest of her drink and pulling Dani towards the staircase.

“Just follow me, I know the area.” Rachelle threw over her shoulder as they wove through the crowd. Dani rarely went out- let alone found herself in the V.I.P section of any club so she held on a little tighter to Rachelle’s hand as they approached the bouncer.

“Hey Mike,” Rachelle offered peeping past him to the booth so she could see Shad occupying a smaller booth with Trina sitting on his knee.

“Rachel. How you doin tonight? I see you brought a new friend” Big Mike countered. He knew her name was Rachelle just like she knew his names was Big Mike. So long as she continued to call him out of his name, Big Mike was determined to do the same. Petty sees as petty does.

“Danica” Dani said a she extended her hand and smiled up at Big Mike. Already she’d won him over faster than Rachelle’s ass ever could. Big Mike turned around and verified that there was someone else on the other side of the velvet rope expecting the ladies. When E provided a nod of approval. He let the ladies inside.

Dani had no idea what had come over her. Granted she didn’t go out often, but it wasn’t like she’d never encountered the opposite sex before this evening. Walking up the stairs towards this man was proving to be a more difficult feat than she’d ever imagined as her legs seemed to be gelatinizing with each step she took. Or maybe it was the alcohol. She had consumed a few shots of Henny at this point. Within V.I.P, Dani could see that he had a few booths for him and his people to occupy. Dani couldn’t even begin to take in his mini kingdom he’d established because she was too preoccupied by how good he looked up close. His short dreads were neatly pulled back into a ponytail towards the back of his head and on his frame he adorned a long white tee, an Amiri distressed denim jacket and a black pair of drop crotch jeans that didn’t do well to help her keep her eyes from droppin below his waist line. What distracted Dani the most, was the gold rimmed wire frames he adorned which were quite similar to her own pair. Gold was her favorite color and she loved it even better against some melanin. As she took the final steps to be in his presence, he called out “Hey, lil mama” welcoming her with a partial smile and a glimpse of his golds in the bottom row of throne-er mouth. If it weren’t for Rachelle tugging her around in that very moment she would have surely collapsed into his arms. Instead, as Rachelle turned her around to tell her some final piece of advice she ended up crushing her ass into his hand. Which, may not have been too much of an issue if his white shirt hadn’t taken on the amber brown from his Hennessy as a result.

“Fuck! Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry” Dani began as she stood bug eyed in from of this adonis of a man. He lifted up his shirt to assess the damage and see if it was soaked through thoroughly.

You’ve got to be kidding me. This man can’t be this fine at first glance and have a body like that. How many packs is that? 6? 8? Do they even got a word for that? Damn Dani get it together. You’re staring. Stop staring.

He chuckled. He was bemused by the situation. Nah by her.

Reach for her waist her bent out and growled, “Imma be right back. You and yo girl make yourself comfortable in the back booth,”  as he disappeared down the steps.

“Biiiitttchhh, how drunk are you?” Rachelle asked.

“I only had 1 shot of Henny and that Between the Sheets in the 2 hours we’ve been here. Why?” Dani questioned looking confused as hell. Rachelle should have been saying sorry. It was her fault that Dani’s ass ended up in the stranger’s hand anyways. Rachelle cut her eyes at her friend.

“Because the way you were talking about his body was bold as fuck when you don’t even know his name,” Rachelle cackled. She was low-key proud of her girl.  

“Aww fuck. I said that shit out loud? What kind of friend are you for letting me ramble on like that?!” Dani whisper yelled.

“The kind that’s about to put you on game,” Rachelle quipped back, “Okay so to your left you have the Hip Hop Descendants. These are all of the people who got daddies and mamas in the game. The only reason anyone puts up with them is because they parents are the pioneer of Hip Hop, Rap and everything in between as we know it. Some of em had a single or their own tv show coming up. But, if it wasn’t for their DNA we would all say IDC”

“Wait what about Shad? He’s over there and last time I checked his parents were just regular degular people like you and me,” Dani posed.

“Shad is unique in that he was in the game at a young age and just grew up in the industry,” Rachelle supplied.

“Okay. So Shad is the Aladdin of the Descendants because his parents weren’t present in the Hip Hop industry”

“I won’t even acknowledge that. Moving on, in the middle you have Black By Popular Demand. These are the people who the media thinks are Black purely due to association. These hoes got here because they all know how to suck, ride or have a nigga by they side. In doing so, Hollywood calls them trendsetters rather than Culture Vultures and let’s them act out as they please. We don’t really fuck with them or their crews.”

“Is that a Kardashian?”

“They always got at least one of them in that group. To your right, are your Single Housewives”

“That don’t make sense. How are you a housewife and single?”

“If you would stop interrupting, I would be done with my explanations by know.”

“Okay okay. I’m sorry Janice. Continue please,” that made Rachelle laugh.

“You so stupid. Okay as I was saying on your right are the Single Housewives. Most can be found on a segment which is currently airing on VH1 or trying to secure someone to get them on the network. They may have been a housewife or a girlfriend and some point, but for now they just opportunistic.” Dani keeps her word and doesn’t say anything. But she knew exactly where Rachelle was going to make a beeline for later on in the evening.

“Last but not least, we have the section we are in right now: The Heavy Hitters. The niggas in this section got bank. I’m talking numerous sources of income. Collectively, they could probably wipe out Cali’s debt. And from what I’ve heard, the one who is chosey with you ain’t just got big bank he got a real fat-“

“Y’all ladies good over here?” he said as he returned to his private booth.

“Yes,” they sang in a chorus. Somehow he’d managed to find an even more expensive white tee in the few minutes he’d been gone.

“Cool. We ain’t get to introduce ourselves earlier, I’m Erik,” he said picking up the carafe of Henny and a glass gesturing to Dani and Rachelle.

“I’m Rachelle and I’ll take mine’s to go,” she said extending her hand. She took it, saying her goodbyes and heading straight to the Single Housewives section where she was directly in Shad’s line of sight. She really thought she was slick.

Dani turned to find those eyes roaming her frame for the third time this evening.

“I’m Dani…and I’ll take a lil bit,” she managed to get out as he maintained his contact with her. He never broke it even as he offered her the glass, poured his own and sat down right next to her on the sectional.

“Okay lil bit”

“What’s that mean?”

He smirked. “It means, “he said while placing his hand on her thigh, “you really bout it this evening. Ain’t nothin bout you little. Yo shit match my shit and you won’t take them sexy ass eyes off me. That’s My Type indeed”

#fictober day 2 #fictober19 #shaekingspeaks #erik x oc #erik killmonger #killmonger fic #black panther fanfiction #erik stevens #erik stevens x reader

[lovehaswonangelnumbers]

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/in-a-time-of-the-unknown-and-panic-how-astrology-offers-clues-to-the-future-the-real-dawn-of-the-age-of-aquarius/

 In a Time of the Unknown and Panic- How Astrology Offers Clues to the Future + The Real Dawn of the Age of Aquarius

 In a Time of the Unknown and Panic- How Astrology Offers Clues to the Future + The Real Dawn of the Age of Aquarius

By Astromomma

Hey Astromomma fam! I have missed you all! I have wanted to write a piece on the astrological interpretation of the recent corona-virus for days now. I honestly couldn’t write a thing, and literally had writers block for days. Like most of you, I have been in a state of ” information overload”. We are in unprecedented times. Astrology has always been my go to in looking to the higher meaning to everyday affairs. This virus is no exception, so I decided to look to the future of the astrology to perhaps provide some clues and even comfort on what is to come. This is by no means a prediction guide, but hopefully can provide some insight.

When looking at the astrology of the recent months, we had one particular aspect that we have never had in our lifetimes. This would be the Saturn/Pluto conjunction in Capricorn, that occurred on January 12th. This aspect last happened over 500 years ago in 1518. Saturn in astrology, represents: restriction, boundaries, obligations and karma. Pluto in astrology, represents: transformation, power, hidden forces and regeneration. Capricorn, the 10th zodiac sign, represents: the government, big business, the patriarch, destiny and authority.

The Saturn/Pluto conjunction in Capricorn aspect catapulted our awareness of power and control. Or in the case of current times ,the lack of what we really have control with in our lives. This once in a lifetime aspect, which by the way, is still playing out, even though it was exact in January, brought up the limited way we have reacted to fear and “being in charge”. Capricorn likes to stick to the rules and follow protocol. Unfortunately, there is no protocol for a virus that has never been seen or made recognized till now. As we now know, restrictions on our everyday life are now common place. Isolation and quarantine have become the new norm. This is very much a Capricorn tactic of holding on to one last thread of order in a world of panic. Now I am not saying this is wrong or unjust, considering what we are dealing with, just making note of these very Capricorn like tactics.

The true enlightenment of the Saturn/Pluto in Capricorn aspect was realizing that we in fact are “out of control”. Everything is. The illusion that our job or the government could save us is something of the past. In the end, its our own connection to our internal power and source that will always remain. It is actually the surrender to this fact that allows new creative solutions to emerge. This is where we are headed. The real Aquarian age is upon us. Aquarius, is the sign of the people and invention. A true rebel who thrives in the unknowns. Let me explain why this is so critical, not only in our survival but for setting up future generations to come after we are gone.

The outer planets of: Saturn, Jupiter, and Pluto will continue to progress through Capricorn, each one will eventually enter the sign of Aquarius. The outer planets in astrology tend to show activity on a larger scale as they are stay in a sign for a longer time and impact us for months if not years. Saturn, the planet of: restriction, obligation and duty enters Aquarius on March 21st for a brief 3 month transit, before going retrograde, then re-entering Aquarius for good later in the year. Jupiter, the planet of luck, wisdom and expansion, enters Aquarius in December 2020, to stay till the end of 2021. Finally, good ol Pluto, the planet of: transformation, regeneration and power, enters Aquarius in 2024-2044( yes you read that right).

Aquarius, as previously described, is an air sign, that is known to be all about: people, invention, dreams, originality, progress and sweeping change. If there was a time for re-invention, or dealing with the craziness of life, Aquarius, would be the maverick in charge. In true Aquarius style, we are set to come together to unite in a way that has never occurred. Yes, Aquarius rules technology, so many of these “connections” will still continue electronically. The difference now is the awareness that even technology, within its finest, can’t really connect us. It literally took something “beyond our reasoning” to figure this out. That is where the true genius of invention is created. Expect breakthroughs of unprecedented kinds within technologies to help us combat this and similar types of pandemics in the future. With all the craziness of these times, from an astrological standpoint, we are so fortunate to be entering into the Aquarius age. True liberation from our old ways of being is upon us.

In closing, this is just a perspective and I hope it has settled your mind and heart a bit. No one has the answers. It is time to step into a new way of being and thinking as we are now dealing with circumstances and conditions that we have never seen. If anything (my humble opinion) this virus, has the potential to connect us like we have never been connected before. It has shown what truly matters and in many respects, the liberties we so take for granted. As mentioned, the Aquarius age we are now entering is all about realizing ” WE ARE ONE”. Take care of yourself and one another. I will continue to write about future aspects and hope you found this article to be of interest. Sending you all lots of love and well wishes. Remember, we are all in this together. Let us stand united in love and compassion for ourselves and one another.

© Astromomma, 2020

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[forehead-enthusiast]

A Buncha Tag Games (and yet not all of them)

tagged by: @eggyukhei mwah

tagging: this is a LOT of games so i’ll only tag @atinyphobe @nsheetee and @veonjun for the SECOND (2nd) game. if they or anybody wants to do any of the other games, absolutely go for it and say i tagged you <3 i’d love to see what you guys say!! (also, tk if you felt like you wanted to answer my questions from the second game i’d be interested to see!)

One:

tell me the first song that made you stan your current fave group and why did your faves attract you so much?

ok SO the song that probably got me into rv 100% (also yes ik this blog is 99% nct but rv is my forever fave no question) was probably ice cream cake!! i had been a casual listener of many groups up until that point and had never really stanned anyone, but icc was so infectious i found myself watching it over and over. i had heard happiness and be natural before but hadn’t really listened too closely, so icc was the song that captured me. after that, dumb dumb only cemented my love for them more, and the red is still one of my favorite kpop albums to date. rv attracted me primarily because of their incredible vocals and their versatility in genres and concepts. i still get so excited wondering what they’ll tackle next!! they’re just soooo unique and have one of, if not the best discographies of any group. i cannot stress enough, I. Love. RV!! also they’re funny and gay so. anyway stream monster once it drops uwu

Two:

rule: answer the ten questions and write your own!

1. what is your favorite song that’s been released during quarantine? ooooo honestly??? probably something off of Sawayama. literally every song bangs so hard i highly recommend that album to anyone!! i can’t pick a favorite off it but who’s gonna save you now is awesome and xs is just,,, chef’s kiss

2. what is your greatest mishap when you tried cooking? (or something you’ve witnessed) one time, while making soup at my late grandmother’s house on her like gas stove, i put a lid on a pot and somehow that led the pot to be engulfed in flames. IN MY DEFENSE i was like 7, and i’m great at cooking/baking now

3. what’s your go-to outfit or article of clothing? oh i love a nice dress. they can be casual or formal, and you look like you put effort into your outfit except i didn’t because i didn’t have to match anything yo!!!! also shorts have trouble fitting me cause i’m a weird body type so dresses tend to be very comfy for me

4. what is your comfort food? am i allowed to say like all food??? eating in itself is comforting,,, that sounds depressing but also i just like eating yummy food. i guess i’d say like my dad’s fried rice?? its my fave and no one makes it like him soooo

5. what singular moment in your life would you like to relive? i couldn’t tell if this meant like, a good moment you want to re-experience or go back in time and redo a moment and fix it. it’s kind of a hard question so i might cop out and go with a bit of a silly answer: i want to relive the hi touch with astro...... i wanna look at rocky’s beautiful eyes and touch moonbin’s hand ok,,,,

6. what is your favorite line and/or character from a movie, show, or book? i got a bunch but a few off the top of my head are genie lo (the epic crush of genie lo), ty lee, suki (atla), klaus, and ben (umbrella academy) 

7. if you could only choose one ice cream flavor and pizza topping/style for the rest of your life, what would it be? ice cream flavor: this very specific one from a local store that is banana ice cream with strawberries and oreo mixed in. it is heaaaavenly. as for pizza topping, i love a breakfast type pizza with an egg on top and like sausage and stuff!!!

8. what is the worst injury you’ve ever had or witnessed? funny enough, i’ve actually gotten badly injured quite a few times, and always on the face!! god hates me. the worst was probably when i hit a metal bench with my face and it took a chunk out of my cheek. i still have the scar! as for “witnessed” i accidentally broke a grown man’s rib once as a child, so i guess that would count.

9. would you rather explore the unknown of space or the bottom of the ocean? oceaaaan!! i answered this in some other game, but i like how mysterious and yet close the ocean is. like proximity wise it’s so near, yet there’s an insane amount we know nothing about. that’s so frightening but so intriguing

10. if you could be any cartoon character, who would you be? my first thought was literally “kirby. eat fast” GOD my followers are gonna think i’m just a glutton and they’re not even gonna be wrong im dying. but uhh idk mulan or smth?

my questions:

what is your go-to feel good movie?

are you the type of person who’s indecisive about buying, or the type to impulse buy once you see something you like?

do you prefer chocolate-y or fruity candy?

what idol do you think is most similar to you? (not your bias necessarily)

do you have any silly dealbreakers? if so, what are they?

what do you do to unwind?

what is a small thing you like to do for people you love? (be it sending memes, remembering their favorite shows, etc)

what’s/who’s your favorite myth/mythological being?

what is a non-typical pet you would want to have?

do you say pronounce data as day-ta or dah-ta?

THREE

rule: bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people. 

AIR ༉⋆͙̈

i have small hands / i love the night sky / i watch animals and birds when i pass them by / i drink herbal tea / i wake to see the dawn / the smell of dust is comforting / i’m valued for being wise / i prefer books to music / i meditate / i find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE ༉⋆͙̈

i don’t have straight hair / i like to wear ripped jeans and overalls / i play an organized sport / i love dogs / i am not afraid of adventure / i love to talk to strangers / i always try new foods / i enjoy road trips / summer is my favorite season / my radio is always playing

WATER ༉⋆͙̈

i wear bracelets on my wrists / i love the bustle of the city / i have more than one set of piercings / i read poetry / i love the sound of a thunderstorm / i want to travel the world / i sleep past midday most days / i love simply lit dinners and fluorescent signs / i rewatch kids shows out of nostalgia / i see emotions in colors not words

EARTH ༉⋆͙̈

i wear glasses or contacts / i enjoy doing the laundry / i am a vegetarian or vegan / i have an excellent sense of time / my humor is very cheerful / i am a valued advisor to my friends / i believe in true love / i love this chill of mountain air / i’m always listening to music / i am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER ༉⋆͙̈

i go without makeup in my daily life / i make my own artwork / i keep on track of my tasks and time / i always know true north / i see beauty in everything / i can always smell flowers / i smile at everyone i pass by / i always fear history repeating itself / i have recovered from a mental disorder / i can love unconditionally

FOUR

the ultimate tag: answer whichever ones you want to because there are a lot and then tag a few blogs you’d like to get to know better! 

PERSONAL

name: sarah

nickname: bells

birthday: april 17th

zodiac: aries

nationality: chinese american

languages: english, some spanish, some korean

gender: female

sexuality: baby bi bi bi~

height: 5′10

BLOG STUFF

inspiration for muse: i suppose nct since i write for them the most?? but i feel like sometimes i come up with the idea before i think of a member so sometimes the muse is just my own fantasies oops

meaning behind my url: i made it at a time where loads of idols were getting bangs and honestly i believe most of them look infinitely better without them, thus i was and still am enthusiastic about foreheads.

blog established: like winter of 2018...?? i think

followers: over 2.5k but most deactivated/left during my hiatus lol

FAVORITES

favourite animals: sharks, chickens, snakes, cats, penguins

favourite books: the epic crush of genie lo and then iron will of genie lo, PERIOD

favourite colour: pink and purple!!

favourite fictional characters: lol, again, genie lo, ty lee, suki, klaus, ben, and just a few more: richard and evelyn o’connell (the mummy), dave (dave), michael (the good place)

favourite flower: sunflower

favourite scent: baking chocolate, heating butter, blackberry, wisteria

favourite season: probably spring! i like warmth but not HEAT

RANDOM

average hours of sleep: ugh idek i sleep horribly

cats or dogs: both, but unfortunately i’ve never had either

coffee, tea or hot chocolate: tea but then hot chocolate

current time: 5:29pm

dream trip: go to paris and eat loads of pastries and enjoy the fashions and beauty of the city, and also learn to bake better maybe?

dream job: actress

hobbies: making jewelry, drawing, singing, reading comics

hogwarts house: according to the quizzes, all of them. people who have just met me think slytherin or gryffindor, people who i’m friends with think ravenclaw or hufflepuff, people who know me really well know you can’t box a person into oversimplified archetypes :’) in my assessment of myself, it varies by the day, but i think perhaps gryffindor today?

last movie watched: hot fuzz (a classic)

last song listened to: summer breeze by sf9

no. of blankets you sleep with: like 2

random fact(s): i won lego building competitions as a child, one of my dream roles is anastasia from the musical named after her, i played violin for a very short time, i bake the cakes for all my family and friends’ birthdays, i have strangely strong grip strength

SIX

10 songs i can’t stop listening to:

love me 4 me- rina sawayama

cherry- rina sawayama

in & out- red velvet

crush culture- conan gray

manic- conan gray

the king- conan gray

summer- pentagon

told you now- jeremy jordan (originally sung by sam smith)

fuck this world (interlude)- rina sawayama

someone who loves me- sara bareilles

#these were sooooooooooo fun!! #thank you for tagging me eggy #i feel like i maybe exposed myself for being a gluttonous fool tho #lmaoooo #fr tho try these games out!! so fun #sarah.tmi #tag games

[hoochy-coo]

Hello,its the jeans anon, I've seen you speak very in depth about jeans and camilles jeans and I was wondering if I could have some help, I'm a plus size girly, super thick thighs and I'm around 5'6 and I was wondering if you had any Jean recommendations or tips on how to find good jeans because I feel super discouraged when talking about like vintage jeans because a lot of them seem to cater to one or not a wide variety of body types🥺😔

Hey! 

Firstly, I’m sorry your ask got lost on the other blog! Secondly, I’m so sorry to hear that you feel discouraged about finding your dream VTG jeans and that it has been a struggle for you to find ones that suit you. You’re correct in the assessment that VTG jeans, in general, are highly unaccommodating to body shapes that don’t reflect the unrealistic standard for the ideal female physiques, of that era. I completely get the frustration! Here are a few things you can do to find ones that fit right: 

1) VTG Wrangler (specifically Rough Riders). Here’s why - the average Wrangler jeans fit women with curves better. I’m not sure if it’s the design or the material but in general, their women line look better on women with some shape and ass to them. Look for ones with the black rectangle tag (it will have ‘Rough Riders’ written on them and it’s usually stitched next to the belt loop), they usually come without back pockets (bummer, I know!) but they’re quite flattering on curvier girls. They’re SUPER high-waisted so if you’re into high-rise denim then these may be for you!

2) VTG Bongo - same reason as the one given above for the Wranglers.

3) 80′s denim. I know the 80′s are known for mum jeans but a lot of vintage denim that were made in that era are made to flatter and shape curves. The jeans made in the 60′s and 70′s don’t have as much room in the thighs area but they start to make them with way more room in the bum and thighs area in the 80′s. If you’re looking for Levi’s, look for 80′s 501. It’s less boyfriend jeans and more of a hybrid between a straight leg and mum jeans. If you’re into mum jeans, then you’re in luck because you can find tons of that style from that time period. 

4) Men’s VTG jeans. If you wouldn’t mind spending a few extra bucks on tailoring, you should most definitely give vintage men jeans a go. There are tons going around for cheap and since most of them are made to be a looser fit, you’re guaranteed more room in areas where you feel like you might need it most. Just measure your thighs and hips to see if they match the measurements of the jeans. Then take it into the tailors to get the waist pulled in. This is actually a great option because the jeans will fit you perfectly and there’s a lot more variety (colour, material, style) on the market for men jeans anyway. 

5) Levi’s 512. I actually find this to be an almost safe bet as far as VTG Levi’s goes. They flatter every shape and there’s a large variety of sizes. Again, look for ones made around the 80′s because they definitely have more room in the hips/waist areas. 

If you’re over the hunt period, there are also some modern options:

1) Levi’s - Levi’s actually come out with an ‘orange tab’ collection every year which is basic a direct rip off of their VTG cuts and stitching but with a few adjustments (usually in material) so that it can fit a variety of shapes. They brought out a re-made of the 517′s last year but in a cropped style, and they’re PERFECT for curvy girls. I have little to no curves and it looked funny on me but they looked perfect on my friends who were leaning towards plus-size. I’m pretty sure tons of them are still being sold second-hand on Depop. 

2) 2% Lycra. It goes a long way trust me. This gives you wiggle room for your behind. Just make sure to wash them cold and don’t over-wash them or they’ll start to stretch in the waist area (like ridiculously quick). 

Additional tips:

1) Know your measurements. This goes for all shapes and all sizes but in particular, curvier girls should always aim to measure their thigh and hips area. If they don’t fit, then that’s it. You can’t take even take them into the tailors and even if they can do something about it, it will cost you big bucks. 

2) Fading is IMPORTANT. Try not to buy denim with weird fading around the inner thigh area. I know faded denim is IN right now but they can accentuate all the wrong parts and make you look disproportionate/bigger in size than you are in that area. 

3) Don’t trust sizing for VTG jeans. Again, this goes for all shape. If the tag says the jeans has a 28 inch waist, it’s most likely about a 26 inch waist. You don’t need to beat yourself up if you can’t fit in whatever size the jeans are supposed to be according to their tag - sizing scales has changed over time, that’s all!

4) Styles that are especially flattering for your shape: Bootcut (lengthen your body, make you look slimming) and skinny jeans that are cropped right above the ankle (show off them curves!)

5) Styles to avoid: Wide-leg jeans. They do 0 for your shape and you’ll run the risk of looking frumpy if you style them wrong. 

#ask #answer #denim #advice #jeans #fashion #style

[gayovwimagines]

Hi!! How would you feel about a dub con request for Y!Moira finally cornering her smol!obsession and getting them worked up and flustered before just having her way with them?? I just... Oh goodness I want that woman to pin me down and do terrible things to me and leave me overestimated and just craving her constant touch. Unnff 🤤

Notable tags! Dubious Consent and Yandere!Moria. Dubious consent is due to sex mist. Oh, and Blackwatch!Moira. 

“Hello there~ Do come in.” Moira spins around on her stool. Nonchalant. As if she had naturally noticed you walk in. Not eagerly watching the door, both her hands curled into a fist on the counter. Work in front of her, work all around her. Moira can’t pay any of it any due attention. Absolutely was not carefully monitoring the surveillance cameras on her personal holopad, clearance she isn’t authorized to have. Watching you walk down the halls, stopping to chat here and there. Moira made spiteful mental notes of the people daring to keep you from reaching her at the agreed upon time.  

“Hey!” You greet her back with a nervous grin. “You need me for some testing?”

“Yes, that is what my voice message conveyed.” Moira motions you over to her station with one elegant swoop of her hand, her slender fingers curling in elegantly, one after the other. She points to the stool to her left. “Have a seat.”

You plop down on the seat, as commanded, and patiently wait for Moira to tell you why she has called you here. You joined Overwatch a few months back. Agreed to test some of Moira’s… tamer creations and experimentations. In exchange for a more than just a decent amount of extra cash.

Moira has no problems with prolonged silence. Almost never feels the need to rush anything. She takes her sweet time poking and swiping at her holopad. Making doubly sure the doors to her lab are locked, and her work status is set to ‘do not disturb’, for any of her fellow peers who may feel the pressing need to bother her while she’s in the middle of snaring the only thing she’s been able to think about lately.

Moira’s cool, collected. It takes a lot to make the woman sweat. You, however, are already squirming around in your seat. Her vibe is palpable, you can’t make heads nor tails of it. Your gaze darts to her lap when she cocks her head to the side, assessing you unlike any other specimen she has gotten her hands on. It’s a look that makes your spine tingle. Gives you an abysmal feeling, like you’re about to be taken down by a predator peeking from the tall grass.

“Alright.” Moira puts her holopad away. Her tall, slender legs easily allow her to stand gracefully from her stool. “Allow me to check your vitals first, then we’ll get started.”

Moira’s no medical professional, though she could be one if she found any real interest in the practice. Smart enough and educated enough as she is.

She takes an old-fashioned stethoscope from one of her many neatly organized drawers, an ear thermometer, and a blood pressure cuff.

“Why am I here today?” you ask nervously, such an easily spooked girl you are.  

…Because I want you here. I desire you unlike any other. Because my fantasies of you have kept me up at night. I can’t stand it any longer. I need to know how soft you are, what you smell like during the throws of passion, what your lips taste of.

“I have a mist that needs testing.” She walks over to you with the blood pressure cuff in hand. Gestures to your arm and you offer it up to her.

“Oh…” Moira catches the visible lump and hears your audible gulp.

“Never fear.” She rubs your thigh assuredly, lingering longer than what is appropriate. Goes back to gingerly wrapping the cuff around your arm. Presses a button and it begins to tighten. “It’s simply a new version of an already existing and thriving product.” She rolls her ‘r’ and it sends a cascade of tingles down your spine, causing you to shiver like a cold gust of wind had run through you.  

“Oh, okay.” Nothing about your tone says that you trust her reassurance. “Was it developed by you?”

Dumb question. Coming from you, Moira answers nicely. “Of course, who else?”

You shrug. Moira carries on. Noting that your blood pressure is a bit higher than it should be. It doesn’t take much to understand why. She stands close. And holds onto the back of your neck firmly in her hand, while she takes your temperature. Finds it to be satisfactory. She moves onto your heartbeat. By far her favorite part. Getting that near to your chest, makes her feel young again. Like a horny, immature teenager getting so very close to something that is titillating and intimate and secret. You’re obviously a person who feels your body is something to be covered, and not something that is shared with everyone. You refuse to even change in front of fellow agents in the locker rooms…

…It’s maddening.  

She’d know. On a day, about a month back, she looked forward to casually finishing her workout at the exact same time you finished yours. Casually she followed you into the locker room, hoping. Hoping to get a glimpse of the body she’s been building up in her dreams. Only for you to remove your things from your locker and head into a curtained shower to change. Leaving Moira disappointed and heartbroken, robbed of her chance to take in you in all your bared glory.

Moira slips into the neck of your t-shirt. Presses the cold round hearing piece against your equally as chilly skin. Goosebumps rise on her arms before she even hears your heartbeat, added icing on the cake. It’s hypnotizing, the steady drumbeat of your heart. She closes her eyes feeling her own heartbeat rise just as yours too picks up its pace.

“Moira?” you whisper, alarm apparent in your tone.

When she opens her eyes, she finds that she’s leaning for forehead against your temple. Her hand and slender fingers dancing along the line of your spine. The air in the room has become thick and stagnant. And the listening piece has drifted downwards, along with her hand that is still holding it. Her pinky grazes across your nipple, Moira’s core jumps at the contact.

You gaze up at her with glassy, fearful eyes. Cheeks painted a rich hue of red. Heart hammering away at your ribcage.  

Moira removes the stethoscope. “My apologies, my head took a sudden leave.”

Giggling nervously, you shift. Squeeze your thighs together and readjust your t-shirt attempting and failing to hide how hard your nipples are now. “That’s okay, it happens.”  

You’re perfect, despite the high blood pressure, and ready to get started. So is Moira, she softly claps her hands together. “Up on the examination table.” She points toward the usual room.  

You hop up. Follow Moira to a separated examination room within the lab. The walls are made of smart glass; will darken and make the room private upon request. Not something that should be necessary today. But most definitely has been helpful, and will continue to be so in the future.  

As you climb onto the examination table, you trip over the stirrups. Moira adjusts the back until it’s just shy of a ninety-degree angle.

“Comfortable?” Moira drawls.

You nod. “Yes, thank you.”

Moira leaves the room momentarily to retrieve the aforementioned mist from a securely locked holding cabinet. She may have told you a small fib. The mist is not new, nor recently re-engineered. No need to fix what isn’t broken. It’d be illegal, if it were to ever get to the government. The public’s opinion would be sour on it. Moira supplies it to clients mostly by word of mouth that runs rapid in the type of social groups this kind of mist is most popular in, with a substantial price tag.  

“Alright,” Moira says as she reenters the room. She pushes down on the cap, twists and the cap is released. “Take a few breaths in through your nose,” she commands, enjoying the way your chest rises as you breathe. Her adrenaline drip switches on as she hovers the bottle over your face. Heart racing. Can’t wait to witness the effects. She may be starting to sweat. “On a count of 3, take a big breath… 1… 2… 3…”

She pushes down on the nozzle. A dense mist escapes, blanketing your face as you inhale through your nose. Moira’s whisks her face away. Realizing that, in her excitement, she forgot to be thorough. With no mask on her face, she risks encountering some second-hand side effects.  

With the knowledge that the mist should be taking its course quickly, she recaps the bottle and stashes it away inside her lab coat pocket. She grips each of your legs individually, rolling her shoulders as she goes, fingers digging. Gradually she leans into your personal space, pupils blown. “Tell me,” she croons. “How are you feeling?”

You gulp, darling eyelashes fluttering as you try and remember how to speak. “Ah, um.” You lick your lips and now they’re shiny, and all Moira can stare at. “Hot… I feel hot…”  

Moira hums so low it sounds like a purr. “Tell me more. Be descriptive.”

“I—I… um…” You look down your body but struggle to get past the embarrassment of what’s happening to you there.  

“Don’t be shy.” She leans in more. Her hips wedge between your legs. The closer she gets, the farther your legs spread. “Remember, I’m a professional.”

You grasp onto her coat as she aligns her crotch with your own and presses firmly. You throw your head back, gasping for air. Hips rolling into her own. Not even aware of it. “Oh God, I’m so hot,” you whine pitifully.  

“Allow me to help you with that.” Moira snakes her hands under your shirt. Follows the unique curve of your hips all the way up into your waist, eventually pulling your t-shirt over your head. All with you mewling with every inch of skin that she caressed. She steps back, in order to rid you of your shoes and leggings. Stumbles over her own foot, the misstep making her realize just how much her head is spinning. Just…

…Look at you. Already living up to and far beyond her fantasies. Cold sweat trickling down your temples. Looking at Moira with two of the prettiest fuck-me eyes she’s ever seen. You can’t seem to stop biting your lips, so they’re starting to swell; two puffy kissable buds. Dainty hands opening and closing, searching for anything they can cling to. Hips, on the constant move.

“Exquisite,” she purrs.  

Your underwear is nothing special. A run of the mill bra with sensible multicolored cotton panties. But oh– are those panties soaked and is that bra just a tug away from revealing the heaving breasts beneath it.

Nestled back in between your legs, Moira throws off her lab coat, and drapes herself over your smaller stature, completely engulfing you. You cling to her, desperately wanting her weight and her warmth to envelop you. Thinks on saying something that will keep up the façade, but decides that the situation is well beyond pretending now. Instead, Moira decides to give that busy mouth some attention. Licking, biting, gasping, leaving it wide open— baby girl clearly has an oral fixation.

Slowly she feeds you her fingers. You close your lips around them, sucking while Moira moves them in and out languidly. She dives in a little deeper, causing you to gag. But with the gag, comes a full body moan. So, Moira keeps on doing it. You close your eyes, really getting into it. Cradling and curling your tongue around her fingers. Eagerly take another finger into your mouth. It stretches your mouth open in a lewd way and gives Moira’s core something more to get jumpy about.    

The sight is lovely and the sounds you’re making are musical, but she needs to taste that slutty mouth. She slowly removes her fingers, trailing lines of saliva down your chin and down into your neck where she holds you down. When she kisses you, it’s consuming and a lot all at once. But it is just what you need right now. Tender pecks wouldn’t be satisfactory to you, something she can heap upon you later. Here and now, she invades your mouth with both her own moans of pleasure and her long, skilled tongue. Sucking and nipping at your lips that are so clearly unused to having so much devotion.

Still holding your neck firmly, Moira slips her other arm between you. Down into your underwear, flooded with your arousal. You stop kissing her, but that doesn’t mean she stops kissing you. Your breath stolen away by how relieving Moira’s touch is, simply resting on top your engorged clit. Your eyes glaze over with an impeccable stupefied sheen. She rolls her fingers over your highly sensitive nub, as you seize up, latching onto her shirt dangerously tight. Seems pop, she swears she hears something tear.

When you finally get your breath back, your ministrations are weak to the ears but consistent. A small choked whimper with every breath. A few curses sprinkled in between your attempts to keep kissing her back. The overwhelming sensations take you away every time, and even manage to steal your lips away from her. You throw your head back, hands lurching to grasp onto the sides of the examination chair, back arching more than it ever has.

A problem, with a simple solution. She’ll just have to ravish your neck then.

“I’m gonna—” You stop to catch your breath. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Go on then,” she states coolly. Moira latches onto your neck, treating the soft skin there just as rudely as she did your delicate lips, and rubs your clit with new vigor.

You go silent for a moment before it all hits you at once. An orgasm that you feel all the way from the top of your head to your curling toes. Unable to comprehend that you are experiencing the best orgasm you’ve ever had. All consuming pleasure that leaves your body weak. Complete satisfaction takes over for a blissful, precious few moments where you can catch your breath and maybe have a chance to think a little clearer. But it’s gone in a flash, all that agonizing want and desire comes back full force. And your body is in desperate carnal need once again.        

Once your body stops writhing, Moira rears back. Somewhere amidst all the commotion, your bra straps fell to the wayside. She grabs it at the middle and gives it a good tug. It slips down with no problem, exposing your breasts to Moira’s mercy. You will be leaving this room with both your nipples thoroughly abused and your breasts marked. She must know, if, in your current state, she can make you cum, simply by overstimulating them. But… for now… she has other curiosities that are pressing.

Moira leaves you for a moment. Having a destination, a… drawer in mind. But needs to take a moment just to fall back against the counter, housing said drawer, so she can shove her hand into her own underwear, and give her throbbing clit some of the attention it’s been urgently screaming out for. You pout when you see it, jealous of the attention you’re not getting.    

Moira nods towards your crotch. “Don’t leave yourself wanting.”

Your eyes light up, suddenly remembering that touching yourself is a thing. Immediately you dive between your thighs. Rub your clit and grasp onto a breast. Groping the meat of it and tweaking your nipple rudely.

“Look at me,” Moira demands. The way you snap to her attention does something to make her weak in the knees. Your eyes were trained on your own nipple rolling between your fingers. As nice as that is, she wants to look you in your eyes while she gets herself off.

It happens for her faster than it typically would. It must either be you, or she got a small dose of that mist. She clings to the counter for purchase, leans all her weight back into it as her knees threaten to buckle. She moans lowly, falling silent in the moment when the pleasure crashing through her is too much for her to be able to breathe at the same time. “Yess,” she hisses, as the intensity in her body starts to dissipate. She milks her orgasm of every last little pang and shock it had left, softly rubbing until she was finally satisfied. Removing her hand for her underwear, she spins around, leaving her pants undone and hooks a finger under the handle of the drawer she had in mind.      

“How long does this… this…” You gasp, struggling to find a word to describe what is happening to you. Sex mist, plain and simple. The best on the market. “…Mist usually last?”

Moira’s taken aback. You managed to form a coherent sentence. Shocking. “The effects typically wear off within 4 to 6 hours.”

“Oh my God,” you gasp.

“Don’t worry,” Moira assures as she pulls open the drawer she had in mind, it slides open smoothly. Neatly lined from front to back with medical grade dildoes of various sizes. She ponders on which one she should use on you. Looks back and once again lays eyes upon your dripping cunt, turns her attention back to the drawer and grabs, not the biggest one, but one that would still be described as “huge”. She grasps it at the base, takes it out, and shoves her hips against the drawer to shut it. Showing you what she has in store for you she croons, “I’m here for you, acushla~”

#moira x reader #yandere!moira #yandere overwatch #dubious consent #overwatch fanfic