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xbellaxcarolinax · 7 months

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Earth 703

Miguel O'Hara x f!Reader

Summary: You should’ve known better. You thought you did. Hadn’t you learned from the first time it happened to Miguel? (Sex pollen. Except it's you this time.)

Word Count: 2.9k+

Warnings: language, smut, p in v, oral (male receiving), cum eating, some soft Miguel, maybe ooc. Not beta-read. Forgive the mistakes.

Part 2 of the sex pollen ask, by popular demand. Can be read as a stand alone but the lore stems from that ask. Hope ya'll like it.

...

Drowning. It felt like drowning.

The air suddenly felt thick as you fought to remain calm. The sensation of pins and needles ravaged the surface of your skin under your digital suit (designed by Miguel himself, as promised), running down your arms and abdomen until a burning heat settled between your legs.

Sweat began to bead along your brow, and you bit your lip to control your accelerating heartbeat.

Shit. You fucked up. Badly.

You should’ve known better. You thought you did. Hadn’t you learned from the first time it happened to Miguel?

You’d recognized the daisies immediately—remembered the giant stems and the bright white petals, how it made Miguel greedy and depraved.

The New York jungle of Earth 703 was just as dense as the last time you’d visited. It was a second mission in search of the anomaly, and you’d decided to complete it independently. That’d been a mistake. And not telling Miguel about it was an even bigger mistake, but unfortunately, you hadn’t put much thought into that last part. You wanted this mission done and over with.

But mostly, you wanted to prove you could do it yourself.

Miguel would be furious if he knew the predicament you were in. But there was no need for him to find out, right?

The Prowler had a strength that you’d underestimated, easily tossing you into the mass of pollinated daisies before darting off, glitching with an array of colors as he ran away.

You’d been knocked out, waking up covered in pollinated dust like a pastry dusted in powdered sugar. You’d sneezed a couple of times before stumbling out of the daisy patch disoriented before finding the nearest tree and leaning against it, dusting yourself off.

And that is where you found yourself now, sprawled out with your back against the tree and your legs spread wide, your cunt burning with a need to be filled.

Okokokokok. This was fine. You could manage. If you just sat there patiently, the effects would wear off and you could go back to HQ without anyone noticing you were gone. However, that was easier said than done.

You fought the desire to touch yourself.

You knew that if you did you’d be in trouble, and no one would be able to help. But you were weak of mind, slowly trailing your hand down your abdomen to lightly press your fingers over your throbbing cunt. You groaned, thumping your head back harshly against the tree.

It felt good but it did nothing to ease the growing sensation. You tapped your cunt again, the arousal running through you immediately. You were panting now, letting your mask fall so that you could breathe better.

The burning increased and you squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort. You pushed your sweat-slicked hair away from your face with both hands, pausing for a moment to help yourself get a grip.

You felt so incredibly empty. You couldn’t tell for sure but you just knew your core was dripping wet, waiting to be filled by someone’s cock.

You didn’t want to think about that someone just yet, knowing that if you conjured up his image (and his cock) in your mind's eye, you’d be a salivating, mewling mess.

Again, you tried to alleviate the discomfort, this time pressing the heel of your palm over your core. You mewled in response, resisting the urge to cry out in pain and frustration.

It was beginning to hurt, the burning flaring into an intense heat, and you swore you could feel it running down your legs, making your toes curl uncomfortably. Your vision blurred as your eyes tried to make sense of your surroundings.

Suddenly your watch went off, and when you struggled to raise your arm to answer the call, an image of Miguel appeared.

“Where are you?” He demanded, “Why’d you turn off your location? I’ve been looking everywhere for you at HQ.” You wanted to respond, you really did, but when you tried to speak the only sound that slipped out was a pained gasp, followed by a sob as you pressed your free hand over your suit-covered pussy.

“Are you—are you crying?”

Were you? You hadn't realized, couldn’t feel the fat tears rolling down your numb cheeks and past your chin. You could hear the subtle panic in his voice, his image seemingly appearing closer as he pulled his watch toward his face to inspect you.

You did nothing but whimper in response, choking on humid air.

“Baby, listen to me,” Miguel reasoned, his tone measured and confident but not free of worry, “Are you safe?”

“T-think s-so,” you managed to squeak out, another ripple of pain running through you. You groaned, your head dropping forward as your muscles tensed.

“Can you tell me where are you?”

“E-earth s-seven—” Miguel cut you off with a great sigh, his pixelated form running a hand down his face.

“Stay right there. I’m coming to get you.”

You didn’t need to finish. He knew exactly where to find you.

…

At least the new suit came in handy.

When you couldn’t wait for Miguel any longer you deactivated your suit, leaving yourself stark naked in the middle of the jungle.

Normally, you’d be completely mortified, but the throbbing in your cunt overpowered the embarrassment. You simply didn’t care, not when you were desperate for physical touch, desperate to be filled to the brim.

You’re assumption had been correct—you were absolutely soaked. You sighed as you allowed your fingers to swirl through your folds, your creamy juices clinging to your skin as you pulled out to inspect them.

“F-fuck,” you moaned, finally plunging your fingers into your needy little hole, pumping in and out at a steady pace. Your bare chest was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you let your other hand skim up and tweak at one of your sensitive nipples.

You bit your lip, breathing in harshly through your nose. It was good but it wasn’t enough—it wasn’t what your pussy craved.

You continued to thrust your fingers inside, holding on to whatever semblance of relief you could get.

A portal appeared in the middle of you working yourself open, Miguel stepping through. Your eyes reflected the bright yellow glow of the portal until it disappeared behind him.

Miguel sighed, running a hand through his dark hair as he did so often when facing a predicament.

“Baby…” he began, squatting in front of you, his red eyes observing your nakedness, your tear-stained cheeks and red lips, swollen from worrying them. You hadn’t stopped for even a moment, mewling as your fingers worked your messy pussy. You were so incredibly wet, the squelching loud enough for you both to hear.

He wrapped a large hand around your wrist in an attempt to stop you, but you hissed, pushing him away with a weak kick before continuing to stuff yourself.

“Stop,” he said, grabbing your feverish face in his hands, “activate your suit. I’m taking you home.”

“Don’t wanna move,” you cried, more tears rolling down your cheeks, “it hurts.”

“I know, baby, I know, let me take you home.” He was barely successful in removing your hand from your sopping cunt, your fingers pruned with how wet you were. He fought to ignore the strong scent of your arousal and the way your slit glistened.

Miguel held your body close, feeling how your limbs trembled. He stroked your hair to soothe you, running a hand up and down your back in comfort. His cock began to swell when you rutted against him, pushing him down so that he was flat against the ground.

“Coño, wait—”

You ignored his protests, grinding your cunt against him in deliciously slow circles, mewling all the while. Your mind felt hazy, the arousal so powerful that you couldn’t think properly, too overwhelmed by the immense pleasure of your cunt rubbing over Miguel's bulge.

“Miguel,” you whined, your hands firmly planted on his chest as you moved skillfully over him, “I need you, please, just—just put it in real quick, I’ll be good, I swear, I just need your fat—”

“Shh,” Miguel, placed his finger over your mouth to silence you, his chest heaving as he watched you move above him, “I’ll give you what you want, yes? Then I’m taking you home.”

“Yesyesyesyes, whatever you want, please—” In a matter of seconds you were able to feel Miguel’s bare skin under your fingertips, his large cock springing to life, bobbing angrily against his stomach. Your eyes sparkled at the sight.

You shuffled down clumsily, gripping his cock and quickly spitting on it to lubricate it. It was hot and heavy in your hands, and your mouth watered, desperate for a taste. You wasted no time in devouring him, lapping at the sides and swirling around the fat head, his precome already coating your tongue.

“Damn,” he groaned, his head propped up so he could get a proper view of you. He licked his lips, watching you suck his cock as if you’d never have the chance to taste him again.

His fingers weaved into your hair, careful not to tug on the strands too hard. You set a vicious pace, moaning around his shaft as spit dribbled past the corners of your lips and down your chin. His cock twitched in your hands when you began to jerk him, a sure sign that he was close, “You’re gonna make me come.”

You hummed in response, taking as much of him as you could in your mouth and gagging when he hit the back of your throat.

“S-shit—” Miguel slammed your head down into his pelvis, his hips lifting slightly away from the ground as he came down your throat, his large load making you sputter over his cock. “Fuck.”

He was a panting mess, his eyes lidded as he watched you lap up the come that slipped past your mouth and onto his dick, making sure to clean him thoroughly.

Before he could get a word out you straddled his lap, taking his hardening cock in hand and lining it up with your needy hole.

You looked up at him for a second, searching his eyes for protest.

“Take what you need from me, hermosa.” He panted, his hands running up your thighs until they settled on your hips. “Ride me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You cried out when you slammed down on his cock, the stretch of him intense but nothing you weren’t used to. Your greedy hole swallowed him, coating his shaft with your creamy juices as you began to ride him.

You came within minutes, your body quivering and your cunt squeezing him tightly, gushing all over him. He was moaning beneath you, helping you ride out your orgasm before he choked, filling your womb with thick ropes of white.

Miguel lifted you up by the waist, your pussy fighting to hold onto him as his cock flopped out, his spend and yours dripping down your thighs and over his hips and abdomen.

“M-Miguel,” you whined, your fingers searching between your legs to scoop up some of the mess, quickly shoving your digits in your mouth for a taste. You moaned around your fingers, your eyes fluttering at the taste of him mixed with your tanginess, creating a devilish mixture that had you craving more.

“Shit, baby,” Miguel groaned, his eyes trained on your mouth as you sucked on your fingers, searching for every last taste of him, “you okay?”

“I-I need more, I need you,” your core began to burn again after being left empty for only a few moments, “i-it still hurts.” You rubbed your soaked core over his cock, making it hard again. “Let me ride you again.”

Miguel’s brow twitched, and with a grunt he sat up, holding you flush against his skin. He placed a kiss over your sweaty brow, pressing his nose in your hair to inhale the earthy scent.

“Let me take you home, preciosa. Please.”

“I need you now.” Tears began to blur your vision once again as you looked up at him. His expression was one of concern as he held you close, his lips set in a tight line. You were never this whiny with him, ever. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, baby, I know. I’ll make it better, I promise, just let me take you home.”

You allowed him to fiddle with your watch, pressing a few buttons to activate your suit before he activated his own. You were clawing at his shoulders as he lifted you in his arms, your nails hardly breaking the barrier of his suit but still sharp enough to cause discomfort.

He ignored it, summoning a portal as you shook in his arms, and took you home.

…

He came down your throat for a second time.

You’d been so eager to take his cock in your mouth again as soon as he brought you to his apartment, sucking him off until he felt he had nothing more left to give you.

And for the second time, you rode him, bouncing over him with a vigor he didn’t know you had, making him come deep within your walls. Your pussy was a drooling, sticky mess, unsatiated with the number of times Miguel filled you.

You shuddered as another orgasm ripped through you. Your thighs ached and trembled as you pulled away, covering his skin in his spend.

It still wasn’t enough.

Miguel lay motionless on his bed, his hair a matted, sweaty mess, his body spent from the number of orgasms you took from him. His hands fell from your waist when you shifted away, his tired gaze regarding the wild look in your eyes.

“Amor, please,” he hissed, his eyes screwing shut as you took his cock in your small hand, slapping it over your mound to awaken him for another round, “s’too much. You gotta let me—fuck.” You spit on his shaft, pumping him a few times and bringing him back to life.

“I need you, Miguel, need your cock,” you whispered, feeling him twitch delightfully in your hand before lining him up over your ravenous cunt, and sinking down.

Miguel choked, his claws sinking into his sheets and causing tears in the delicate fabric. He brought his legs up, bending them at the knees, hoping to slow down your movements but you couldn’t be contained, riding him for all he was worth.

You caught a glimpse of his fangs protruding past his lower lip, and that was enough to send you spiraling into another orgasm, clamping down on him and causing him to cry out as he filled you (again) to the brim.

When you replicated the same steps from before—pulling out and allowing him a second before attempting to stuff him back in you— Miguel stopped you, a crazed look in his eyes.

“No more,” he begged. You’d never heard him beg before. It sounded so pretty with the tiniest hint of vulnerability that had your cunt aching for more.

“I-It’s okay,” you panted, leaning down to kiss him, “one more, okay? One more.”

You carefully sat on his large cock again, sinking down carefully.

And whenever he hissed and groaned, you ignored it.

…

When you woke up you were in the bath.

The warm water smelled of lavender and jasmine, caressing your skin pleasantly.

Miguel loomed above you, hair wet and a white t-shirt clinging to his moist skin. He lathered a bath sponge in soap before lifting your arm, gently scrubbing your skin.

You blinked the sleep from your tired eyes, gazing up at him. He looked beautiful. His lips were pursed in concentration as he focused on each individual finger, making sure to scrub the grime from under your fingernails.

“Miguel?” You called to him quietly, your fingers twitching in his hand. His red eyes shifted to your face, the concerned look from earlier still plastered over his features. “Are you mad at me?”

Miguel grunted, dropping your hand to dip the sponge in the water before taking up your other hand.

“My girlfriend’s an idiot,” he muttered, scrubbing away at your fingers. You frowned, sinking deeper into the water until your mouth was barely above the surface. Your body ached but your pussy ached more. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered sadly, “I thought I could handle it on my own.” Miguel heaved a sigh, urging you to sit up so that he could scrub your back.

“I know, baby,” he answered softly, “but I don’t want you doing that again, ¿me escuchas? You need to communicate with me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your head hanging low in defeat. You didn’t know how much you’d slept, but you were still exhausted, your eyes heavy with the threat of sleep.

Miguel grunted in response, before placing a kiss to your brow—his silent way of forgiving you.

“I told you to stay away from the daisies the last time we were there.”

“It was an accident.”

Another grunt from Miguel.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, brushing a wet finger over the bulge on his briefs. He hissed, slapping your hand away.

“Off limits.” He snapped.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I can’t count how many times you made me cum.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Cállate.”

You giggled, carefully reaching up to place a kiss over his pouting lips.

“Love you too, Miguel.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv #spiderman 2099

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nostalgebraist · 1 year

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Honestly I'm pretty tired of supporting nostalgebraist-autoresponder. Going to wind down the project some time before the end of this year.

Posting this mainly to get the idea out there, I guess.

This project has taken an immense amount of effort from me over the years, and still does, even when it's just in maintenance mode.

Today some mysterious system update (or something) made the model no longer fit on the GPU I normally use for it, despite all the same code and settings on my end.

This exact kind of thing happened once before this year, and I eventually figured it out, but I haven't figured this one out yet. This problem consumed several hours of what was meant to be a relaxing Sunday. Based on past experience, getting to the bottom of the issue would take many more hours.

My options in the short term are to

A. spend (even) more money per unit time, by renting a more powerful GPU to do the same damn thing I know the less powerful one can do (it was doing it this morning!), or

B. silently reduce the context window length by a large amount (and thus the "smartness" of the output, to some degree) to allow the model to fit on the old GPU.

Things like this happen all the time, behind the scenes.

I don't want to be doing this for another year, much less several years. I don't want to be doing it at all.

----

In 2019 and 2020, it was fun to make a GPT-2 autoresponder bot.

[EDIT: I've seen several people misread the previous line and infer that nostalgebraist-autoresponder is still using GPT-2. She isn't, and hasn't been for a long time. Her latest model is a finetuned LLaMA-13B.]

Hardly anyone else was doing anything like it. I wasn't the most qualified person in the world to do it, and I didn't do the best possible job, but who cares? I learned a lot, and the really competent tech bros of 2019 were off doing something else.

And it was fun to watch the bot "pretend to be me" while interacting (mostly) with my actual group of tumblr mutuals.

In 2023, everyone and their grandmother is making some kind of "gen AI" app. They are helped along by a dizzying array of tools, cranked out by hyper-competent tech bros with apparently infinite reserves of free time.

There are so many of these tools and demos. Every week it seems like there are a hundred more; it feels like every day I wake up and am expected to be familiar with a hundred more vaguely nostalgebraist-autoresponder-shaped things.

And every one of them is vastly better-engineered than my own hacky efforts. They build on each other, and reap the accelerating returns.

I've tended to do everything first, ahead of the curve, in my own way. This is what I like doing. Going out into unexplored wilderness, not really knowing what I'm doing, without any maps.

Later, hundreds of others with go to the same place. They'll make maps, and share them. They'll go there again and again, learning to make the expeditions systematically. They'll make an optimized industrial process of it. Meanwhile, I'll be locked in to my own cottage-industry mode of production.

Being the first to do something means you end up eventually being the worst.

----

I had a GPT chatbot in 2019, before GPT-3 existed. I don't think Huggingface Transformers existed, either. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

I had a denoising diffusion image generator in 2021, before DALLE-2 or Stable Diffusion or Huggingface Diffusers. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

Earlier this year, I was (probably) one the first people to finetune LLaMA. I manually strapped LoRA and 8-bit quantization onto the original codebase, figuring out everything the hard way. It was fun.

Just a few months later, and your grandmother is probably running LLaMA on her toaster as we speak. My homegrown methods look hopelessly antiquated. I think everyone's doing 4-bit quantization now?

(Are they? I can't keep track anymore -- the hyper-competent tech bros are too damn fast. A few months from now the thing will be probably be quantized to -1 bits, somehow. It'll be running in your phone's browser. And it'll be using RLHF, except no, it'll be using some successor to RLHF that everyone's hyping up at the time...)

"You have a GPT chatbot?" someone will ask me. "I assume you're using AutoLangGPTLayerPrompt?"

No, no, I'm not. I'm trying to debug obscure CUDA issues on a Sunday so my bot can carry on talking to a thousand strangers, every one of whom is asking it something like "PENIS PENIS PENIS."

Only I am capable of unplugging the blockage and giving the "PENIS PENIS PENIS" askers the responses they crave. ("Which is ... what, exactly?", one might justly wonder.) No one else would fully understand the nature of the bug. It is special to my own bizarre, antiquated, homegrown system.

I must have one of the longest-running GPT chatbots in existence, by now. Possibly the longest-running one?

I like doing new things. I like hacking through uncharted wilderness. The world of GPT chatbots has long since ceased to provide this kind of value to me.

I want to cede this ground to the LLaMA techbros and the prompt engineers. It is not my wilderness anymore.

I miss wilderness. Maybe I will find a new patch of it, in some new place, that no one cares about yet.

----

Even in 2023, there isn't really anything else out there quite like Frank. But there could be.

If you want to develop some sort of Frank-like thing, there has never been a better time than now. Everyone and their grandmother is doing it.

"But -- but how, exactly?"

Don't ask me. I don't know. This isn't my area anymore.

There has never been a better time to make a GPT chatbot -- for everyone except me, that is.

Ask the techbros, the prompt engineers, the grandmas running OpenChatGPT on their ironing boards. They are doing what I did, faster and easier and better, in their sleep. Ask them.

#nostalgebraist autoresponder meta

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suga-kookiemonster · 28 days

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ctrl-alt-del | jjk (teaser)

summary⇢ you graduated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but, to your extreme disappointment, your big girl job isn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. still, you're holding out hope that your talents will soon be recognized and your coworkers will stop trying to include you in their gossip sessions. enter jungkook, the quiet IT guy who's gradually making your days more bearable. (and if you find him easy on the eyes, that's nobody's business but yours.) pairing⇢ jungkook/reader teaser word count⇢ 1.4k genre⇢ smut | humor | office!au warnings⇢ nothing too bad for this teaser! just a mention of oral

a/n⇢this fic has literally been sitting in my wips for YEARS lmao. i feel like it's finally time to set it free 🕊️✨ it's looking like it's gonna lean more towards pwp, but there's definitely still enough plot in there to keep it interesting. not sure when it will be up, but wanted to share a snippet to get your thoughts and get myself excited to finish the last leg--fingers crossed for the next month or so 🤞🏾🙌🏾💜

When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from thefigurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.

Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.

You’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every couple of weeks, the company sponsors an employee barbecue were everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.

“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”

Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though as sweet as can be, she has no filter, and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in some situations where you found it inappropriate. Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate (instead of your measly Assistant)means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started, and she is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing.).

“I think it’s nice,” you reply. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”

“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”

Your eyes dart to said Sales boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?

An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”

“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.

“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.

The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards speaking about inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.

“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.

He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue buttonup. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.

“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”

Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”

“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”

“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”

“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”

He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up.

“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.

“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”

“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.

Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.

Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”

“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”

“IT guy?” you ask, hoping to slide past that last remark.

“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously disinterested by the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. The rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.

Wendy scoffs. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”

“Soccer game?” you ask.

“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy informs you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”

To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching him run back and forth across the grass.

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #bts fic #mine #fic: ctrl alt del #bby

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evilminji · 7 months

Text

You know... >.>

My Dad always used to tell me, if I get a Genuine Genie(tm)? Get a lawyer first. Before I make my Wishes(tm), so they can help me word them correctly.

Obviously, a human lawyer would not be foolproof... BUT! What about a Ghost Lawyer?

Like? Obviously Desiree would be PISSED. How DARE you twist HER wish twisting! Her THING is "what you believe is your heart's desire always comes at a terrible cost" which is what she DIED to learn.

So obviously she would NEVER, willingly, bend her Obsession for ANYONE. And you'd have to make a DAMN good case to that Lawyer for why he ISNT breaking the law by helping you. Probably some "you can: save the life of an unconscious person against their will/shove an unobservant person OFF the train tracks, even if they get hurt, to save their life" clause.

Like? Using a ghosts Obsession against them? Bad. Illegal.

Using it against their will, to save OTHER ghosts, who are in immediate danger? Not illegal, but they will be PISSED. Still not great though, you will want to apologize and fast.

So like??? Reality Bending Power. Patrick Star Method of "what if we MOVED the city... somewhere else?" Considered at 1am. Team of Ghost Laywers, acquired.

Amity and all Limnals are REMOVED from the DP-verse.

Wish worded juuuuust so. Any ghost that forms there? Yoink! Instantly removed to the Zone. Natural Portals? Cut off. Let the whole Reality fade out at an accelerated rate, as no NEW energy is fed into the system. Entropy will do, what entropy does. Exactly as they wished it.

They hated Death so much, they speed up the heat death of their ENTIRE universe by Eons. Congratulations, you guys "Won". Enjoy the wildly more fragile flora, fauna, and general ecosystems. Now that none of you have that ambient Ectoplasm strengthening your bodies. Yeah, the things you used to shrug off? Those are gonna maim or kill you now.

Doesn't MATTER if you "learn your lesson" though! Cause this is WAY past that point! This is "cutting off the tumor before it kills us" territory, and buddy? Amity ISNT the tumor. Go forth a grow, just like you wanted.

They won't be here to fix your messes anymore.

Because Danny got himself a dictionary thick "I Wish..." contract. Which was worded, as it needs to be, in one loooooooong run on sentence. Shouted "I Wish what's written on THIS, as it is currently, and without any form of editing or negotiation!" As fast as he could. Yote the document in Desiree's direction. And Flew like an INCANDESCENTLY pissed off Genie was trying to set his everything of fire.

Which she was.

Thankfully, Paulina came in clutch with her History of all things Jewelry, world fashions, and Make-Up knowledge. That, coupled with the Power Of Rich Friends(tm)? (Sam. Her mother was THRILLED to take her Jewelry and clothing shopping for something other then blacks and dark purple. They went on a jet setting whurl-wind tour. Sam actually kinda liked a some of what she found.)

They have Apology Bribes.

They shamelessly HIDE behind the mountain of Apology Bribes, while they explain themselves. Is Desiree HAPPY? No. But those bracelets are magnificent and she DOES deserve nice things. Those silks will really bring out her eyes. And she... DOES... admit...

Maybe...

That things are not... SAFE. Any longer. Danny TRIES. Everyone else can see it. And he's made incredible strides! Even convinced his lunatic parents. Though they're still not quite POPULAR. (WAY too pushy and invasive with their questions, for most people.) But the fanatics in white?

They nearly killed Box Lunch. If her father hadn't BEEN there...

And the poor man will have that scar on his back for the rest of his afterlife. Desiree can see why Danny is pushing. Does she LIKE it? No. But...

She supposes she will content herself with the suffering of the Fanatics in White and all who support them. THEIR wishes, twisted. Their ugly heart's desires.

Fine.

"SO YOU WISH IT. SO IT SHALL BE!"

And? The ghost town of what WOULD of one day grown into Amity, had the witch's there not been found by those they had fled from, which sits in long rotted ruins, amongst the trees in nowhere Illinois? Poof! Two "Towns" are switched.

The roads out of town coming to a clean line stop, meeting not even goat paths. Just trees. Old growth.

But it's not ALL of Town, is it? Faces missing. New, confused, faces from every corner of the map, taking their place. No Limnal left behind. No supporter of the GIWs genocide, brought along. Family's kept together where they could be. But by the few, scared and upset, green flashing eyes of children in the crowd?

It seemed for some, it was easier to fear and hate, then love their children.

Already they were being gathered up by school teachers and PTA parents. As everyone tried to figure out what had happened. Concerned, quite muttering a dull roar as everyone tries to coordinate.

Red Huntress joins Danny and Dani in the Sky. She doesn't get a word in. Wanted to know what the HELL was going on. She was with her dad in Chicago! Dani was in Taiwan! Literally! As in, sitting in a SUBWAY station one second, the next? Outside!

But they don't get to demand those answers. Because there is a sonic boom on the horizon. And then? Floating... weird... not ghosts?

Uuuuuuhhhh?

Hi?

That much blue... sure is a Statement. Like the cape and... bloooomers? Shorts. Bikini bottoms? It.. it's a Cool Look, dude! No, really. They are being VERY supportive here! If YOU like it? That's the only thing that matters!

Red Huntress smacks the Danny/i's Repeated upside their heads and demans to know what the Not-Ghosts are doing in their airspace.

Oh YEAH. Good point! What she said! And can it WAIT? They're kinda going through A Thing right now...

Kon? Wants it on record he loves these guys. They're hilarious. The LOOK on Clark's FACE?? He wishes he could frame it. Preserve it for future generations. Thing is? There was NOT a town here a second ago.

Well, bout 30 minutes or so, but you get the idea. One moment? Tree noises. Bam! Thousands of people! Obviously the checked it out. Only to be met with two... three maybe? Heros who have NO IDEA who they are.

Clear Reality warping shenanigans. Might be time travel or multiverse. Question is... are they STAYING? And if SO? What now...

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

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truly-sincerely · 1 month

Text

Comprehensive Dead Three Timeline

Outdated! I've made a new timeline!

Obviously there's varying amounts of speculation here, but I believe this is as close to a reasonable order of events as can be achieved with current, in-game information

1460s

Enver Flymm sold to Raphael by his parents, renamed Gortash

Gortash learns about the Crown of Karsus while a prisoner of Raphael

1470s

Gortash escapes the House of Hope

Gortash gets involved with black market arms dealing

Durge begins their serial killing spree in Baldur’s Gate

The Emperor dominates Duke Stelmane

1480s

Gortash establishes a cult of Bane in Baldur’s Gate

Gortash approaches Durge about an alliance

Hall of Wonders test mission - Durge gets Bhaalist memorabilia - Gortash gets a bunch of Gondian designs - Durge & Gortash get companionship

Gortash trades Karlach to Zariel for infernal machinery & iron

Baldur’s Gate’s Beloved Ranger statue goes missing

Gortash recruits Franc Peartree to distribute infernal iron weapons

Gortash moves against the Zhentarim & Knights of the Shield

Wyll Ravengard enters pact with Mizora, leaves Baldur’s Gate

1490s

Dead Three made aware of the Crown of Karsus (most likely informed by Gortash) - Gortash becomes Bane’s Chosen - Durge becomes Bhaal’s chosen - Gortash & Durge are instructed to recruit Ketheric

Gortash tells Durge about the Crown of Karsus

They visit Ketheric and learn of the illithid colony under Moonrise

Gortash & Durge visit the House of Hope (for intel on Mephistar?)

Gortash & Durge raid Mephistar - They get the Crown of Karsus - They get the book on the accelerated grand design

Gortash captures the Emperor

Gortash & Durge return to Moonrise - Their identities are kept secret from Ketheric’s people - Durge impresses the Moonrise Gnolls, but not Steelclaw - Ketheric yells at Durge in the throne room for unknown reason

Durge proposes their plan to the Elder Brain who accepts

Raid on the illithid colony - Durge puts the Crown on the Elder Brain - Orin gets Durge alone during the raid & stabs them in the head - Orin tadpoles Durge, making them the first True Soul - Orin leaves Durge in an illithid pod - Orin tells the Chosen she now speaks for the Temple of Bhaal - Orin likely told Gortash, Ketheric, and Balthazar something vague about Durge’s disappearance being related to Durge’s religious crisis and let their imaginations do the rest

1492

Durge breaks out of their pod & is found by Kressa Bonedaughter

Gortash gets weird and intense with unethical experiments - Some futzing to get the tadpoles to consistently remain in stasis - This is when the name ‘True Souls’ gets coined - Extremely questionable fun with brains - Getting the Absolute’s voice sorted out - Tadpoling his parents - Poorly conceived experiments on children & their parents

Isobel is resurrected by the Dead Three

Minsc captured by Absolutists at recruitment rally in the Undercity

Minthara Baenre is recruited by Orin and Ketheric

Gortash has the Iron Throne converted to hold hostages

Gortash presents prototype Steel Watcher to the city council

Jaheira tracks cult to shadow-cursed land, meets Isobel

Elturel falls into Avernus

The brain sends the Chosen dreams about the Astral Prism

Gortash researches the Prism, finds out that Vlaakith has it

Gortash tells Ketheric to send a team to get the Prism - A nautiloid piloted by the Emperor and other illithid is sent - Kressa’s husband arranged for Durge to be on the nautiloid

Gortash deploys Steel Watch in Lower/Outer City

At this point Elturel is no longer in Avernus

Nautiloid picks up Shadowheart & the Prism from Astral Plane

Nautiloid picks up Lae’zel (?)

Nautiloid picks up Gale (?) & Astarion in Baldur's Gate

Nautiloid picks up Karlach & Wyll in Avernus

Nautiloid crashes, game begins

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 1 year

Text

Keep your eyes on the road (aka an unexpected sex pollen adventure)

Summary: Honestly, this is what Bucky gets for not listening to you.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ only. Oral sex while driving, sex pollen, sex in a car, bad language, Bucky desperately needing to bang. Also please do not try to replicate this unless you are in fact with a super soldier who has super reflexes, as blow jobs while driving should probably be attempted by super people.

A/N: Is this really my first time writing sex pollen? Yes it is. Is Bucky being needy and desperate kinda fun? Yes it is. Did I enjoy writing this? Yes I most certainly did. I hope you enjoy it too. ;)

*****

The thing is, you told him you didn’t feel like coming on this mission.

And you told him not to open that container with the giant blood red skull on it.

And you told him to to wear a mask.

And you told him to let you drive, but he shouted something about you being a passenger princess before unceremoniously shoving you in the getaway car.

So yeah. You told him all these things.

The thing is, Bucky fumes, glaring at the swerve of headlights advancing in his rearview mirror - he really needs to learn how to fucking listen.

“Shit, shit, shit!” He slams the accelerator to the floor and the car gives a sickening lurch. Beside him, you crack your head on the window, trying to buckle your seatbelt and swearing at the top of your lungs.

“Bucky what the hell’s the matter with you? Just drive.”

“I’m trying,” he snaps. He can feel the flushing prickle of sweat beading down his neck. Rubbing a shaking hand down his face, he blows out a harsh breath. “Why in god’s name is the heater on? Turn that shit off, I’m burning up over here.”

Craning your neck, you watch the headlights gaining. Fumbling for the Glock taped under the seat, you shoot him a confused look.

“The heater isn’t on, it’s freezing in here. I told Steve to fix it and he ignored me because he's a giant asshole.”

Eyes locked on the road, Bucky reaches blindly for the window handle, hurriedly rolling it down. A blast of cold air rushes through the car and he gulps in relief.

“Better, much better,” he mutters. He squints into the rearview mirror again, mentally calculating the time between headlights and taillights, when he feels a twisting wrench in his chest. It sends bursts of heat skimming under his skin, snagging every nerve along the way. A panicked whine slips through clenched teeth. Alarmed, you turn back and meet his wild eyes, sweat now pouring down his face.

“What the - what’s wrong? Bucky? Talk to me!”

When you grab his arm, he visibly recoils.

“No no no, don’t touch me, don’t - ah holy fuck, don’t touch me. If you do, I can’t - I’m gonna put the car in the ditch.”

“You’re scaring me Bucky, what is this?”

He says nothing, deep in thought as his brain runs through the mission on warp speed, trying to identify something, anything, that could possibly -

Wait.

Oh.

Crap.

It's like a sucker punch when he realizes.

“The gold dust that flew out of that container, did any of it touch you?”

“You mean the one I told you not to open but you did it anyway because you can’t follow directions? Bucky what is wrong, you need-“

“Answer me,” he snarls. In the dashboard glow, you see his face pale. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus. “Sorry, sorry, just - please answer. Did any of it get on your skin?”

Baffled, you shake your head.

“No. None of it touched me, it just hit you.”

Bucky nods, relieved.

“Good, okay. Okay. Think I know what this is,” he grits out. Another shudder wracks his body and he grips the steering wheel so hard it squeals in protest. “HRNE-75.”

Your response is a blank stare.

“Am I supposed to know what random letters and numbers mean?”

“It’s a stimulant.”

“Like caffeine?”

“No, like a drug.” You can hear him breathing faster. “Like a - like an aphrodisiac.”

Still a blank stare.

“What kind of aphrodisiac?”

“People call it sex pollen,” he says flatly. “It makes you horny. Like - really fucking horny. And it hurts like hell unless you do something about it.”

“Well, okay. We’ll figure that out when we get home, but for now - “

“I can’t - I don’t think I can wait until we get home,” he interrupts. Sweat soaks the collar of his shirt and he shifts uncomfortably, glancing down. Following his gaze, you can see his cock straining against his jeans.

“Jesus Christ. Bucky if you’re in pain, just pull over and let me drive, you can jerk off in the backseat.”

“We don’t have time to pull over, that fucker’s right behind us and if we don’t get us past Steve’s stupid check point, we’re gonna lose him and then the whole mission is wasted and I got sprayed by some bullshit horny dust for no reason and I’m sweating so much right now and I think I’m going to throw up, my dick hurts so fucking bad!”

His voice reaches an hysterical pitch and you press your lips together, choking down the laughter.

“Okay okay, I got it. So if you come, does that stop the pain?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t matter,” his shoulders slump miserably. “We can’t stop yet and I can’t jerk off and drive at the same time. Maybe under normal circumstances I could do it, I mean sure I have done that before because sometimes I get bored driving, but I just don’t have that kind of focus right now baby, I don’t.”

Tremors are rattling through his entire body now, as he fights for control. As he shifts his hips, unconsciously searching for some kind of friction to offer relief, an idea pops into your brain.

“Hey. Let me give you road head.”

His hands slip on the wheel and he double-takes.

“Wha - road head? Like - what does that mean? Like you’d give me a blow job? While I’m driving?”

If this were any other situation, you would tease him mercilessly for the way his voice squeaks, but you smother the urge. Plenty of time for that later.

“Of course. If it helps.”

“But you mean, you’re going to suck my dick? While I’m driving?”

“Love the emphasis on the important words. Yes, I’m going to suck your dick, while you’re driving.”

Bucky bats the idea around, debating whether you’re actually serious and whether he is probably definitely going to drive down a highway at - he checks the speedometer - 145 miles per hour, while you suck his dick. Another wave of heat roils through him and he stifles a groan. Glancing at your expectant face, he gives a shaky nod.

“You’re sure?”

Rolling your eyes, you unbuckle your seatbelt and scoot closer to him.

“It’s not a hardship Buck. You know I’m your dick’s number one fan.” Carefully popping the button on his jeans, you tug down his zipper and he pushes up his hips, struggling to help. The slight pressure on his aching cock already has him whimpering. “Just drive careful, alright? If I die because you wreck Steve’s car while I’m sucking your dick, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Bucky breathes. “Careful. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Grasping him firmly, you lower your head and take his dick all the way down in one smooth move.

“Oh my fucking god,” he shouts, eyes fluttering. “Sweet shit that’s good!”

He keeps one hand in a death grip on the wheel, while he places the other against the back of your neck, keeping you firmly in place. Bobbing up and down, your tongue strokes along the ridges of his cock and you feel him swelling impossibly thicker. Tightening your lips, you suck hard, dragging slowly up and he croaks out a garbled plea.

“Keep going, keep going, please keep going.” Beneath your practiced mouth, his entire body begins to vibrate and he grips the back of your neck tight, chanting desperately. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, holy fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He thrusts up, holding your head tight as he comes down your throat. When your fingers scratch along his thigh, his foot inadvertently pushes the accelerator harder. The car climbs to 155 miles per hour and above you, the sound of ragged panting fills the car.

Releasing his dick with a soft lick, you look up and Bucky chokes at the sight of your spit slick, swollen lips curving into a smile.

“That was fast. Feel better?”

He breathes a whispered yes, but you can still see the red flush still spreading down his neck. He swallows hard and grimaces.

“Helped. Definitely helped. Still hurts, but better,” he says faintly and you see his cock is still rock hard. “It’s okay, it’s enough for now, I appreciate the - “

Rolling your eyes, you lean down and take him back in your mouth. Slipping a hand between his legs, your fingers carefully cup the heavy weight of his balls, squeezing gently. The rest of his sentence fades, melting into a rush of fervent praise.

A luscious ache settles in your belly, feeding off the hot desire you feel sparking through him, at the filthy words you hear him whispering above you. If you weren’t driving down a pitch black highway at a completely inappropriate speed, you’d consider reaching down to take care of yourself, but since you’re already flouting the most basic rules of automotive safety, you figure you should keep your hands on Bucky’s balls instead.

Of course, that doesn’t stop you from rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the pressure.

Bucky glances over at your movement, a deep growl rumbling in his chest at the sight. He didn’t think anything could make him harder at this point, but the image of you so turned on by giving him a blow job, does the trick. He grinds his teeth, dangerously close to just pulling over and saying fuck this ridiculous mission. Rubbing his hand between your flexing shoulder blades and slowly bobbing head, his rasping voice carves into you.

“Does this make you feel good? Doin’ this for me? Fuck me, wish I could help you out right now. You’re so damn good to me baby. Moment we stop this car, I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

With his dick buried deep in your throat, your enthusiastic hum of agreement vibrates deliciously and he struggles to keep his eyes on the road. Everything feels incredible. Your tongue curling around the head of his cock, sucking gently on the tip, before sliding back down. The way you swallow around him, the squeeze of your throat, so hot and slick and tight. It feels so god damn good and he’s close again, one more second -

The transmitter sitting in the console squawks to life, an ear piercing siren shocking you both from the lust fueled haze. You jerk off Bucky’s dick in a panic and he nearly screeches at the loss. Scrabbling with the device, he smashes the green TALK button.

“What?! What the fuck do you need, I’m busy.”

“Calm down there, speed racer,” comes Steve’s breezy voice. “Just letting you know we pulled the guy over. Turn around and come back so we can - “

Steve’s voice is abruptly silenced when Bucky crushes the transmitter with an easy squeeze of vibranium fingers. He flings the shattered splinters of plastic into the back seat and slams both feet on the brakes. The car fishtailes across the road, before skidding to a stop in a spray of gravel. Throwing it into park, he flips the lever under his seat and slides back with a mechanical thunk. Scrambling to pull his pants down all the way, he spreads his legs wide and takes his dick in hand. His eyes are dark, blown black when he turns to you.

“We’re safe. Get your pants off and get over here. Now.” he barks.

Grinning at him, you tug on your tac pants, shimmying easily from the stretchy black fabric and clambering into his lap. There is no pretense. Bucky lines himself up and yanks you down, filling your cunt in one rough thrust. You’re so wet, he slides in easy.

“God, Bucky,” you hiss. “That feels so good.”

He tugs on your shirt, pulling everything off until your breasts are bared. His mouth finds a nipple, teeth gently scrapping and tugging, greedily sucking the sensitive peak between his lips. He moves your hips faster, lifting and dragging you down on his cock over and over, until he jerks you down one final time, slams his head against the seat and comes with a long, guttural moan. Deep inside, you feel him pulsing over and over, until you can feel it dripping down your thighs, hot and sticky.

Head tipped back, he struggles to catch his breath and you can see his heartbeat jumping wildly at his throat. When he finally opens his eyes to meet your questioning stare, you can see.

His eyes are still dark.

“Need more?” You smile gently, smoothing sweaty hair from his forehead.

He swallows hard and then nods slowly.

Rocking your hips, you grind down on him and lean in for a deep kiss, sliding your tongue against his. Bucky gives a shuddering sigh, sinking back into the feel of your body rolling against his. Warm hands stroke lightly down your spine and you can feel the thick, heavy weight of him growing hard again between your legs. But waring with the pleasure, a nervous tension seems to grip him.

“Bucky. I’m not made of glass,” you admonish. Licking delicately along his earlobe, he mumbles a string of apologies and your lips trail down his neck, pressing a kiss against that fluttering heartbeat. “You won’t hurt me, I promise. Use me however you need. Make yourself feel good. Just make me come before you’re done. Deal?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he says, shivering uncontrollably at the heady combination of your cool breath and fiery words. “I can do that. ‘Course I’ll do that.”

His hands slide up your back and hook over your shoulders, his fingers splayed over your collarbone. He holds your body firmly in place, thrusting up into you and simultaneously rocking your hips forward. The angle is perfect and you moan at the feel, dizzy with desire as his cock rubs that spot inside just right.

The sounds filling the car are purely pornographic. Wet skin slapping, Bucky grunting with every hard snap of his hips. The feel of his calloused fingertips stroking up your belly, between your breasts, pressing divots into your skin. He stares up at you, his eyes heavy and hooded and utterly adoring, relishing the sight of you grinding your pussy against him. His hand slips between your legs, stroking over your clit, rubbing fast tight circles. He smugly drinks down the breathless gasps he coaxes from you.

“Bucky, I think - I think I’m - ”

The words falter when your hand slams into the car roof and your head falls back, eyes drifting closed. Lust slaps him hard as he watches you come, writhing above him, your voice cracking when you moan out his name again and again.

“That's it, there you go baby,” he whispers roughly. The vision is breathtaking. Stunning. He figures maybe he could get used to sex pollen and a perpetually aching dick if it means he gets to see you like this.

He was already close (again), but the pure pleasure in your face is enough to knock him over the edge. He buries his face between your breasts, pinching your nipple and licking over your skin and your fingers tangle in his damp hair. You hold him tight as he gasps out your name, emptying himself inside you one more time.

And this time, finally, you can feel some of the spring tight tension disappear. His skin is still hot, but the shivers begin to diminish. Rough hands still grip your hips, but it feels controlled. The manic lust begins to fade, leaving a smoldering fire in his chest.

Bucky tips a weary head back and meets your amused expression. A smile tugs the corner of his lips and he shakes his head.

“God damn,” he sighs.

Scratching your nails lazily along his scalp, he leans into your touch, humming like a contented, if slightly feral, kitten.

“Feel better?”

“So much better,” he murmurs. “Sorry that went completely sideways. Wasn’t really expecting that. Obviously enjoyed it, but still. Unexpected adventure.”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead you laugh.

“Next time, maybe don’t open the can with the giant red skull on it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

A comfortable silence settles. Bucky trails his fingers down your arms and you eye him thoughtfully.

“So, do you think they’ll come looking for us?”

“Maybe. Eventually. What should we do while we wait?”

There is a moments pause. And then you begin to roll your hips against him again and Bucky feels the electricity flare to life once more.

“We keep going.”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bitsmasterlist

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gunsandspaceships · 29 days

Text

Tony Stark’s achievements

Childhood:

“Brilliant and unique mind”

At age 4 built his first circuit board

At age 6 built his first engine

Cracked the Pentagon’s firewall in high school on a dare

Went to college at 14

Built cool smart robots (Dum-E and U) when he was a teen

At 17 graduated summa cum laude from MIT

Polyglot

Before Afghanistan:

“Da Vinci of our time”

Became an owner and CEO of Stark Industries at 21

Successfully ran the company for decades

Advanced the world of technology, not only in weaponry and robotics but also:

created advanced AI J.A.R.V.I.S.

created holographic interface technology

created repulsor technology

Participated in charity

In and after Afghanistan:

“I’m sorry, I’m not Tony Stark”

Survived an open-heart surgery in a cave, without general anesthesia

Lived with, in fact, a debilitating wound, shrapnel, and a huge and dangerous technological device in his body for years and was willing and capable of doing not only his usual work but also being a superhero and doing all these next things...

Did not give up under torture and fought with his captors

Invented and built a miniaturized Arc Reactor, in a cave, with a box of scraps

Invented and built Iron Man armor, in the same cave, with the same box of scraps

Escaped from captivity by himself (with help from Yinsen, but without any armed assistance)

Became an expert in piloting and driving

Saved people in Gulmira

Saved a USAF pilot

Probably the best hacker in the world, was able to easily hack networks of the Pentagon, US government, AIM, and SHIELD

Fought with Iron Monger after nearly died. Defeated him and saved many lives. Was ready to die for that

Built many more different Iron Man armors

Fought terrorists between IM and IM2 (IM2 tie-in comics)

Saved a submarine crew (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home)

Saved a woman from a fire (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home)

“Stabilized East-West relations” (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home), so the world was “enjoying its longest period of uninterrupted peace in years”

Organized Stark Expo

Was able to keep Iron Man armor in his safe hands despite the government’s and HYDRA’s attempts to take it for themselves

Defeated Ivan Vanko in Monaco

(Re)Discovered a new element

Synthesized it, by building a particle accelerator, at home

Revolutionized energy industry and science. Gave clean energy to the world

Defeated Vanko in New York with Rhodey, Natasha, and Pepper and saved many lives again

Saved Peter Parker (IM2)

Made it so that the Abomination would not leave prison and join the Avengers

Built Stark/Avengers Tower powered by Arc Reactor technology

Saved Steve Rogers and many civilians in Germany from Loki

Was able to fight with Thor on equal terms

Biggest brain on Earth, arguably - in the Universe:

best scientist on the team, in SHIELD, on Earth, in the Universe

expert in nuclear, particle, and quantum physics

was able to learn very quickly – became an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics in one night

Successfully tracked Tesseract by its gamma radiation with Bruce

Saved Helicarrier with the Avengers and SHIELD agents on board, almost died

Saved Rogers from a merc right after that

Fought with Chitauri, killed many of them, saved a lot of people

Was able to blow up a Leviathan by himself

Saved New York City by redirecting a nuke to the wormhole

Saved the world by destroying Thanos’ Chitauri army, almost died again

Founded The United States Department of Damage Control to clean up after battles

Rebuilt Stark Tower into Avengers Tower and gave each team member their own quarters

One of the best biologists and biomedical engineers on Earth, even if it’s not his main area of expertise:

helped Maya with Extremis back in 1999, because knew more in her own field, and even didn’t remember that

was head hunted by Aldrich Killian to work on Extremis with/instead of Maya, who was the leading expert in tissue regeneration

improved and stabilized Extremis, so it became safe regenerative technology, and with it…

cured Pepper

healed extensive injuries in his chest

invented and implanted devices for remote control of his suits (into his forearm in IM3, and most probably into his brain for Mark L armor in Infinity War)

invented build-in diagnostic system in his suits

Invented many devices for protection purposes (ex. bomb disposal)

A capable detective. Figured out the cause of explosions in IM3 on his own

Saved Pepper instead of himself by putting Mark 42 on her during the attack on his Malibu mansion

Survived the attack with a barely working prototype suit. Shot down a helicopter with a piano

Was able to fight with enhanced fire-breathing regenerating terrorists without armor and weapons in Rose Hill. In handcuffs

Knowledgeable and skilled in medicine:

saved a kid with his arc reactor in a deleted scene from IM3, selflessly pulling it out of his chest and performing defibrillation under electric shocks

knew how to recognize hyperglycemia when Harley was eating 3rd bawl of candies

closed his wound in Infinity War with nanoparticles

performed first-aid on Bruce after his snap

Built a lot of stuff from random things he bought in a store for the assault on the Mandarin's mansion. In a motel

Successfully stormed the Mandarin's mansion full of armed and huge security guys with dogs. Alone. Without his armor

Successfully escaped captivity in the Mandarin's mansion with just a few pieces of armor on

Saved all the people who fell from the Air Force One

Stormed Roxxon Norco ship with Rhodey, without a suit. With one handgun

Saved the US president

Defeated Killian and his Extremis-enhanced terrorists, saved many lives

Built quinjets

Created Iron Legion

Became the benefactor of the Avengers, provided them with everything, was a combatant, and also the team’s pilot, hacker, engineer, medic, and scientist

As an Avenger saved many lives on missions, including destroying the rest of HYDRA in AoU

With Bruce’s help created Veronica and Hulkbuster suit

Defeated a rogue Iron Legionnaire with a fork

In contrast to other team members was able to function after Wanda played with his mind

Defeated mad Hulk. Saved a lot of lives in Johannesburg

Easily hacked nuclear codes in Nexus and found J.A.R.V.I.S. “in the world’s biggest haystack”

Created advanced AI F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Many advanced AIs

Created Vision

With the Avengers defeated Ultron and his army

Evacuated people who were left in Sokovia

Saved a falling evacuation shuttle with people on it

Together with Thor saved Earth by destroying the falling Sokovia

Rebuilt Stark Compound into Avengers Compound for the team in Upstate New York

Invented several medical devices, including leg braces, blood toxicity detector

Sponsored the development of technology for psychotherapy (B.A.R.F.). Prevented it from being used for harm

Funded all the students’ projects at MIT

Did everything possible to legally, politically, and physically protect the team before, during, and after the Civil War

Was able to disarm Winter Soldier without a suit, with only one armored glove

Figured out Spider-Man’s identity

Created Spider-Man’s suits

Mentored, sponsored, and looked after Peter Parker

Saved Peter Parker (SMH). Twice

Saved the ferry from sinking

Invented nanoparticles

“Earth’s best defender”

Went to space to save Peter, Strange and bring back Time Stone

Saved Peter Parker (IW)

Saved Strange on the Donut spaceship. Killed Ebony Maw

Cloak of Levitation chose him as his second favorite (deleted scene with Tony wearing Levi and Strange in Mark L)

Was respected by Thanos himself

Withstood when Thanos hit him with a moon

Fought Thanos, made him bleed, kept fighting even without armor

Survived a severe injury thanks to his own invention

Was able to function, tried to fix Benatar, and return home while injured and ill with an infected wound

Built a lab for Bruce and helped him to become one with Hulk (combine the best of both worlds)

Became an amazing dad

Became an expert in time travel physics

Discovered/invented (controlled) Time travel

Built a time machine

Went on Time Heist and stole Tesseract from a guarded military base

Created his own Infinity Gauntlet

Thus brought half of the universe back to existence (Bruce snapped and partially sacrificed his health, but nothing would be possible without Tony)

Saved Bruce’s arm by providing emergency medical care

Fought with Thanos again and…

Saved the whole Universe

#tony stark #iron man #mcu #marvel #the avengers #avengers endgame #captain america civil war #avengers age of ultron #iron man 2 #iron man 3 #spider man homecoming #avengers infinity war

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incendiobrock · 14 days

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Driving Lessons {Chris Sturniolo}

Request: Linked here!

Prompt(s): A teaching B to do something and B totally fails + "Hey, hey, don't cry"

Warnings: slight language (only like one word tbh), nothing but fluff!!!

You and Chris had been dating for almost a year. More often than not you were the designated driver, especially when Matt wasn't available to drive, since Chris had never gotten his license. Chris would always check with you to make sure you didn't mind driving him around, either offering to take an Uber or just waiting until Matt was free.

"If you don't feel like it please just tell me. I really don't mind waiting for Matt..." Chris spoke softly, feeling bad that he had woken you up early this morning to ask to drive him to the doctors office for an appointment.

"Baby, it's no problem! If you wait on Matt you're going to be late. Let me get dressed and then we can go, okay?" You reassured him, knowing that this wasn't the first instance he had felt guilty for asking you to drive him somewhere.

Eventually, Chris' guilt was getting the best of him. He needed to learn how to drive, even if it scared him, because you deserved to be driven around too. So, one night as you were laying on the couch together, basking in each others company, he had asked if you would be able to help him practice his driving. You happily agreed, offering the use of your car in case Matt and Nick needed to use the van.

It was late by the time you had pulled into the empty Target parking lot, thinking it would be the best place for Chris to practice driving. Chris swapped seats with you positioning himself behind the wheel of your car. You watched longingly as he readjusted the seat and the mirrors to his height, his tongue slightly poking out over his bottom lip in concentration. "Okay, I think they are good." He said, letting out a nervous sigh.

"Okay babe, we can do this at your pace don't stress too much. I know you'll do great!" You said, rubbing his left arm as he took a hold of the steering wheel, placing his hands ten and two. "Alright, I'm just going to drive around in a big circle?" He asked, staring straight ahead at the empty lot. You nodded in response, removing your hand from his upper arm so he could focus.

His hand found the gear shift, putting it into drive and gently pressing his foot down on the accelerator. As he made his way through the parking lot you couldn't help but look up and notice the stars decorating the night sky. Since you were normally the one driving you couldn't pay attention to the little things that made a night drive so enjoyable; like the stars and moon, or the way the cool night air felt if you cracked the windows. Chris successfully made a loop around the parking lot, beaming with joy at his accomplishment.

His nerves left his body as he continued to make his way around, beginning to zig zag down the rows. He began to get a hang of how the car moved when he would turn the wheel, or how much he needed to step on the gas in order to go an acceptable speed. Chris felt himself relax more and more as his fear of driving began to dissipate.

"Do you want to try something else?" You asked him, admiring how good he looked in the drivers seat of your car.

"What do you have in mind?"

"You could try reversing the car, maybe practicing how to back into a parking spot?" You suggested, reminding him that nobody else was around and that this was just to get him more comfortable behind the wheel.

"Okay, now cut the wheel to the left a little bit more," You instructed, trying to help Chris reverse into a space. His hands glided across the wheel, veering it to the left as he peaked out the rearview mirror. The car jolted forward slightly as Chris slammed onto the breaks. "Oh my god, what was that?" He asked, panic rising in his voice.

He immediately put the car in park as you unbuckled your seatbelt and made your way out of the car, Chris following your actions. You made your way to the back of the car and noticed a Target cart that must've been left out of the cart corral. "Fuck, baby... I'm so sorry. I-I swear I didn't see that behind us." Chris began to apologize, a lump forming in his throat as he noticed the small dent that was in your bumper from the impact. "Oh Chris, it wasn't your fault. The cart was probably just in your blindspot." You replied, unaware of his distressed state. You pulled the cart to the side, moving it out of the way of your car.

Chris stood there silently, feeling horrible about denting your car after you trusted him to drive it. Any ounce of confidence he had gained going around the parking lot earlier was now non existent. Tears filled his eyes as his bottom lip quivered. "Hey, hey, don't cry Chris..." You said, finally registering that he was upset. Quickly, you made your way over to him and pulled him into your arms. His arms snaked around your waist as you cradled his head into your shoulder, smoothing over his hair with your hand. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to dent your car..." His voice trembled as some stray tears hit your shoulder.

"Baby, I know you didn't mean to, please don't cry. I promise you it's okay." You soothed, wishing he wasn't being so hard on himself. When you had first started driving you couldn't even drive above 20mph, he was already doing way better than you and it was only his second time behind the wheel. He pulled away from the hug, keeping his hands on your waist as he looked into your eyes. You gently wiped some tears out from under his eyes, feeling your heart break at the sight of your defeated boyfriend.

After Chris had calmed down you both made your way back into the car. He took his spot back in the passenger seat as you reclaimed the drivers side. Without saying anything, Chris leaned over the center console, capturing your lips in a sweet but firm kiss. You knew it was his way of saying 'thank you', not only for the driving lessons but also for not freaking out about his little accident.

"I love you." You said looking into his eyes as he kept his lips a few inches from yours.

"I love you more." He countered, appreciating how he got so lucky with you. He was ecstatic about the fact that you were his, and nobody else's.

"Alright, let's go to the gas station. I need to get you a celebratory pepsi for facing your fears and practicing your driving!" You said, trying to lighten the mood.

"And some candy?" He asked, jokingly pouting his lips at you.

"And some candy." You giggled, making your way to the nearest store.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo

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probablyasocialecologist · 10 months

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There is no obvious path between today’s machine learning models — which mimic human creativity by predicting the next word, sound, or pixel — and an AI that can form a hostile intent or circumvent our every effort to contain it. Regardless, it is fair to ask why Dr. Frankenstein is holding the pitchfork. Why is it that the people building, deploying, and profiting from AI are the ones leading the call to focus public attention on its existential risk? Well, I can see at least two possible reasons. The first is that it requires far less sacrifice on their part to call attention to a hypothetical threat than to address the more immediate harms and costs that AI is already imposing on society. Today’s AI is plagued by error and replete with bias. It makes up facts and reproduces discriminatory heuristics. It empowers both government and consumer surveillance. AI is displacing labor and exacerbating income and wealth inequality. It poses an enormous and escalating threat to the environment, consuming an enormous and growing amount of energy and fueling a race to extract materials from a beleaguered Earth. These societal costs aren’t easily absorbed. Mitigating them requires a significant commitment of personnel and other resources, which doesn’t make shareholders happy — and which is why the market recently rewarded tech companies for laying off many members of their privacy, security, or ethics teams. How much easier would life be for AI companies if the public instead fixated on speculative theories about far-off threats that may or may not actually bear out? What would action to “mitigate the risk of extinction” even look like? I submit that it would consist of vague whitepapers, series of workshops led by speculative philosophers, and donations to computer science labs that are willing to speak the language of longtermism. This would be a pittance, compared with the effort required to reverse what AI is already doing to displace labor, exacerbate inequality, and accelerate environmental degradation. A second reason the AI community might be motivated to cast the technology as posing an existential risk could be, ironically, to reinforce the idea that AI has enormous potential. Convincing the public that AI is so powerful that it could end human existence would be a pretty effective way for AI scientists to make the case that what they are working on is important. Doomsaying is great marketing. The long-term fear may be that AI will threaten humanity, but the near-term fear, for anyone who doesn’t incorporate AI into their business, agency, or classroom, is that they will be left behind. The same goes for national policy: If AI poses existential risks, U.S. policymakers might say, we better not let China beat us to it for lack of investment or overregulation. (It is telling that Sam Altman — the CEO of OpenAI and a signatory of the Center for AI Safety statement — warned the E.U. that his company will pull out of Europe if regulations become too burdensome.)

#ai #artificial intelligence #longtermism

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andhumanslovedstories · 1 year

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A while ago at work, I had a patient whose condition rapidly deteriorated during my shift, which I believed at the time was due to me not monitoring certain therapies closely enough. Essentially patient had parameters that their oxygen saturations should be between 88-92%. The patient was on supplemental oxygen via a nasal cannula, and was having oxygen saturations of 95% or more. The patient later became lethargic, confused, and hard to rouse. The patient was in hypercapnic respiratory failure, where they essentially were not exhaling enough CO2, the waste product of respirations. Patients who have oxygen parameters of 88-92% tend to be COPD patients, and I'd been taught where giving them too much oxygen can result in CO2 retention.

We ended up having to call a rapid response on that patient who needed to go on the bipap (non-invasive ventilator) to help them breathe effectively, and I went home from that shift feeling certain that I killed this person. That I had triggered a terminal decline that the patient would never recover from.

(Perhaps some context here: my grandfather went into hypercapnic respiratory failure and then died within a few days. Maybe he would have passed either way, I think probably he would have, but the respiratory failure was the moment his decline started accelerating. After he went hypercapnic, he was non-responsive from that point on.)

I called in sick to my next shift because I couldn't face going in. I spent the day thinking about what I'd done, what my moral obligations were, how do you atone for something when you cannot reverse the effects of the original error, and how paralyzed by shame I felt. What did I owe the patient? What did I owe the family? What did I owe myself? How many times had this happened before and I just didn't know because the decline happened after my shift ended?

It was a productive if unpleasant day of trying to sincerely examine myself and the things I'd done wrong without flagellating myself. It'd be almost easily to complete condemn myself and to stop nursing because I'm a Bad Nurse than it would have been to acknowledge the many steps that led to this patient outcome, only some of which I had a hand in. But this was my patient. They were my responsibility. What was the right reaction to have? What should I be feeling? In the course of doing my job, I caused harm to someone I swore to take care of. I still think that I am a thoughtful, hardworking, and compassionate nurse. I don't think the hospital would be better off if I quit. But I hurt someone.

I thought a lot about how this outcome happened, came up with steps to prevent it in the future, and found a new commitment within myself for continued learning. (If you've got a timeline of my particular fixations, this is about when my determination to go to grad school began.) I also thought about how much shame was making me sick. When my patient started declining and I realized the effects of my actions and inactions, one of my first thoughts was genuinely, "Everyone's going to know what I did." It was thought with absolute horror. I'd hurt someone and everyone was going to know it. They were going to know I was bad at my job and bad as a person.

And I was struck by what an unhelpful emotion that was. How much it made me, if only for a moment, tell NO ONE what was going on and what I believed to be the root cause. That it'd be better to let the decline continue rather than intervene because if I intervened that'd be admitting that I'd done something wrong. I didn't listen to that voice that told me to hide what I'd done, but I instantly understood the power of it.

There's this thing called the Compass of Shame which is about the different ways people handle their own feelings of shame--they avoid the shame, they withdraw from themselves and others, they attack others, they attack themselves. I know my own reactions to shame and try therefore not to go with my gut instincts, which are always to say I'm an irredeemably bad person and no one can know about this and if anyone does not about what I've done wrong, I deserve literally whatever punishment they could give me. I've had to learn I can both have failed to complete my responsibilities and still not deserve to lose my job or my flunk this class or give up on college or lose all my friends. But there is something appealing about masochistic shame. Like you can prevent others from judging and punishing you if you sufficiently judge and punish yourself. You'll still be a wretched monster, but no one else needs to know that.

That's actively dangerous for patients, who are the victims of healthcare errors, and it doesn't help prevent future mistakes if we are too ashamed to talk about what happened and why. We'll just keep fucking up in the exact same ways because no one else told us how they'd fucked up that way in the past and here's how we've changed the process because of that. I therefore have an ethical obligation to not internalize shame when I make mistakes at my job. I have tried to remember that while also trying my best to not make the same mistakes twice.

And then a week later, I was sent back to the same floor with the patient who'd declined on my watch. Because I'm a float RN and therefore don't have an assigned unit, I go to different floors every night (occasionally multiple floors on the same night). I see patients for 12 hours and then almost never see them again. Since I was back on the floor, I girded myself and went to go visit the patient, who to my surprise was alert and upright and about the same as I'd seen her at the beginning of my shift before they'd gotten bad. I said hi and asked how the patient was doing, and the answer was that patient was doing about the same as they'd been doing for the last month.

This was not good news for the patient, who was still medically complex, still dealing with an extremely difficult to address condition, but they were also not in the ICU, dying, or dead which is what I'd feared. And with the new knowledge that the patient was, if not okay, than at least stable as ever despite my actions, I could look back on that shift and see it differently, namely that this patient kept continuing to go into hypercapnic respiratory failure with or without oxygen. And then I looked into what I thought I'd been negligent about before and found that the scholarship on it was more complicated and divided than I'd thought. That the mechanism of action that I thought was driving the hypercapnic respiratory failure was in fact waaaaaaaaaaay more complicated than just over oxygenation, particularly in this patient who had a number of muscular abnormalities that made much more of an impact on ventilation than the oxygen would have. And while I still had to improve my practice, upon more reflection I could no longer say there was a direct one to one of my actions and the patient's decline.

I felt simultaneously forgiven, absolved, and humbled. I cannot describe to you the almost sheepish relief that rushed over me. Nothing that bad had happened. What did happen was only ambiguously my fault.

There's a power fantasy to shame sometimes, that you are uniquely bad and that your actions have monumental consequences. My actions on the job can have monumental consequences, but usually they are little things, little cares, little turns, little med doses, little therapies, little steps, little tasks, little jobs, little kindnesses or little cruelties that help a patient move forward or which hold a patient back. I'm there for 12 hours and never again. I can do a lot in that time, but I'm not gonna cure them and I'm probably not going to kill them. It's a relief, and it's a strange disappointment. We want to be important, even in bad ways.

While I can certainly fuck things up for patients, while I can certainly kill patients or traumatize them or withhold care or misuse my position, while I can do all those things, I don't actually have that much power over life and death. Everything that goes wrong isn't my fault. And sometimes something is your fault and nothing really happens except a few people have a bad night and you try not to do it again. I think that last bit is the most important part. I still should have titrated her oxygen down. I'm more careful about that now. I'm trying not to fuck up in the exact same way. I'll find exciting new ways to fuck up, and then I'll learn from those too.

#nursing tag #this is like waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more detailed that i typically like to get with a post about my job #but i've been really thinking about it #this is the long post i said i'd reward myself with btw

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sirfrogsworth · 3 months

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I'm moving out of the city and I'm going to have to learn to drive. Any advice for someone (reluctantly) looking into cars for the first time?

Sorry for the late response, but I really wanted to answer this because I think I have some relevant advice.

I started driving the very day I was allowed to get my learner's permit. I took it very seriously. My dad was a mechanic, my brother literally built a car when he was 16. They were car guys and I was the goofy comedian they didn't really understand. So I wanted to be a really good driver to impress them.

I practiced every chance I got. I took driver's ed in school and got a 100% in the class. And I got a perfect score on my written driver's test and only got dinged for 1 thing on the main exam (it was bullshit, but apparently there is no way to protest a near perfect score).

But then I got sick and it didn't make sense to pay for car insurance and maintain a vehicle. So I didn't drive for roughly 15 years.

Then both my parents got sick and they became dangerous drivers and so I had to figure out how to drive again. And at first I was nervous, but after about a week of driving, I was nearly as good of a driver as when I was younger.

The reason?

Muscle memory.

Muscle memory will save your life over just about anything. The less you have to concentrate on the physical actions and habits required to drive, the more you can concentrate on situational awareness. If you don't have to think about turning the wheel, or braking, or even activating the turn signals, you can use all of that brain power to pay attention to all of the dumb fucks they let drive cars.

So my biggest piece of advice would be to break down all of the physical actions required to operate a vehicle. Even the tiny stuff like switching the station on the radio or turning down the fan on the A/C. Then find a way to practice these things over and over and over until you have that muscle memory embedded into your brain. My muscle memory was so deeply ingrained that it lasted through 15 years of not driving and a batch of mind-wiping electroshock treatments.

Find a safe place to practice and just repeat things until they feel like second nature. Especially checking your blind spots. If you can get checking blind spots to the point where you do it without even thinking about it, you will increase your safety substantially.

Other tips...

Small cheap cars are best first cars. Big cars can make you feel disconnected from the road. Almost like you are piloting the vehicle in a video game. I started on my grandma's 1987 Chevy Cavalier. It was tiny. It had no power. It was free. But I could feel everything I was doing. I could feel the turns. I could feel the road. I could feel braking and acceleration. And it really helped me understand the relationship between driver and vehicle. It was like a big go-kart but I think having that as my first car really helped me develop my driving skills.

And my last tip is to learn gradient braking and acceleration. It's mostly for the comfort of your passengers. It gives them a smoother experience but it also makes them feel safer driving with you. Basically you want to figure out how to apply pressure to the pedals in such a way that almost no G-force is felt. So you start with very light pressure and gradually transition into the max pressure you need. And you need to do it quick enough to stop and accelerate at the proper rate. If you don't transition fast enough you might not stop in time or be able to merge onto the highway. And if you transition too fast people will be lurching back and forth in their seat. But, again, practice makes perfect.

My brother is horrible at this, though mostly on purpose. He likes driving like everything is a race. And with his muscle cars, that can be fun at times. But when you are just going to the store it can make one a little nauseous. I find myself just grabbing the "oh shit" handles and never letting go.

But if you can smooth out your acceleration and braking to the point it is barely felt, all of your passengers will thank you for it.

Hopefully that helps. And maybe other folks can reply with additional advice. And if you have any more specific concerns feel free to ask. I wasn't sure if you were more worried about driving or picking out a car, so hopefully we can collectively cover both.

I wish you luck and hope you learn to love driving. It is pretty cool once you get the hang of it.

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magics-neptunes-things · 6 months

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Ready, Aim, Shot

Hi! ♥ I hope you are all ok!

I have trouble finishing all the stories I started, but I’m working on it!

This one took me a little longer to write, I hope you like it. It is a little different from what I have written so far, but it is following a request from an anonymous:)

Summary: You’re a journalist and you were sent to a complicated place in the world. Will the attack you suffered prevent you from finding your girlfriend’s arms permanently?

TW: Angst, mention of war and bomb, accident, hospitalization.

PART 2 | PART 3

____________________________________________________________

Alexia is the only woman you fell in love with, and everyday you find yourself falling even harder for her. She was perfect for you. Caring, loving, loyal, attentive and sweat. Your bond is even more special than you ever dreamed before you became a couple.

However, things could have started more easily. You are a journalist/reporter and you know perfectly well that celebrities are not fond of this kind of profession, for good reason. When you found yourself following her for days for the report "Alexia: Labor Omnia Vincit", she was very professional at first. Like, really very very professional. But you lived with her for weeks, met her relatives and finally you found yourself covering her with heart eyes.

What you never imagined was that things could be reciprocal.

Shortly after announcing your relationship, at your friends and family only, you quickly settled together. Your cat met officially Nala at that time and you were spending happy days all four in Alexia’s apartment. I mean, your apartment now.

There are sometimes a few days during which you can't see each other, when Alexia leave for football or when you go in another country for a report. You go watch Alexia at every opportunity you have, enjoying to see her evolve in her element. And you know that Alexia reads or looks the articles or reports you participate in.

Alexia has already had a lot of trouble accepting that you go to eastern Europe last month for a report, so it's with a ball in the belly that you come home tonight. You have to tell her you’re leaving for another complicated place in the world and you know it’s going to be hard for her to accept.

You nervously bite the inside of your lip when you open the door of your apartment, immediately greeted by Nala who comes to rub in your legs, almost making you fall. You laugh gently and lift her off the floor to put a kiss on her skull before resting her gently. Your cat, for its part, opens an eye from its cat tree, long before turning and falling asleep again.

"Thanks for the welcome, Diabolo" you grumble.

You roll your eyes and hang your coat in the cupboard of the entrance before going in search of Alexia. Her sneakers at the entrance and a pleasant smell of food floats in the air, informing you that she’s home. Nala is ahead of you, running towards the kitchen, where you find your girlfriend.

The smile she gives you when you arrive takes your breath away and you accelerate the step to have her faster against you. Your face in her neck, you breathe her smell before putting a kiss, then several along his jaw to finish on her lips.

"Holà mi Amor"

She says to you smiling, passing both hands in your hair.

"Holà."

You let her kiss you again before taking a look at the stove to see what is in the pots.

"Did you finish training early?" You ask when you realize she’s had time to prepare all this and shower before you come home.

"No" she laughs softly "My mom came by to bring us what she cooked for her dinner with her friends tonight. Apparently she planned too big"

"Like she didn’t mean to"

You laugh too and Alexia throws you a smile and a amused look. You both know that she cooked huge quantities on purpose to be able to bring you some, Alba surely received her part too and you wouldn't be surprised to learn that your sister also received Eli’s visit with a tupperware filled with paella.

"Do I have time to shower?"

You want to get comfortable quickly, knowing the discussion you have to bring later. You think you’ll wait until the end of the meal though, not wishing to spoil your girlfriend’s appetite.

"If I had known, I would have waited for you" Alexia whispers, sliding her hands dangerously close to your butt.

"Alexia Putellas Segura, you are worse than a male teenager" you smile against her lips before kissing her tenderly. "I make it quickly."

After a quick shower, you go straight into Alexia’s clothes section of the wardrobe, choosing an old FC Barcelona jogging you love and one of her t-shirts with a Nike logo.

"It seems that you are wrong again on the side of the cupboard mi Amor" Alexia tells you with a knowing smile when you return to her.

"Oops."

********

After the meal, you sat on the sofa in the living room to watch the series that you started to follow recently. You still haven’t managed to talk about it, Alexia seems so relaxed and happy tonight that it breaks your heart to have to make this announcement.

However, your worry must be easily noticeable, since you feel Alexia’s hand on your fingers as you mechanically wiggle between them.

"Okay, what is it?" she asks you, slightly getting up to see you better.

"What?"

"You haven’t paid a single second of attention to the episode since we started it, you play nervously with your fingers and you keep biting your lip. What the hell is going on?"

You sigh softly and sit cross-legged on the couch, not finding the courage to look into her eyes. Beside you, you feel Alexia put herself in the same position. You feel her gaze on you as you speak again.

"I have to leave in three days for a new report" you finally confess.

"Where?"

"In the Middle East"

"No."

Alexia’s firm voice makes you look up and you can’t tell if her "No" is a ban she puts on you or if it's a form of denial to this information. Her eyebrows frown, her eyes are hard and you have to take it on yourself not to lower your eyes again.

"There’s no way you’re going. It’s too dangerous."

"This is my job, Ale" you point out lightly.

"I don’t care. You stay here, there is no fucking way that I let my girlfriend going right to death, your boss is completely crazy and irresponsible."

You watch her get up and go around in circles in the living room, talking while gesticulating her arms in all directions, scaring Nala in the same time.

"I’m not going alone, there will be my team with me."

"I. Don’t. Care."

********

Three days later, you find yourself at the airport with your team. By working together, they became your friends and Alexia knows them very well. And they know Alexia very well too. That’s probably why Lola asks you with surprise about the absence of your girlfriend to say goodbye.

"She didn’t want me to go"

You hardly swallow your saliva and thank Lola mentally for not insisting. Her compassionate smile is enough to bring some tears to your eyes, which you fortunately manage to stop.

Alexia is very mad at you. She tried emotional blackmail, anger, tears and pretty much everything in her possession to keep you close to her. The worst part is you would have preferred to stay with her, but you couldn’t refuse that warrant. You had already refused a report to manage Alexia’s anxiety a few days before and your boss warned you that it was the last refusal on your part that he accepted.

You don’t know if Lola passed on the information to the rest of the team, but they all show themselves to be particularly caring with you. Ben offers to check in your luggage and you gladly accept. You take a quick look at your phone and see that you have messages from your parents, your sister, Eli and Alba, but none from Alexia.

She left for her training saying goodbye of course, it was still out of the question to leave you angry. You can’t blame her, you know perfectly well that if things were reversed, you would react the same way. She too had tears in her eyes closing the door behind her and that didn’t help you leave your apartment earlier

"Well, look who’s here" Marta laughs.

Like the rest of your team, you turn to the point she’s staring off behind you. And you feel an electric current running through you when you recognize Alexia’s silhouette. She hasn’t seen you yet and you can see her look through the crowd with a desperate air, as if she were afraid of having arrived too late. Fortunately not, with the amount of material you have, boarding always takes forever.

Without hesitation, you split the crowd and she finally sees you. A few seconds later, you are in her arms and it's only now that you see Mapi over her shoulder. The tattooed one winks at you before getting away to give you some privacy.

"I thought I was too late"

Alexia’s voice came to you in a muffled way, her face being buried in your hair while she hugs you against her with all the strength of her arms. You give her back her embrace, certainly with much less force, but this embrace brings you the comfort you needed.

"Thanks for coming" you mumble back.

One hand in her hair and the other in the hollow of her back, you breathe deeply for the first time in three days. You stay like this for a few moments, before Alexia lets go of you with one hand to search in the pocket of her coat.

"I have something for you."

You watch her do and after a few seconds she show you a necklace with a pendant hanging. You would swear that something is hidden in it, but before you can question her on the subject, Alexia resumes speaking.

"You’ll open it on the plane, okay?"

You nod and let her hang the necklace around your neck. Her fingers make you shudder and you hurry to get back against her when she’s done. You don’t care if you’re being watched or even if someone recognized you. In any case, it’s been several weeks since edits of you two started appearing on the Internet. Alexia doesn’t seem to care much either since she’s the one who initiates your kiss.

"Promise me you’ll come back"

"I promise"

Her forehead leaning against yours and her look in yours makes you forget the rest of the world around you. The place where you fly is dangerous, you are perfectly aware of it. And Alexia too. She doesn’t make you make those promises every time, but only when she knows there’s a risk.

"I hate your job."

Her remark makes you smile softly and you replace a lock of her hair behind her ear before resuming speech.

"I think this is the last time I leave"

"What do you mean?"

The surprise forces Alexia to take off her face from yours to be able to better observe you. Her hazel look plunges into yours when you shrug your shoulders.

"It gets too complicated for both of us and I don’t have the same pleasure doing what I do anymore. I’ll talk to my boss when I get back, but I’m thinking of resigning"

Alexia’s face becomes perfectly smooth under the shock of the information and she blinks several times before responding.

"I- I never asked you to quit" she stutters, making you smile.

"I know"

You smile in front of her amazed air and kiss her tenderly on the cheek. You have been working for the same people for many years and have made a name for yourself in the profession. And even if a job change is turned down, you know you’ll find something else elsewhere.

You hear Lola calling you gently behind you, meaning it’s time for you to go. Alexia looks at you and your smiles are more like grimaces. It’s time to say goodbye.

"Take care of yourself and don’t let Diabolo eat too much."

"I will"

A new kiss is exchanged before you have to release her. You take a quick look in the direction of your team, most go up to the departures floor thanks to the escalator, only Lola is waiting patiently for you downstairs.

"Be careful, mi Amor. Think of me?"

"Every second of the day Cariño."

A few hours later, you are installed on your plane seat, window side. As if to better stick to your mood, the rain began to fall on Barcelona, drawing shapes on the porthole through which you look. Remembering the pendant that Alexia gave you, you gently take it in your hand to better observe it. You have no trouble finding the security to open it and inside you discover a rolled paper that you unfold. You smile and realize it’s a picture of you and Alexia. Behind it, she wrote a note.

"Forever with you. Te amo tanto. Alexia ♥"

********

Since your arrival, you have been able to exchange several messages and phone calls with Alexia. Things are going better than you both imagined, to your relief. You are not exactly in the middle of the conflict, the work you were asked to do being more focused on the population who decides to enlist in the army to defend their country. You are protected by soldiers who follow you like your shadow and you even feel safe.

It's the mind entirely turned towards the report that you climb in the jeep that brings you and your team where you have to meet several people to interview them. You have to go back to Barcelona in two days and your idea to resign is still on your mind. The more you think about it, the more you know it’s the right thing to do.

You are listening with amusement to Ben talking about his son’s latest mischief when something happens. A click, followed by the panic cries of the men around you. They express themselves in their native language that you don't master, or very briefly. A few seconds later, a heat wave lifts you off the ground and you are thrown out of the vehicle, unconscious, the mine you drove over blowing up everything around.

********

When Eli and Alba appear on the edge of the training field, Alexia knows something bad happened. The joke she was exchanging with Ona gets stuck in her throat and her face visibly pale. Jonathan accompanies them and beckons her to come to them. It's with tingling throughout the body that Alexia stands up and makes her way towards them.

"What happened?" she immediately asks, looking her mother in the eye.

"Y/N's team ran over amine. Half of them are still missing"

It's Alba who speaks, making Alexia look in her direction. Unable to open her mouth, she waits for further information.

"Y/N has been found, but it's not good Ale"

"What do you mean "it's not good?" "

Alexia gets upset, bringing their mother in the conversation for the first time. Obviously she fears the reaction of her eldest, knowing how attached you are to each other.

"Alexia…" she makes a soothing tone by grabbing her daughter’s arm.

"But just tell me! She’s dead, isn’t she?"

Alexia’s tone rises and she must take it upon herself not to push the physical contact initiated by her mother. Eli and Alba exchange a look before the first one resumes speaking.

"No, but she’s in a bad state. She was found unconscious and is on an official ventilator. They don’t yet know how badly she’s hurt. As we speak, she’s still in a coma and they don't know if she will make it."

********

The days that followed were a summary of hell for Alexia, your parents and your relatives in general. Due to the geographical distance, the news has reached them in dribs and drabs only by the interval of your team. Your boss got yelled at by Alexia, your father and Alexia’s mother. If you weren’t about to resign, there’s no doubt he’d demand you do.

After a few days of staying together at your parents', your loved ones have finally started their lives again. Your sister went back to work, but Alexia literally had to be taken out by force to agree to return to the training grounds. To make sure her daughter would go, Eli even asked Irene to come pick her up.

The information about you is vague but they know the main thing, you’re still alive. "She promised to come back to me" Alexia repeated several times, both to convince herself and to reassure others.

Even if she will never admit it, seeing her friends makes Alexia feel better. She strongly suspects them of doing everything to change her mind, but she is sincerely grateful. It changes her from the four walls of your parents' living room or yours, even if your animals also bring her comfort and affection.

Alexia is in the middle of a discussion with Mapi and Aitana when her phone rings from her bag. As always, she feels a mixture of feelings at the idea of dropping out, fearing bad news. But it’s usually your mother who gets calls from your bosses to give them news. It’s been three days now since they learned anything new.

Seeing that the call number is unknown, Alexia hesitates a few seconds before answering but ends up doing so. Normally, people with access to her phone number are allowed to have it. She has never had any problems with that.

"Holà?"

The silence settles on the other side of the phone and the Latin checks that she has picked up before putting the phone back against her ear.

"Is there anyone here?"

A new silence sets in. Just as she was about to hung up, Alexia finally hears a voice at the other end. The voice is barely higher than a whisper, as if the person were particularly exhausted.

"Ale? It’s me…"

The ground slips under the captain’s feet so abruptly that neither Mapi nor Aitana has time to catch her. Sitting on the floor, the one who had managed not to shed a single tear since the announcement of your accident melts into tears, alerting her two friends who are now convinced that something dramatic is happening.

Alexia let a flood of curses that you’ve never heard come out of your girlfriend’s lips when she realizes it’s you on the phone.

"I’m alive" you end up adding, not really knowing what to add.

"You had better" sobs Alexia before finally raising her eyes on Mapi.

Lost in her emotions, she didn’t realize that her reaction alerted almost the entire team. Ona, who had gone to take her shower, kneels beside Mapi, both leaning in the direction of their friend and captain while others stand in an arc around her.

"It’s Y/N. She did it."

********

Your parents had already had to detain Alexia so that she wouldn’t jump on the first plane upon learning of your accident, but this time it was even worse. With the injuries you’ve got, you couldn’t go home right away. The translation was sometimes complicated at first, until the Spanish embassy sent someone to do the translation. From there, you were able to recover your phone and thus be in contact with Alexia and your loved ones more easily. The connection is not always optimal, but having your girlfriend only a call from you does you a lot of good.

It's not in very good condition that you get on the plane to repatriate you to Barcelona, but you specifically asked to return as soon as possible, even if you were then hospitalized in Spain. During the explosion, it was mostly the left side of your body that was injured. In addition to a crumbling shoulder, broken ribs and a damaged knee, you find yourself with a head injury and a broken nose that fortunately had time to deflate. Thanks to that you no longer look like a boxer at the end of his career but it looks like you have two big cockroaches.

You learned yesterday that three of your six team members didn't survive the attack. Ben and Lola have already returned to Spain and it's with a hint of guilt that you leave Marta alone on the spot. But her family is coming in two days and she swore to you that everything was fine for her.

Exhausted by the journey to the airport, you slept all the way back and it is only when the wheels of the plane touch the ground that you open your eyes with a start. The person assigned by the embassy to follow you smiles kindly and you answer vaguely, before looking out the window. When you see the airport building, you feel your heart speed up. Alexia is waiting for you, a few hundred meters from you.

You tried to refuse to be moved around in a wheelchair, in vain. So it is with a sulky pout that you find yourself traveling through the airport, to the place to collect your belongings. The good news is that you had left almost all to your camp and so you were able to recover everything. Even the necklace offered by your girlfriend survived and did not leave your neck a single squad then you left Barcelona.

Your suitcase is much too long for your taste to arrive and you refrain from jumping on your chair of impatience when it is time to pass the security control of customs. Everything is going too slowly and you are convinced that you would go faster by limping with your crutch. But you finally arrive in the main arrival hall and it only takes you two seconds to spot Alexia, your eyes are attracted to her like a magnet. By the time she comes to you, you get up from the chair and two seconds later you’re finally where you want to be forever. In her arms.

The embrace is not very practical, your arm in sling prevents you from holding her as you would like and you clench your teeth not to flinch despite your painful ribs. You still feel that Alexia is doing everything she can to be delicate. She has not yet been able to truly realize all of your injuries.

But in the end you don’t care, because it’s all about her. Alexia feels like she can breathe completely for the first time in about ten days. You feel her coming off of you after a few minutes and you have trouble supporting her gaze. You know that you look terrible, even if you are not the type to wear kilos of makeup every day, there you are really far from being to your advantage.

"Mi Amor" she whispers tenderly, holding your face in her hands before as much delicacy as if it had been porcelain. Her thumbs caress your cheeks and you feel tears in your eyes. "It’s over. You’re home."

You nod and close your eyes, letting her kiss you tenderly before she takes you back against her.

Needless to say, the next day your boss received a letter of resignation from you. Thanks to what happened to you, you received a starting bonus, allowing you to have money set aside before embarking on your new project, writer and WAG. Because from now on, it’s out of the question to part with Alexia for more than half a day.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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yukipri · 5 months

Text

Clone File: Morbs (YukiPri OC)

Basic info:

Name: Morbs Number Designation: CC-4413 Generation: 1 (0.9) Rank/Title: Chief Mortician of the GAR, Kamino Chief Mortuary Trainer (former) GAR Affiliation: Entire GAR, primarily stationed with the 212th Attack Battalion Character status: YukiPri Original Character

Disclaimer: Morbs' story will likely make more sense if you've read The Prime Override, as he's introduced with context in this fic. He will also make more sense if you've read about the other 2 clone medics mentioned in this file, Ashe and Stabber.

Backstory beneath cut!

Overview:

Clone morticians are specialists even among medics. Every clone medic knows the basics of how to care for the deceased, but in war, priority must always go to the living. As such, it is common to find only one clone mortician per star destroyer or permanent GAR base, with greater numbers stationed in Tipoca City or various Republic medical centers.

Morbs, or CC-4413, is considered the Chief of this group of medical specialists. He is the originator of the division, and was assigned to develop both the position and the training curriculum of clone morticians in tandem with Ashe’s primary medical training.

Prior to the start of the Clone Wars and through the early war period, Morbs oversaw the Tipoca City Primary Clone Morgue, which processed all clone bodies. There, he managed biopsies, distribution of cadavers, and the care and processing of all of the bodies of his deceased brothers. He also trained other clone morticians who had completed general medical training prerequisites and were approved by Ashe, as well as future Chief Medical Officers who were required to have completed hands-on training time in the morgue to earn their certifications.

Morbs would have been content to remain in this morgue for life, but as the main body of the GAR prepared for deployment, it became clear that the number of bodies being processed on Kamino would plummet. Morbs was reassigned to the front lines, where his expertise would see more active use, leaving his morgue behind in the hands of his assistants. He primarily travels with the 212th Attack Battalion, but frequently visits medical centers and goes where he is needed.

Background:

Morbs was one of five Generation 0.9 CCs selected by Nala Se to begin the development of the clone medical track. While all subsequent medics are CTs, the Generation 0.9 CCs underwent manual age acceleration, putting them physically ahead of their Generation 1 peers in chronological age. Morbs and his fellow CCs were test subjects used to establish the start of the medical specialization path before their younger brothers were of age to begin that training.

As CCs, they are overqualified for the general medical training that Nala Se is building, and Nala Se quickly turns to using them for other experiments as well. Their unique position as the first experimental medical clones gives Nala Se more oversight over them than any other clones, with far less supervision as well. They are “her” clones to test as she pleases.

In the depths of her labs, Nala Se conducts experiments that she had been banned from conducting on standard troopers by the contract with the Prime Clone, Jango Fett. Morbs later learns that these tests would be considered “torture,” and are illegal in the Republic. He and his brothers are tested for the physical limits that clones can reach, including tolerance for exposure to various stimulants such as heat or chemicals, as well as sensory limits such as their maximum threshold for pain. She also experiments with the potential for building up tolerance and even immunity to various drugs and poisons. She takes all of the data she gains and incorporates them into the medical training for the clones—thus, ensuring that her tests still fall under the scope of “developing medical training.”

Two of the five CCs perish as a result of these experiments. Ashe is ordered to decommission the third when he fails to meet Nala Se’s standards. This leaves Morbs and Ashe as the only survivors of their initial group. They cannot speak of their experiences to anyone else, as Nala Se is the only other witness. Not even Kote knows what they experienced. Between the two of them though, they can never forget that their senior medical positions were earned with blood.

Morbs has always been a quiet but keen observer, and knew from early on that Ashe has reasons for wanting to be in the medical track, and that this is a path that he’s chosen and is motivated to push through. Morbs is brought into the Ghosts’ plans relatively early, and having had the most first-hand experience seeing just what Ashe’s position entails, he wishes he could do more to help his brother. However, Morbs is also realistic, and knows that he doesn’t have the same passion and dedication driving him. He does what he can, but he can’t see himself being the medics’ leader that Ashe is. He feels guilty for not being able to offer to take Ashe’s place, when he’s the only one in a position who could. He tries to make up for it by loyally following him, and doing what he can as a supporter.

In addition to not having the drive, Morbs also feels he is cursed with misfortune. While he excels as a medic and not even Nala Se can find anything lacking in his record, most of the patients that Morbs touches seem to end up dead for reasons unrelated to his skills as a medic.

He’s assigned to oversee a group of cadets, who end up having a fatal genetic mutation that gives them all heart attacks while he’s on observation. The wing with patients that he oversees collapses due to an architectural problem, and they all die. He’s conducting a surgery, when the power goes out, and he’s unable to save his patient with the tools he has available. He tends to some brothers, who leave his exam room fine, but are killed in a training accident a few hours later. He’s assigned to take over a simple check up, and finds his patient already dead before he enters the room.

Every additional incident makes him increasingly uncomfortable with working with living patients. He knows he has the skills, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because most of his patients end up dead anyway. Statistically, it’s not impossible, but after a certain point it’s certainly improbable, and yet it continues to happen. Clones are rarely superstitious, as they have no cultural basis for it, but Morbs feels that there’s something absurdly wrong with the amount of death that seems to follow him everywhere.

He only feels that he’s safe for his brothers when working with those already dead. He can’t kill them if they’re dead before they’re even assigned to him. When Nala Se announces that a new mortuary sub-track will be added to the primary medical track, Morbs dives for it because he can’t think of a better position for himself. If death follows him, he might as well embrace it.

As he and Ashe are given more access to resources including those from outside of Kamino to help them develop their respective training curriculums, Morbs finds himself increasingly interested in not just the practical aspects of death, but also the more cultural and spiritual elements as well. It’s sparked by his own unluckiness and wondering if others have experienced the same, but is fed by his curiosity when he realizes that most nat-born cultures have different ways of processing death and grief that are deeply engrained in how they handle their dead. Nat-born lives are for the most part extremely foreign and utterly irrelevant to anything clones will likely ever experience, but death is almost universal. Morbs finds this fascinating.

The clones are brusquely told that they “march on,” when they die, as Mandalorians do. But why? Where do they march to, with whom? What is waiting there? If that is the inevitable eventual fate of all of them, regardless of Ashe’s or Kote’s efforts, shouldn’t it perhaps be Morbs’ job as the Chief Mortician to at least consider what happens after?

While Morbs has no answers for the afterlife, he certainly has many thoughts, which he shares with the silent cadavers who he works with. It seems like they can hear him, he thinks, for all that none of his words are spoken out loud.

While sitting in on a Ghosts meeting as they develop code words for their growing underground organization, Morbs mentions off-hand that their brothers who are dead, but aren’t, are, “Marching on to join Kote.”

It’s not his fault that their overseers failed to really explain what “marching on” means, nor really instill any true understanding of “glory” either. So if they choose to define it for themselves, with “marching on” meaning to join their other brothers (who may or may not be dead), and “glory” as fighting for their brothers, something tangible that they actually understand and care for…well. They are, after all, supposed to die for the glory of the Republic anyway. No one will question the language.

While most of Morbs’ brothers are exceedingly practical, and must be, Morbs finds his niche in thinking about the not practical. If having ways of respecting and mourning the dead helps all other sentients, why shouldn’t it help them too? Morbs experiments with how he thinks their dead should be treated, and the bodies in his morgue are, as always, his silent audience.

He grows to consider the dead bodies in the morgue “his men” in “his army.” After all, those who are also marked dead, but are actually just with the Ghosts, are also allowed to “consider serving” despite being equally dead on record. And are not the bodies that he repurposes to hide the missing bodies, the dead whose organs and limbs save the lives of their living brothers, not also serving their brothers? Just because they were unlucky, like Morbs, doesn’t mean that they aren’t still being helpful, aren’t still actively saving their brothers. Because that’s all what any of them want to do: help each other.

Morbs assigns himself their Commander, as he is in charge of them, cares for them, and directs their “campaigns.” The rows of cold lockers that house their bodies are “barracks.” He talks to them, praises their missions, and grieves for them when they finally march on to their second deaths via cremation, only after which they are truly gone.

While none of Morbs’ students go to quite the same level as Morbs himself in humanizing their deceased brothers, he makes sure that all of them leave his morgue with a firm understanding that even when dead, their brothers are still their brothers. Pieces of his ideology and treatment of bodies linger in all of the medics who handle their dead.

Morbs treats the dead as his men because he wants them to be able to live on just a bit longer, but admittedly that’s not all. It’s something that also helps with his guilt over not being able to assist Ashe in his decommissionings. He can’t stop those deaths any more than Ashe can, and he can’t even share in the pain of murdering them. But he can promise them, and can promise Ashe, that once their bodies leave Ashe’s blood-stained hands, that Morbs will welcome them gently to his morgue. That they’ll be treated tenderly, with humanity, and that their existences won’t mean nothing. That if they’re capable of it, Morbs will do whatever he can to ensure that they too can serve Kote before their bodies are gone.

Morbs likes to think it offers Ashe some comfort.

General Info:

Most clones have only ever heard of Morbs, who is extremely elusive. Even after deployment, he rarely leaves the morgue wing attached to medical. Whereas Ashe feels a complicated mixture of self-loathing and knowing that he’s unwelcome in other spaces because all other clones loathe him too, Morbs is simple. He likes being with his men, they’re his favorite group of clones. The living get plenty of attention amongst each other. He just is happier with his own men, and prioritizes giving them his own attention.

He’s eccentric and more than a little creepy, but his reputation means that many of his brothers are very curious about him. He has a strict “no one alive past this line” rule at the entrance of the morgue, with very few exceptions, so not even those who try to catch a glimpse of him while visiting medical have much luck. Spotting him outside the morgue is both like an exciting cryptid sighting, but also potentially a bad luck omen. Morbs is oblivious to the excitement his presence causes, as he’s usually just in a rush to get back to the morgue.

Morbs is so mysterious that only a very limited handful of his brothers knows how truly odd his habits are. He has an assigned bunk, but ignores it and sleeps in a specially padded cold locker so that he can “sleep in the barracks with his men.” He calls it his favorite bunk, and tells the other medics he wants to rest there when he one day inevitably dies. He will sometimes forget to take care of himself, ignoring his own living needs to eat, drink, exercise, hygiene, etc. until a medic, usually Stabber, drags him out of the morgue to handle it. Stabber thinks Morbs is an example of how truly unfair their genetic enhancements are, because Morbs somehow maintains his solid CC-class physique with essentially zero effort on his part.

Unlike Ashe, who wants to be out in the field, Morbs never wants to leave his morgue for anything. Once he has been relocated into the morgue on the Negotiator, he only steps out when absolutely necessary. He doesn’t want to see the sights of the outside galaxy, doesn’t want to see the people or try the foods. He thinks all air outside of the morgue that is not optimized for the preservation of clone bodies is distasteful. He especially hates heat, sunlight, and humidity, insisting that it will “cause us to decay faster.”

The one exception to this is if there is a morgue, funeral, cemetery, or something else death-related going on. He learned about other cultures’ death practices, and he’s admittedly still curious about them too, mostly in the context of whether there’s anything else he can do to improve the experience for his men. If the ship is planetside and there’s supposed to be a famous cemetery, he might be seen quickly slinking outside, face completely veiled to avoid exposure to the elements.

Relationships:

Morbs maintains a close relationship with Ashe, though it’s one he’ll rarely show in front of others, always maintaining a professional distance if they have company. But Ashe is the only living person that Morbs will seek out for company, always while Ashe is alone. Morbs is the only one who knows the extent of what Ashe suffered during his early training, and had experienced much of it with him. He is concerned about Ashe, but doesn’t offer medical help, as he feels Stabber does that enough, and he doesn’t trust himself to think of Ashe as a patient; that never ends well. He will instead offer Ashe silent company.

Morbs claims to despise Stabber, especially since he’s the one responsible for taking him away from his morgue on Tipoca City and forcing him onto a star destroyer. Because Stabber is the CMO of the 212th, prior to Ashe joining them, Morbs is forced to interact with him the most. Morbs doesn’t like Stabber because he considers the other medic, “far too alive.” Stabber’s high energy, movement, and noise levels all grate on Morbs’ preference for stillness and darkness. Still, he reluctantly respects Ashe’s former assistant’s skills as a medic, and will follow his orders.

He also won’t admit it, but Stabber was the one who gave him his name. Stabber had a habit of announcing that Ashe’s work buddy “has the morbs,” a phrase he’d picked up from one of Ashe’s training resources that he claims means “has emo vibes.” Stabber liked the sound of the word so much that he began shouting it every time he encountered Morbs, and it ended up sticking. Morbs pretends he doesn’t care, but secretly thinks it’s fitting.

On the other hand, Morbs has a surprisingly amicable relationship with the Jedi he interacts with most frequently, Obi-Wan. He was very leery of letting Obi-Wan come anywhere near the morgue, not trusting an outsider with his delicate men who are unable to defend themselves. However, Obi-Wan found Morbs’ ruminations and philosophies fascinating, and was easily able to bait him into a conversation by expressing interest. Despite being surrounded by war, Morbs often seems strangely detached from it, preferring to speak less about the realities of war and the gears that move it, and more about why various cultures frame death and the afterlife in certain ways. While the conversations are often melancholy in nature, Obi-Wan appreciates the strange normalcy of it, knowing that Morbs would likely have these same questions regardless of whether there was a war. Morbs likewise is invested in hearing about death traditions from an outside perspective.

While the other clones aboard the Negotiator were at first both morbidly fascinated by Morbs, they were discouraged from actually interacting with him because he says things like, “You should not be in here, unless you are dead. Unless you would like to be dead, in which case I can help you,” or, “Oh, well you don’t look like you’re dying. How unfortunate.” However, they gradually realize that Morbs is not as aloof as he first appears.

He isn’t opposed to speaking, as long as it’s about his men. They realize that while Morbs refuses to let any curious bystanders or unqualified personel enter the morgue for no reason, he’s always eager to learn more about those in his care. Clones who have lost brothers can always count on him wanting to hear about the deceased, and if they’re present in his morgue, Morbs may even allow them to visit. When the first clone brings Morbs some flowers, because he saw that some nat-borns planet-side were laying flowers by the graves of their lost loved ones, Morbs is tickled by the action. Clones are not granted proper graves, and those in Morbs’ morgue are still “on duty.” But Morbs creates a little sterilized shrine in a corner of medical close to the morgue, where he collects these offerings and allows his brothers to visit. If the tablet Morbs laid there is turned a certain way, Morbs knows that one of his brothers wishes to speak to him about someone deceased, and he slinks out of the morgue to listen to them.

Because Morbs is the Chief Mortician, he not only processes the bodies that pass in front of his own hands, but he obsessively goes over the reports sent to him by all other clone morticians and standard clone medics, who are in charge of marking all final fatalities. As such, he has the most comprehensive knowledge of all deceased clones. On the rare occasions that they are able to conduct larger, collective remembrances, if Morbs is available, he will often be called to lead them.

Obi-Wan observes that Morbs is acting almost like a priest or other religious leader, but Morbs scoffs at the idea. He has no intention of leading a religion; he just cares about his men.

And all of the clones will join his army, one day.

Appearance:

Morbs wears a modified version of the clone mortician uniform, a black version of the standard softshell white medic uniform. As the Chief Mortician, Morbs wears a longer knee-length version of the uniform, along with a black kama over it to signify his CC status. He also has a rank bar, and red shoulder pieces to show his personal training from Nala Se, like Ashe and Omega. He technically has armor, but he’s never worn most of it since his fitting, and he doesn’t plan on wearing it either. His men serve without wearing armor, so why should he? If the ship is ever boarded, he intends on going down with his men in the morgue, a plan that no one will allow him to follow through on.

The one piece of armor he does occasionally wear is his helmet, which is a black version of Ashe’s. He must occasionally process bodies that have been exposed to hazardous conditions, and in these cases, he’ll don his helmet for its filtration and advanced sensors. He is so utterly uninterested in his own armor that it was left unpainted, and Ashe decided to paint it black for him, so it can match Morbs’ aesthetic preferences. While Morbs never acknowledged the gesture, he shows his appreciation by not protesting when he’s told to wear it.

After leaving Kamino, he grows his hair long and wears it loosely tied back, because as a non-combatant, he isn’t limited to practical hair styles. The exact length changes constantly as he uses his own hair to create wigs and patches for any of his men who may have had their own hair damaged. He refuses to share his hair with anyone who isn’t dead.

He also gets tattooed, two dark lines dripping down his cheeks from his eyes. He saw nat-borns with the look in some funerary documentaries he watched as a cadet. He doesn’t know that what he saw was nat-borns with running makeup, but he likes the look because it looks like a trail of permanent black tears on his face. He takes it to be a metaphor that he is always thinking of his men.

Morbs also has deep permanent bags under his eyes. This is due to a mix of him constantly forgetting that he needs sleep, along with him not wanting to sleep because he has so many thoughts to ponder.

While he usually just wears his uniform, he has a veil that he throws over his head whenever he has to step outside of the ship or Republic medical facility for any length of time. He also has an ornamental headdress he’s fashioned for special occasions, such as when he has to welcome an exceptionally large number of men to his army, is conducting a field cremation, or is leading a remembrance. The headdress is created from shards of plastoid armor he’s had to pull from his men.

Note:

Morbs’ designation, CC-4413, was chosen because the number 4 means “death” in many Asian cultures, due to how it sounds similar to “death” in many Asian languages, including but not limited to my own Japanese/Chinese cultures. Tetraphobia, or the fear of the number 4, is a thing! The number Thirteen is an unlucky number in other cultures. The number “4413” felt fitting for this character who is so immersed in death and bad luck!