the tubes are leaking

Here you are, @pokeharvest - Ooh, you should write a Scotty one where the reader is in engineering and names all the little parts of the ship, and at first Scotty is like “woah and people think I’m nuts about the Enterprise” but then he finds himself joining in on it, confusing everyone else

Word Count: 2007

Author’s Note: I took a few liberties with your request. I hope you enjoy it! PS, TOS Enterprise is approximately ⅓ the size of AOS Enterprise. Despite the fact that my blueprints allow for 250 crew on the Enterprise, TOS Bones once said there was 430-ish people on the Enterprise, so there’s obviously some wiggle room in interpreting size. That means AOS Enterprise could have a crew of 750-1200, depending, but I couldn’t find a definitive answer. Also, aside from size, no new specs on AOS Enterprise. So I had to do a little faking. The swimming pool and bowling alley are totally on the blueprints I have of TOS Enterprise though, they just have nothing really to do with the work of an engineer. Also, I hope I didn’t vilify poor Appleton too much. I’ve been dealing with a bully at work, and it just… bubbled over into the story. P.S. The best part of this was trying to find a song about how currents work, and re-discovering School House Rock’s Electricity.

“Mr. Scott, this ship is huge. I’m worried I’m going to get lost,” one of the other newly assigned grads blinked her eyelashes in a show of wide-eyed innocence that made you want to gag. Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer on the U.S.S. Enterprise, quirked an eyebrow and turned to face her.

“Aye, lass. She’s a little over 700 metres in length -”

“725, sir,” you interrupted. You couldn’t help yourself. You’d spent most of your last year at the Academy fantasizing about being assigned to the fleet’s flagship. Studying the Enterprise specs had been your geeky little secret hobby. Stepping off the shuttle onto her had felt like coming home. There was nothing out of place. It looked exactly as you’d imagined, you suspected largely in part thanks to the handsome Scotsman standing at the head of your Engineering bay orientation. His blue eyes flicked over to assess you, and the hint of a smile lit his face.

“I love the enthusiasm of new grads,” he grinned. “Thank you, Ensign?”

“Y/L/N,” you provided. Ensign Eyelashes glared at you for the rest of the orientation, obviously angry that you’d distracted Mr. Scott’s attention.

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anonymous asked:

Teacher!Jughead? ☺️😳

Long after the school day had ended, she sat there with Mr. Jones as they both huddled over the table, their safety goggles harshly digging into their cheeks as they prepare the experiment.

“You wanted me to pour this one?” She asked him, double-checking.

Normally, Jughead didn’t make a habit of hanging out with students after school had ended, but she was a long-time family friend, and notoriously awful at science, as she elected to pay more attention to physical fitness. He didn’t mind tutoring her, though sometimes it was very tedious.

He nodded.

As she tried transferring the chemical from one tube to the next, the stream of liquid poured incorrectly and leaked down the front of her, staining her shirt and shorts. At first, she reacted with a sheepish smile and a blush, but as the chemical soaked it and started to burn, she turned to him with a worried expression.

He already knew, knowing that this was a dangerous substance.

“Quick, take them off!” Jughead shouted as he took the tubes from her hands and set them down on the table.

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Here is the latest addition to my sketching spoonie project. The model offered this description:

“When I was diagnosed with gastroparesis, at the same time I was told I would need a feeding tube. Unfortunately, my stomach doesn’t work at all – if I eat food it just sits there for days on end. I welcome the addition of the feeding tube, as it gives me some control back, but the tube isn’t the easiest thing to adjust to. Granulation tissue occurs because the body tries to constantly heal the tube site, and the site leaks making it worse. It gets so sore and it bleeds, and the pain is awful. The only treatment available to me is to cauterize it, which can sometimes make it worse, and having an open wound is always putting you at risk of infection. It is a terrible part of the tubie lifestyle, but it is a sacrifice that I have to make.”

Thank you again to everyone who has modelled and generally supported this project! If you are interested or have questions or comments, you can message me here or at my address!


I know what all the Mary Sue Litmus Tests say, how you’re supposed to view your characters as tools for getting a story across instead of people you might have emotions toward.

Spoiler alert: That’s a terrible fucking way to view them. 

If you want to write a good story, your characters need to be people. They need to have their own desires and deepest fears. You need to be able to get inside their heads and answer questions like, how do they squeeze their toothpaste out of the tube? Do they squeeze from the bottom or from the middle–or do they leave the cap off and slam their fist down on the tube that’s already leaking out onto the counter? When they get up in the morning, do they make their bed? If the answer is yes, if your character gets up in the morning and finds out that they’re late, do they make their bed anyway?

The more things you can answer, the better you’re going to know your characters. They can’t just be cut-outs, tropes, clichés, if you really want to write well. And if a character is going to be a trope, you’d best be sure you’re pulling it off, and that they’re not just a lazy version of what they could be. Motivation is one of the keys (I won’t say it’s the key, because a character can have motivation and still be two-dimensional) to a well-rounded character. If you’re writing a bitchy soccer mom, why is she that way? Was she raised to be rude to employees, or does she think that, by acting rude, she can hide her insecurity about never getting the best for her children–something her parents never really strove for? (Before someone tries to accuse me of supporting being rude to employees, it’s an example I just came up with off the top of my head, so hush.)

Not every character has to be sympathetic. But I’ll say this: It’s going to be hard to write a character who is 100% good or 100% bad, and still have them feel like people. A mindlessly evil villain is going to be boring. A perfect protagonist is going to be even more boring.

There are five questions that every author must be able to answer about his or her protagonist (and every major character, really). I’ll list them first, and then introduce each one:

  1. Who is your character?
  2. What do they want?
  3. What’s in their way?
  4. Do they get what they want?
  5. If so, how? If not, why not?

1.  The first one can be the hardest. Because it’s not some, “oh, John is a 46-year-old man with a wife and two daughters and he owns a–” No. Get out.
Who are they? Is your character a woman who’s used to getting what she wants? Or, alternately, is it more that she never gets what she wants, so she feels entitled, because she thinks the world owes her? Is your character a man who only ever sees the best in people, no matter how many times they hurt him? You have to know these kinds of things. You don’t have to write it explicitly on the page (actually, please, don’t do that), but you have to know it in your head, and you have to let it flourish in everything your character does.

2.  I find the second one to be a bit easier to answer, mostly because it’s what drives the entire story. But, like last time, this isn’t the entry-level shit. Sure, your guy might want to pull off that dangerous maneuver in his fighter jet, but is it about the plane or is it about proving himself to the pilots who call him a momma’s boy? Does this girl really want her mother to dance with her at her wedding reception as much as she wants her mother to accept that she’s just married a woman?

3.  This next one is where you start to introduce that internal/external conflict kind of stuff. What comes between your character and their goal? This one is a bit more straightforward. In school you learn about “Man vs Man,” “Man vs Environment,” “Man vs Self,” etc, and you’re expected to be able to fit every story you read in class into one box. Does the protagonist struggle with his fear of crossing bridges, OR is it the bridge that’s the problem? Few middle school teachers will bother to let you know that more than one of those things can apply to the same story, even to the same character, in the same moment. So you grow up thinking that, if you can’t sort writing into one nifty category or another, you must be doing something wrong, when the truth is–life is messy. Lifelike writing is messy.

4.  You don’t always need a black-or-white answer to this one, especially if ‘yes’ might mean that the whole story conveniently wraps up in a pretty bow just in time for the conclusion. But ‘no’ doesn’t guarantee a great story, either. And it’s okay not to be entirely sure yourself which one fits better. Just be sure that, whatever your answer, it’s reflected in your story.

5.  So long as you have thought-out answers for the first four (and they’re, you know, there in the story), this one should be a breeze. The ‘no’ might be a bit trickier, only in that you might not expect the true reason. Just try not to sweat it, try not to overthink it.

Answering these five questions is the best way to get to know your character, as well as the story in which you’ve set them. I’m not going to touch on things like physical design, because that’s not what this post is about, and things like describing your character in the context of the story will be under Point Of View. I’ll make a separate post about voice as well.

Before I go, here’s something for all you people who write fanfiction, because I’m sure you’re thinking, “well, this post doesn’t apply to me, because I’m not the one making up the characters.” A hint, if you will. A “hack.” You use those ready-made characters like little paper dolls, never getting inside their heads and making them seem like people? Your readers might applaud you (because, let’s face it, fanfiction readers aren’t there to be critical–they read the garbage I published at age 14 and said it was good shit), but you’ve completely ignored what it means to write. I get it–it’s easier to say to your readers, “well, you know who they are already, because you’ve watched all seventy-five seasons of Supernatural, so I’m just going to jump right in on my self-indulgent smut.” But you have to be able to answer those character questions, both from the canon and from your story alone, if you want to hold yourself to the same standard as people who make up everything themselves.

anonymous asked:

What does Iso bleed? Oil? Magic?

If Isocteur is hit in right spot, the tubes that carry coolant may be cut. It’s what keeps him from overheating, and it’s VERY dangerous for one of those tubes to be leaking. The most immediate danger is the risk of short-circuiting, it is a fluid after all, but if it isn’t patched up FAST, he’ll very quickly begin to overheat. If it isn’t fixed and the fluid runs out too fast, he could potentially go through a meltdown if he can’t proceed with an emergency shutdown quickly enough. 

It’s the most painful way for him to die. 

Paws Fur Coffee (Coffee Shop AU) [5/6]

Now we’re in the home stretch! Di Streste is my other akumasona, and Indecision belongs to @miraculous-mask (thanks for letting me borrow her, sorry I didn’t do more with the fight orz)

Suggestion: please have this song in the background when you read the last section (you’ll know it when you see it).

[Ao3] [1] [2] [3] [4]

Wednesday morning that week, once he got out of class, Adrien got a text from an unknown number.

  [Hey Adrien! It’s Alya. Marinette hasn’t been home in three days, do you mind checking up on her for me? I’m a little trapped in the newspaper office myself right now.]

He instantly mashed the call option on his screen.

“What do you mean she hasn’t been home in three days?!”

The girl just snorted over the line, realizing his panic. “You didn’t know that art and design students have their final projects due a week before finals? The girl holed herself up in the A&D building to finish everything early for once.”

Well, at least he got the relief she wasn’t actually missing. Even though this was a normal thing for anyone in those majors to the point that the campus installed showers in the bathrooms there, Alya explained, Marinette gets a little too focused sometimes and forgets that she’s a human with basic human needs.

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anonymous asked:

Vi was running a slightly different route through the woods as usual, resulting in her getting a little lost. After fending off some monsters, she found an old laboratory. Her curosity won against her common sense and she entered, to find it completely deserted except for a test tube that was glowing strangely pink. She began to hack the Controls, opening the tube, (@vivalkonen)

*soon the slime leaked out and turned into a puddle and soon the slime turned into a girl with big breasts a hourglass shape body and a big butt* “thanks for saving me

The NASA Village

Today in the NASA Village… Environmental Monitoring: How Clean is it?

So, the International Space Station has been operating for 16 years now. Do you wonder how clean is the air astronauts breathe or the surfaces that the astronauts touch each day? Are there hazardous levels of bacteria or other toxic components in the drinking water supply? Obviously on this (18+ year) long duration endeavor, we have to monitor the air quality, the microbial content of the air, surfaces, and water, the sound levels we are experiencing, and the radiation doses that we are being exposed to. These data are not only critical for safety of the astronauts while on board, but for long term occupational health monitoring. Future deep space explorers will benefit from lessons we are learning now. 

Needless to say, there are some specialized pieces of hardware that we have to know how to operate in order to perform this environmental monitoring. Elisca Hicks first joined NASA by working in the Education and Outreach Program. She later transitioned to the Space Medicine Training team in 2005. Elisca currently has a dual role in the Space Medicine Training Team. She is an instructor, she teaches the environmental monitoring hardware to Space Station crew members, but she also coordinates multiple medical student and doctor programs at Johnson Space Center. 

This media slide containing mold is what Elisca teaches us to use. This helps us identify if there are issues or areas that need our additional attention.

This picture shows mold found growing on a kit that was being used in an experiment. Inside the kit were tubes that contained a swab and liquid in them. The tubes were damaged (cracked lids) and they leaked, causing the mold to grow on the kit.

Here Elisca is showing me how to place the media tray in the microbial air sampler.

Consider that the lack of gravity means that dust does not collect just on the upper surfaces, but on all the surfaces. The ventilation system moves a lot of the debris to the filters, but electrostatic forces result in the potential for debris to collect pretty much anywhere. The worst air quality can be seen when the callouses of the crew members feet begin to come off about month 2. Remember, we are not using the bottoms of our feet for walking, so we actually get callouses on the tops of our toes from sliding them under handrails!

Next time on the NASA Village… You Need to Experience It.

Do you want more stories? Find our NASA Villagers here!

To be clear on the topic of Fallout 4 (and Fallout lore in general), Bioware is still pretty tops in the character interaction field of things. HOWEVER! When Bethesda turns out a Fallout game I imagine the entire company meticulously filling a table with my favorite fragile emotions, turning into a cat, and then shoving shit off the table as I play. The dead, unnamed skeleton of a scientist, feet away from a hatch leading to a shelter. The corpse of a random person stuck in a personal survival tube, either starved or killed by rads leaking in regardless. Pieced together notes about Vault-Tec purposefully murdering shelters full of people for kicks. And it is murder. Just murder that they observed and “did science” with. The Garys. Deathclaws. The fucking Witchcraft Museum in Salem? Fallout is a damned emotional troll and all it takes is a couple of chairs, a couple skeletons, a bottle of alcohol, and a well-placed pistol to tell you exactly what sad is happening NAO.

Last night I dreamed of a strange critter. In my mind they were called “Orphans,” for reasons I don’t know. Spent most of the dream tracking them, and only barely, briefly saw them at the very end.

Human shaped but lacking any clear features or appendages through their full-body covering of greasy, tangling black hair. On the head were three fleshy tubes that looked like horns, from which minor amounts of gas leaked out.

Had no face, just a large, empty space that was noted to be the “mouth.” Looked like someone took an ice cream scoop and scooped away everything from just below the forehead all the way to the bottom jaw.

The “guide” in the dream said that they smelled indescribably foul, and would release an even WORSE stench if bothered, and I think that was my dream’s way of interpreting my dog’s gas, which woke me up just seconds after seeing the Orphans for the first time and getting a good whiff of their “indescribable foulness.”

Imagine being on a game show

You shifted nervously backstage. When you had received a letter in the mail that you would be able to get a cash prize that would cover your university fees in full, you jumped at the chance. But now, you were worried about what you had signed up for. It was the first episode of the game show. Maybe you should have waited until you watched a few contestants from home before deciding to participate.

“Now, are you ready to meet your first contestant?” The host asked. The crowd roared in response.

The woman standing next to you listened to something in her earpiece before ushering you forward, “Good luck,” You weren’t sure if you were just hearing things, but it seemed that it was more of a warning than anything else.

You walked out onto the stage, the crowd growing louder as you approached the host. You were so nervous. You had never been on TV before. You had called your family and told them to watch, hoping that they would be able to see you win a glorious prize.

The host was attractive, tall with dark hair. He had a cute little conversation with you about who you were and why you had joined the show. He was quite charming.

With a flourish, he returned his attention to the audience, “Well then. Are you ready to start the show?” The crowd screamed and waved, “Then let’s get started!” He gestured behind him, where the floor opened up to reveal a chair. You had never seen anything like it. You fidgeted nervously, wondering what it was for. The game show’s synopsis had been vague. You knew that there was some sort of punishment involved, but it hadn’t specified on the form.

The host led you over to the chair. You sat down. Metal bands immediately snapped over your wrists and ankles, keeping you in place. You were surprised, but didn’t fight back. It was probably for your own safety, so you kept still.

“In this show, we have a penalty that’s never been seen before,” The host explained, “First, a little dose of something special,” He revealed a needled syringe, sticking it into your hip and emptying it into your body. At first, nothing happened. After a few seconds, however, you felt your body grow hot. You squirmed in your chair, becoming more and more uncomfortable. You had never been so turned on before. You tried rubbing your thighs together to get rid of the ache, but nothing worked.

“Second, preparation for our show’s penalty,” He brandished a pair of scissors, cutting your clothes from your body. You tried to escape the chair, but you weren’t strong enough. You opened your mouth to tell him to stop, only for him to cover his microphone with his hand, “You signed up for this, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready,” He winked before once again turning to the audience. You couldn’t believe this. You were naked in front of hundreds of people. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You hoped that your family wasn’t watching. Sure, there were plenty of game shows involving nudity, but you hadn’t been prepared for this.

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” The host held out his arm toward you. The chair suddenly shifted. You were leaned back, your legs spread and knees bent. Your eyes widened, knowing that you were bare for the world to see. You tried to ask the host what was going on, only for something to prod against your entrance. Before you could react, it shoved itself as far as it could go. You cried out, the crowd drinking in your discomfort. You glanced to one of the screens that you could see. It was a tube. You forced yourself to breathe slowly. You were fine. You would win the cash prize.

“Now, it’s time to explain the show we have in store for you,” The host smiled, still so charismatic despite having you in such a compromising position right next to him, “You, my dear little contestant have been injected with a fertility drug. I’m going to ask you twenty questions. For every correct answer, more money will be added to your total. For every wrong answer, you’ll be impregnated.”

You froze, eyes widening. He couldn’t be serious. The crowd was loving it, clearly in on the whole ploy from the start. You were speechless. You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t get pregnant now. You were halfway through university. You wouldn’t be able to continue your education while caring and providing for children.

“Now, the real challenge is the bonus question at the end. If you get it right, you get all of the money you’ve earned and your pregnancy will be reversed. If you get it wrong, then you don’t get the money and you’ll have to carry your baby, or babies, to term. You’ll stay here with us on the show so we can check on your progress every week until you give birth, which will be a special after-show,” The crowd cheered once again, “So, are you ready to begin your quiz?”

You didn’t have a choice. You had signed up for this. The show was live. They wouldn’t let you go now. Besides, you needed that money. The show’s practice questions had all been based on elementary school level classes, so you were bound to get through the questions and get the maximum amount of prize money. You nodded.

“Alright, first question: who founded the Icelandic town of Hofn?”

This had to be some sort of joke. Such a trivial question was the opposite of what had been advertised in the game show’s pamphlet. You stared at the host, his grin only widening as you hesitated. You didn’t know the answer. You doubted anyone in the audience knew that answer.

“We need an answer, sweetheart,” The host gestured to the clock counting down.

You swallowed thickly. You were already off to a horrible start. Maybe they always made one question hard on purpose, just to add a bit of tension. You shook your head, “I-I don’t know.”

The crowd cooed in response, but you knew that they weren’t on your side. They were all fidgeting in their chairs, waiting for your punishment to begin.

“Oh dear,” The host pretended to be upset, though he still seemed as vibrant as ever, “You know what a wrong answer means.”

The chair whirred beneath you, a thick liquid bubbling up the tube and into your entrance. With nowhere for it to go, it moved further into your body. By the time the machine stopped, your belly was slightly distended. You watched the screen fearfully, waiting.

Pressure suddenly overtook your womb, swelling outward. You groaned in pain, a new weight added between your hips. The crowd cheered, some of them already quite aroused.

“Question two…”

They had tricked you. All of the questions were so specific. Even the ones that you thought you had known the answer to were still judged as wrong by some technicality. Each time you answered a question wrong and more fluid was pumped into your womb, your belly rolled outward with yet another child. By the fifth, you were sweaty and squirming as your breasts leaked milk. On the tenth question, the tube had started moving to distract you. They were deliberately sabotaging you. The pace increased whenever you were about to answer, rendering your words useless as your back arched with yet another orgasm. They hooked you up to breast pumps after the fifteenth question, adding further humiliation and arousal. Some of the audience members looked like they were about to jump out of their seats, pull the tube from your entrance, and fuck you until they were empty to add their children to your growing belly.

As a special treat for the audience, the show had a quick raffle after the twentieth question. Those who wanted to participate had to pay in order to get their tickets put into the draw. Men jumped up, emptying their wallets and draining their credit cards. You watched the screen in horror. You were already so full. You had answered all twenty questions wrong. There were twenty babies inside of you. And they wanted to add more. Your womb was filled to the brim. You weren’t sure if another would fit.

The host remained by your side, rubbing his free hand over your stomach as he talked into the microphone to sell more raffle tickets. The contents of your womb were displaced with his touch, the weight moving around. You were gasping for air from both arousal and the heaviness. Each little shift was sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. The tube was still thrusting inside of you, but its pace was lazy. They wouldn’t let you orgasm unless it was beneficial for them. You squirmed. You didn’t know how long the gestation would be, but you already looked heavily pregnant.

“Ah, all of the tickets have been collected, I see,” The host beamed. The same woman that had ushered you on stage carried a bowl full of tickets to the host, who swirled his hand around before pulling a single slip, “Number 2398!”

A man got up from a row close to the front, holding up his own copy of the ticket. He was brought in front of you. You could see the bulge in his pants. He wore a suit that looked more expensive than all of your university expenses combined. His gaze swept over your form, his smirk growing. He could clearly afford to buy countless tickets without putting so much as a dent into his bank accounts.

“You’re quite the lucky man,” The host grinned, “You’ve won the chance to get your own turn with our darling little contestant!”

The rest of the crowd either cheered at the notion of an intimate show or groaned because their ticket hadn’t been chosen. The man in the suit loosened his tie, slipping it from his collar. He unbuttoned his jacket as the tube was pulled from your body. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, only for the man to free himself from his trousers and thrust into you. Your breathing was ragged as he grabbed your hips and moved deeper inside of you. The pace he initiated was slow but rough. You gripped the arms of the chair in an attempt to keep yourself grounded and focused on something other than what was buried between your thighs. But the fertility drug you had been dosed with was too potent and the babies rolling around in your stomach were bumping against every sweet spot you didn’t know you had. It wasn’t long before you and the man in the suit were both on the brink of release. His grip on you was bruising as each thrust became harder and deeper. You moaned with every movement. You couldn’t think of anything else but the heavenly orgasm you would have. Your family could be watching in horror as you were fucked on live television, but you merely begged for more.

You cried out, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your legs quivered, chest heaving with each breath. Your walls twitched around the man, leading him to his own release. He buried himself to the hilt, the familiar heat pooling against your womb. Your stomach rolled outward again to accommodate your twenty-first child. He removed himself from your body and composed himself, though his hair was still disheveled and he wasn’t wearing his tie.

A bell sounded. You tensed a bit. It was the same noise they had used when you failed to answer a question.

The host frowned, though you could still see the amusement in his eyes, “Oh dear, you were so busy having fun that you were unable to answer the bonus question. That means that you’ve lost our little game. You’re be staying with us and you’ll keep your babies.”

“What?” They had tricked you again. They had distracted you so you wouldn’t be able to answer the question. You would have to carry all of your babies to term. All twenty-one of them. Tears filled your eyes, “No, you can’t-” You were interrupted by the tube once again thrusting into your entrance.

The host smiled, rubbing his hand over your stomach and keeping the microphone away from his face, “There’s just a few terms for your contract here with us. You’ll stay with us and we’ll provide you with everything you need. In exchange, the entire staff and anyone that pays well enough gets to use you however they like,” He winked, “Which includes me. You’ll give birth to all of your little darlings on a live special after the main show. If you go into labor before that, we’re going to keep those babies inside of you until the main show is over. We can’t be cutting into one program to show another,” He smiled, brushing your damp hair away from your face, “We’re also planning on a special season finale. All of the fan favourites will come back to play again with even more at stake. Since you were the first contestant in our show, you’re shoe-in to be selected.”

Two workers began to wheel you off stage, the breasts pumps and tube still whirring. You squirmed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The host waved as you left, then turned back to the audience, “Now, then, for our second contestant of the show!”

anonymous asked:

HC: omega!dan being sent outside by master!alpha!phil to go get something, which he usually never sends dan to do, but when dan does get outside his heat starts and a random alpha has his way with dan and then dan goes back into phils flat all bruised and still in heat and tries to get to the bathroom to clean up because he thinks if phil sees him he'll throw him out forever. then well phil sees him limping to the bathroom and covered in bruises. (thank you and sry 4 how long this is m8)

It’s okay xx I hope this is what you were looking for!


-”Dan, can you run to the store and get some stuff for dinner?” Phil asks, looking up from his computer. “I don’t think we have much and the groceries don’t come in until tomorrow.”

-”Of course, Master,” Dan says, coming to get Phil’s credit card and kissing him on the cheek. He goes outside and starts the quick walk to the tube, when he feels a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. Dan chalks it up to being hungry and keeps walking. Right before he gets on the tube, he freezes. He feels slick starting to leak from between his thighs and bites back a whine. He should go back home to Phil, but he can’t just ignore getting the groceries like he’s supposed to; his Alpha sent him to get food, and he has to do that. Biting his lip, Dan takes off his sweater and ties it around his waist so that it hides his slick and his boner, leaving him in just his thin t-shirt despite the chilly air.

-Miraculously, Dan leaves the store without incident, and gets onto the tube carefully. He’s almost home. What Dan doesn’t notice is the alpha across from him staring with hungry eyes. As he’s walking home, the Alpha follows behind, until Dan passes by an alleyway, where he’s dragged in.

-”Wh- who are you? What are you doing?” Dan asks, writhing to escape the grip of the alpha holding him tightly. “Let m-me go.”

-”You smell so nice, baby. You came out here in your heat and I can’t wait to feel the slick all over your little omega body.”

-”NO! Let go of me! Help!” Dan screams as he realizes what’s happening.  After pushing him against the wall, the Alpha demands he shut up and yanks down Dan’s pants, holding Dan’s mouth shut with one hand. As Dan cries and screams, the Alpha fingers him open with his free hand and slaps his ass. Suddenly, the Alpha is undoing his own jeans and pushing into Dan despite how much he’s shaking his head and screaming himself hoarse. Against his will, Dan comes with a shout. He collapses against the brick and sobs, waiting for the Alpha to be done.

-”Kinda want to take you home with me, keep you as my dirty little whore,” the Alpha says, biting at Dan’s neck. “But I don’t have the room, so I guess you’ll have to go back to wherever you came from.”

-After the man comes, he leaves Dan there, littered with bruises and leaning against the wall, loudly sobbing and hiccuping. He gathers himself for twenty minutes before standing up and going back home, struggling to carry his bags with him as he limps along the sidewalk. Once he gets inside, Dan sets the groceries on the counter and tries to get to the bathroom to wash off the scent of the Alpha. He wants to throw up.

-”Dan, what took so long?” Phil asks, coming into the room, but pausing when he sees Dan. “What the hell?” Dan bursts into tears, so Phil walks over and picks Dan up, cradling him to his body, wincing when Dan yelps in pain. “What happened? You smell like heat, and another Alpha.”

“Master, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I said no, I swear, I didn’t want it!” Dan cries, grabbing onto Phil’s shirt with his shaking hands.

-”Calm down, Omega, can you do that for me? Start from the beginning,” Phil says, bringing Dan to the bathroom and starting to run him a bath.

-”I was w-walking back home and this Alpha d-dragged me into an alley a-and he touched me. I s-said no and I c-cried but he wouldn’t s-stop.”

-”Dan, it’s okay, it wasn’t your fault,” Phil assures, adding bubbles to the water and carefully helping Dan out of his clothes. “When you’re done taking a bath, do you need me to take care of you again?”

-”I d-don’t know,” Dan whispers as Phil sets him in the warm water, stripping his own clothes off to get in. Obediently Dan leans forward as Phil gets in behind him, pulling Dan back against his chest and rubbing Dan’s arm gently.

-”I love you, you’re safe.”

-”I l-love you too, Master.”


Ahh sorry this is short and unedited I hope this is what you wanted!

Send me hcs and sins

Day 31: Perestroika [Pt. 9]

Some action. Some feels. And Spy really doesn’t like the cold. Thanks again to erikonil for her lovely art.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Well, that had gone horribly wrong.

Spy groaned as he gazed up at the gray sky above him. The snow beneath him was starting to melt and soak into his suit in a most uncomfortable way as it mingled with the warm blood he could feel oozing out from his leg. Wiggling a finger, Spy tried to determine the extent of his injuries. It was somewhat surprising that the fall hadn’t killed him, but at this point he was rather wishing it had. Respawn was a highly unpleasant experience, but it was over quickly and would at least have him out of these wet clothes.

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Lab Experiment

when your titles are creative af

Genre: As fluffy as clouds

Pairing: Reader/Yoongi

Length: 934

Summary: Yoongi freaks out when you don’t listen to the teacher’s safety procedures and nearly kill him during a lab experiment.

Originally posted by bts-imagines-scenarios

Slipping in and out of consciousness, your eyes almost shut closed when, for the thousandth time since class started, your head suddenly dipped, slipping from your hand propped up by your elbows. Right before slamming your head into the cold, black surface of the fireproof tables, your eyes popped wide open and you immediately sat with your back straight towards the sky, resembling a deer caught in the headlights. Finally giving up the fight against your body, you rested your arm on the table and plopped your head down, at last closing your eyes to drift off into a place better than school. 

To the side of your ears, you heard your lab partner, Yoongi, chuckling before nudging your arm with his pointy elbows. “Hey sleepy head, she told us to start the lab now,” he mumbled, thankfully trying to keep his voice low and avoid the teacher’s attention.

“What? Huh?” you sat back up, the strain in your neck making you furrow your brows in pain. You squinted your eyes from the sudden change of light, the rays of sunlight shining through the window Yoongi sat by nearly blinded you.

“Did you even listen to her?” He narrowed his eyes at you, rolling his eyes when you shook your head with absolutely no shame or regret on your face. “Okay, just don’t set yourself on fire before I get to make any moves on you…” he muttered so quietly that you couldn’t quite catch what he had said. You cocked one of your eyebrows in confusion, but he just smirked, and turned away to break away from your eyes, using his nimble hands to set the lab experiment up.

“We’re just learning how to set up the equipment and all the basic stuff,” Yoongi informed you without even looking at you. Nodding obediently, you moved out of your seat to turn the knob that would send gas through the tubes and into the bunsen burner. The second the leaking sound of gas running through the tubes registered in your ears, Yoongi jumped back, yelling out in shock, “what the hell?! You don’t just turn it on when my arm is literally right above it?”

“Oh uh, um… sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to,” your eyes widened from Yoongi’s sudden explosion. Luckily the rest of the class was already chattering over your conversation, paying no attention to you and Yoongi.

“Damn I knew you didn’t listen to the teacher, but I thought that you’d AT LEAST have SOME common sense,” Yoongi shook his head in disapproval, pointing at the box of matches laying in front of you. “Well now that it’s on, you might as well finish it,” he then moved his hands to point at the bunsen burner, instructing you to light the gas.

Scared over the stern expression plastered all over his face, you quickly struck a match, holding it between your thumb and forefinger. Your hands were shaking from the fear of messing it all up again, and possibly even scaring away the last lab partner that was willing enough to work with you. A lightbulb lit up in your brain, what seemed like a great idea struck you like a bullet. Instead of lighting the bunsen burner, you grabbed the beaker holding the solution of rubbing alcohol and poured a small puddle of it onto the tabletop. Knowing that the table was fireproof, you threw the match into the alcohol, crossing your arms in pride as the fire came alive.

“Isn’t it awesome?!” You giggled, pointing at the mini fire that had started right in front of you two. You turned away from the fire to observe Yoongi’s expression only to find his jaw wide open, staring at the fire as if it was a monster. “Uh… don’t worry, it’s going to die out soon, the table is fireproof, remember?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” He started to laugh out of the absurd situation, eyebrows knotted as he watched the fire fade away. “Christ… I didn’t know my crush would be so silly,” he chuckled. You laughed along with him, not quite sure what he had just said, but at least he was smiling now. As you cackled in laughter, your hands swiped across the table, accidentally knocking another beaker, spilling whatever substance was in it onto the table.

Yoongi stared at you with all expressions stripped off his face, all sources of his amusement disappeared within a split second. “Really? Not even a second of break?” He loudly sighed, grabbing some towel next to him. “Is that water or HCl?”

“Water, I’m pretty sure…” you squeaked, keeping your eyes down on the table to avoid his glare.

He proceeded to wipe the spill with the paper towels, until he abruptly stopped in the middle of his tracks, freezing and looking up at you once again. “Are you sure this is water?” His eyes hesitantly and slowly followed the trail of liquid to find the label on the beaker that read HCl. Shit.

“I’m SO SO sorry, oh my go-”

“-stop, it’s okay. I’ll just go rinse my hands with soap… you owe me a date,” he mumbled, taking the wet towel with him as he left for the sink.

“A what?” You couldn’t believe your ears, poking your head closer to him to hear him more clearly.

“A date. You owe me a date. Tonight, 9, I’ll pick you up from your house,” he smirked, the tips of his lips curving upward as he winked at you, slyly and swiftly turning around before you could utter another word.

The Client

Written for the prompt:
“Cas’ car breaks down so he takes it to Bobby’s garage for repairs. Dean is the one who works on the car…”
taken from here with a kind permission of amazing @destieldrabblesdaily.

3.5k, AO3 version here.

“Lincoln Continental Mark V,” Bobby said, handing Dean the keys.

The name itself made Dean wince; the car should have been no better, not with its age and make. He did not have a clue why would someone want to repair it.

“The client’s waiting outside,” Bobby added. “Wants to kiss his treasure goodbye.”

He was, indeed. A man in a black Walmart suit, standing beside the light-brown Lincoln with a solemn look of an orphan near a fresh grave. Dean could see just his messy dark hair and back, straight as a billboard. Even through the rusty blinds of Bobby’s office, his first thought was that the client and the car were worth each other.

“He wants us to bury it, uh?”

“He wants its brakes fixed, you idjit,” Bobby snapped, and Dean smirked at a sudden guess that a fancy funeral had already been offered.

“Okay, Bobby,” he said. “The grandpa’ll get a helluva treatment here. I’ll see to it”.

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I’ve always sympathized with women going through their periods because it sounds uncomfortable and painful but since my surgical tubes drains are leaking and I’m constantly getting blood running down my leg and ruining my underpants so I really feel y'all now