#rescue procedure

[mammalidentifier]

Do you know if male mules typically have nipples?

I wasn’t sure and I also couldn’t find a straight answer for that (I’m surprised at how little information there is on animal nipples online. Doesn’t anyone get curious about random topics like this?) so I went down a little rabbit hole and resorted to looking at images and watching videos of male mules being gelded, heh.

Well, what I can tell you is that none of the mules I saw during this brief research had nipples! Of course, the conclusion here isn’t that male mules never have them, since it was a small sample size. But there’s a possibility they might favor their horse half on this aspect!

#Answers #Anonymous #don’t worry about me looking at surgical procedures btw! I’m not squeamish at all #I went to vet school for a few years but also my family rescues abandoned animals since I was a little kid #So I’m super used to seeing all kinds of animal medical interventions.

[oldtvlover]

Hey guys,

and another little series of mine. *grins*

This time it’s about Chet’s Ski Disaster and his efforts to get them repaired as well as himself ready, it seems. And well, what happens again? Poor Cap!

#emergency! #gif set #s05e13 #communications #station 51 #chet's ski disaster #training and repairing for chet #captain hank stanley #mike stoker #chet kelly #marco lopez #johnny gage #roy desoto #there's a fire in a fire station - again #roy to the rescue - again #johnny wants to go with the procedure lol #poor cap

[kuebikome]

So dogs and cats can get abortion safely but women can’t...okay

#for context #its very very common for animals to come in for a spay and after opening them up they discover the embryos or whatevs #and its procedure to void the pregnancy for the animals overall health #I love love love animals and know this thru my extensive work with dogs and rescues but like. cmawn ma #n

[silverreignpersians]

Website: https://www.silverreignpersians.com

Address: Niagara Falls, Canada

Silver Reign, located in Niagara Falls, Canada, specializes in breeding exquisite Silver, Golden, and Blue Shaded Golden Persian cats. With a focus on quality and health, our cattery offers a unique selection of Persian and Exotic kittens, ensuring each cat's well-being and adherence to breed standards. Our offerings extend to pet accessories, including cat teasers, carriers, and dishes, catering to the comprehensive needs of cat enthusiasts.

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#premium cat nutrition advice #understanding cat behavior patterns #seamless cat adoption procedures #dedicated cat rescue organizations #silver golden persian cats #online pet store boutique #international cat awards #global cat shows #comprehensive cat care #nutritious cat nutrition #cat adoption worldwide #global cat rescue organizations #cat health guidance

[rnd8]

⭕️IMPORTANT UPDATE:

dear supporters and donors i am blessed to tell you that due to your generosity. we have reached our financial goal. words cannot express our gratitude for each one-off you.

we are incredibly grateful for your thoughtfulness. due to the last two months complications the fund we had raise so far (Subtract western union transaction fees and GoFundMe commission) will help to evacuate my family, as it's going to cover the traveling cost All the way from Sennar state to Kigali, Rwanda and life expenses for the first three months.

You've been with us since the beginning of our journey of seeking financial help. as now we are in shortage of 3000 USD, which is the minimum of (show money in the airport) for a Sudanese family, as Rwanda has lunched new procedures for Sudanese due to the security situation in Sudan. also, this amount of money will be used to stablish a business to support our self in Kigali.

Thank you again for coming to rescue my family

Salam

My family is still trapped in Sudan , under the threatening to be displaced again.

Kindly, share the link of the fundraiser that's my friend organized to help us reaching our goal ✨️💛.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-my-family-flee-sudans-war

⭕️ My campaign on X:

https://twitter.com/_Rnd8/status/1776972450921623940?t=5oyGITsNzwjDZQrWGVfouQ&s=19

#keep eyes on sudan #free sudan #sudan crisis #save sudan #eyes on darfur #sudan genocide #sudan updates #donations #gofundme #Sudan #donate #free palestine #free palstine #Gaza

[animalsgettingmedicalimaging]

She is so young and isn’t getting medical imaging here, but she is about to be tube fed and have her morning temp taken.

Out loud reacted “no it isn’t!!!” It’s a seel. Like a baby

#jalapeno #jalapeño #baby seal #seal rescue #photos of animals having medical imaging or procedures done that look silly are far and few between here #seal #Cornwall seal rescue #bbc #under the weather #animals #medical imaging #vet #rescue #animal rescue #baby animal

[jettlawrence]

.

#how am i supposed to focus on going insane from barry when not understanding the information for one of my classes and getting a bad grade #makes me want to cry. #bill hader come rescue me pls. let me be your housewife so i don't literally cry over procedural coding #why does it have to be complicated anyway???? who decided that

[tapuhauko]

@poison-patriarch ; A closed starter

It had been a day or two of them being stuck in the hospital bed now, everything aching and them being extremely overstimulated and exhausted. There was a little light of hope on the horizon though! Koga would be visiting today to try and help with the residual poison lingering. There had been signs of infection, so Hau was being monitored closely. It's not like he minded the extra attention. If anything, it helped distract him a bit from the pain. As the other entered the room, Hau perked up slightly from his position propped up against the pillows, wanting to wave but stopping himself at the last moment.

"Alola!" A small smile, though he must look awful right now. Hibi, his Alolan Raichu, floated on over, happily greeting as well.

"Thank you for coming at such short notice."

#poison patriarch #of sunshine and thunderstorms ; ic #hospital cw #hospital procedures cw #ask to tag jic! #koga to the rescue

[heritageposts]

. . . ‘Hannibal Directive’ is the name of a controversial procedure used by the Israeli army to prevent, at any cost the capture of soldiers by enemy forces.  The directive, according to Eyal Weizmann, the founder of Forensic Architecture, dictates that “the kidnapping must be stopped by all means, even at the price of striking and harming our own forces”. According to testimonies by Israeli settlers in the Israel-Gaza border region, the Israeli military had killed many of its own citizens as if to prevent the Resistance from taking them as hostages. These reports even made their way to the Israeli media.  Yasmin Porat, a survivor from the Kibbutz Be’eri, near the fence separating Gaza from Israel, said in an interview with Israeli Radio that Israeli forces “undoubtedly” killed a large number of Israeli civilians following the Hamas operation on October 7. “They eliminated everyone, including the hostages,” she told Israeli radio. “There was very, very heavy crossfire and even tank shelling.” Considering that, per Hamdan’s counter, at least nine Israeli hostages and captives have been killed by the Israeli military – in addition to the latest female soldier – and the failure of Israel to rescue a single hostage – the initial question imposes itself once more: Is Israel killing its own hostages as part of the Hannibal Directive?

. . . continues at PC (16 Des 2023)

#palestine #israel #gaza

[dixieconley]

How did Obi-Wan not notice the thing with R2D2?? And what if he did?

Obi-Wan: We need to talk about your issues with attachment. Anakin: ::panicking, thinking Obi-Wan's found out about his marriage:: You had a relationship with Satine Kryze! Obi-Wan: … And Ki-Adi-Mundi is married. Jedi can have relationships, Anakin. We've talked about this. Anakin: … I think I would have remembered that.

[Many many past conversations: Obi-Wan: ::lecturing:: Attachment… the code… meditation. Anakin: ::busy tinkering:: Yes, yes, master. Whatever you say, master. Obi-Wan: This is fine. This absolutely will not come back to bite me in the ass later.]

Obi-Wan: Regardless, we need to talk about your attachment issues. Anakin: What issues? You just *said* marriage is okay. Obi-Wan: ::derailed:: What's that about marriage? Anakin: This isn't about me and Padme being married? Obi-Wan: … Obi-Wan: No. Anakin: This is about what I did when my mom died then, isn't it? Obi-Wan: … Anakin: ::getting defensive:: They deserved it! Tuskens are animals. Obi-Wan: ::rubbing his nose:: Anakin. Stop guessing. You're literally making this worse with every word out of your mouth. There happens to be a Tusken Jedi. You've *met* him. Anakin:: ::sheepish:: Oh. So, um, what's this about then? ::finally listening for the first time in the past three years:: Obi-Wan: I came here to talk to you about the salvage operation you ran to rescue R2D2. Anakin: ::puzzled:: Master? You ordered me to go on that mission. Obi-Wan: ::pinching his nose:: Anakin, you do realize that the mission would have been completely unnecessary had you just wiped the droid as per procedure? Anakin: But R2's my buddy. I wouldn't do that to him. Obi-Wan: You got all but two of the men who went with you killed in an attempt to rescue a droid! Anakin: So? I would have done the same for Padme. Or Ahsoka, Obi-Wan: … Obi-Wan: You see no issue in trading sentient lives for an inanimate object. That, Anakin is the very definition of attachment and why you either see a mind healer or go to Jedi jail. Anakin: What? You can't make me see a mind healer! Obi-Wan: You're right. Jedi Jail it is. Anakin: Noooo! I'm gonna tell my good friend the Chancellor on you! Obi-Wan: ::fed-up with everything and feeling both sassy and sarcastic:: Oh, and what's he going to do, order the clones to turn on us and massacre all the Jedi right down to the initiates in the creche? The Force: ::shouting:: YES!!! Obi-Wan:: ::facepalm:: That absolutely came back and bit me in the ass.

Later: Cody: You have a Jedi jail? Obi-Wan: No. Cody: Sir? Obi-Wan: Seemed like a safe bet. ::bitter: He obviously ignored everything else I tried to teach him. Cody: Jedi can marry? Obi-Wan: Yes. Cody: Jedi. As in you. Obi-Wan: As in... Cody: ::suddenly two inches closer:: Obi-Wan: ::squeaking:: Me? Cody: ::smoulders:: Obi-Wan: After the war. Chain of command. Would be inappropriate. Because reasons. Cody: I see.

Two days later: Fox: ::eyeing the assortment of munitions Cody's just laid on his desk, including, but not limited to, slug throwers, thermal detonators, a handful of droid poppers and a rotary cannon:: So you say that the chancellor's a direct threat to the military command of the GAR and that I get to kill him if I agree to mute my external audio pickup and follow your orders? Cody: Yes. Is there a problem? ::looms menacingly:: Fox: ::jumps up:: No takesies backsies! Thorn! Thire! It's Lifeday and Cody's just got us all a present!

~~~

Palps gets wrekt. The Corries have the Best. Day. Ever.

Cody and Obi-Wan swear the riduurok. No one is surprised.

The mind healers ending *building* a Jedi jail just so they don't have to listen to Anakin whine any longer. (R2D2 has the option of joining Anakin. Which, no. C3PO is welcome to that. R2D2 is having none of that shit. Time to head back to his original family -- the handmaidens of Naboo. Who will let him have a little murder. As a treat.)

#star wars #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #commander cody #codywan #commander fox #r2d2 #crack fic #sw clone wars

[lyjen]

Mistake

Summary: (Y/n) has been feeling not too well, she’s 18 weeks pregnant but still suffers from nausea. When they’re on shift they somehow get into a hostage situation and they use (y/n)’s nausea as a distraction.

9-1-1 masterlist

________

Evan opened his eyes and he turned onto his side, reaching out beside him. His arm searched for her warm body. When he found his wife, he pulled her closer to his body.

Evan plants a kiss on her shoulder, and continues kissing her until he reaches the crook of her neck. She groans at his touch, and lets her hand go through his curls.

“Goodmorning” she whispered as she kissed his temple. He mumbled a goodmorning back, barely audible because he was still merged into her skin.

“How are you feeling today?” Evan asked, while he removed his face from the crook of her neck.

Since last week (y/n) has been feeling nauseous, she is now 18 weeks pregnant, morning sickness could still happen at this time into pregnancy. So they had nothing to worry about, right?

“I’m fine, better than I felt yesterday” she answered. The day before she spent most of the time hanging with her face above the toilet. But this was actually the first night she was able to sleep through, without getting out of bed to go and throw everything she ate or drank back out.

“Are you sure you’re good to work this afternoon?” He asked while (y/n) turned around in his arms. Without any hesitation she nodded, and placed her hand on his chest. “You know Bobby would understand if you explained, right?”

Evan was worried (y/n) would do more than she could take. She was stubborn, but she knew her limits.

He let his hand slide down and rest on her stomach. “You want to talk to baby Buckley?” She smiled, she knew exactly what Evan wanted. Since they found out she is pregnant, Evan started talking to her belly, every single day. It was now a standard procedure, it didn’t matter to him if it was six in the morning or two at night. He had to talk to baby Buckley.

His hand rubbed up and down over her belly as she turned to lay on her back and sit up, so Evan’s face was in one line with her belly.

“Hello in there” he smiled as he looked up at his wife. Her hand was still stroking through his curly morning hair.

“This is your dad speaking” he softly let his hand rub over her stomach.

“I just wanted to say, be kind to your mom. Don't step on her intestines, mommy has to work and can’t feel sick.” he spoke as he pointed at her belly as a warning sign.

(Y/n) smiled as he pressed a soft kiss to her stomach. “I love you very, very much, but please stop making mommy so sick”

He pressed one last long kiss on her stomach as he pushed himself to the end of the bed. (Y/n) let out a squeal as Evan stood up, put his hands on her legs and pulled her towards him.

Evan let her legs dangle on the end of the bed as he took place between her legs. He put a strand of her morning hair behind her ear as he let both of his hands rest on her cheeks. He pressed a kiss on her lips.

“You would tell me if you weren’t feeling well, right?” He wanted her to know that it was okay to call in sick for a day.

She nodded. “Yes, I would.. But I’m fine, I swear.” her eyes connected with her husband's eyes.

She loved being a firefighter. Just like Eddie, she also could help on the ambulance whenever they needed her to. But her heart belonged to being on truck.

(Y/n) has been put on light duties, and whenever she couldn’t help with rescuing people from buildings or other heavy work, she would help Hen and Chimney out with the ambulance. Some calls she had to sit out, waiting back at the station while the rest of the team had all the fun.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid today during shift.” she spoke softly as she looked at her husband. Evan chuckled. “You know how I am. I can’t promise that.”

She playfully pushed his shoulder, so he almost lost his balance. "Okay! okay! I will try and think before I act.”

“That’s better”

A smile appeared on Evan’s face.“You know what would be even better?” She raised a brow at his words, not knowing his plan. But she knew this look he was giving her..

She felt him come closer, he kissed her once more, and he pushed her back into the mattress with his body. He hovered over her body, she felt his warm breath all over body, leaving goosebumps wherever his breath connected with her skin..

______

“You really shouldn’t be doing that..” Eddie spoke up as he was walking past the truck with (y/n)’s legs sticking out.

A sigh left (y/n)’s mouth when she pushed herself with her legs, from underneath the truck on the roller board. She sat up as she clicked her spine into place. Her vision was blurry for a second, but when she blinked a few times, the blur in front of her eyes seemed to be gone.

“Don’t worry, I already fixed it.” she said as she stood up from the board and grabbed a cloth to wipe her dirty hands with. “You could’ve just asked one of us to do it.” Eddie said, trying to make eye contact with his colleague. “I’m pregnant Eddie, there's nothing wrong with my hands.” She said as she walked past him, pushing the dirty cloth into his chest.

“I’m just saying…” Eddie’s voice spoke up as she walked towards one of the benches in the station where her water bottle was.

”There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.” he continued his sentence as she chugged her water. As if she had run a marathon. (Y/n) gave a disgusted expression and grabbed her stomach as the water was trying to escape her mouth again.

She was basically living on some water and a cracker, she wasn’t hungry this morning and most of what she would eat would leave her body within minutes.

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. “You okay?” He asked as she held her fist to her mouth and closed her eyes for a second.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” she said when she held out her hand as a stop sign. “(Y/n)..”

“Eddie, why don’t you put your nose in someone else’s business.” she held onto her water bottle as she wanted to make a beeline for the stairs.

“I assume that is the hormones talking” he mumbled as he just stayed right where he was.

“I swea-“ just as she wanted to shoot back at him, while pointing her finger at her protective team member, squealing tires and a gunshot rang through the street.

“What the hell was that?” Evan spoke as he jumped down the last two steps of the stairs.

As soon as Eddie heard the gunshots, he clicked on the button to close the garage door. But the door was on fifty percent of closing when a car drove through the garage door into the firehouse and stopped on the ambulance spot.

Hen and Chimney were out with the ambulance on a medical call while the rest of the team was trying to do some tasks inside.

Two guys stepped out of the vehicle, one of the men went to the backseat as he dragged out one more member, his chest fully covered in blood.

“Woah woah!” Evan called out when one of the two men pointed a gun at the three firefighters. (Y/n) took a quick glance behind her, to see if Evan was somewhere near her, seeing what was happening.

Evan’s stomach turned when he reached the lower ground of the firehouse. He was just enjoying his coffee in the loft, only to be interrupted by an arguing duo downstairs, gunshots and squealing tires.

His eyes wandered to his wife as he realized what was happening. Their eyes connected. She had an frightened expression projected all over her face.

The gun the man was pointing at Eddie and (y/n) switched every few seconds between the three firefighters. “Y’all know how to give first aid, right?” the man spoke as he pointed with his free hand to his injured friend.

Eddie tried to stay calm and nodded at his question while he had his hands up in the air. “Good. Then you can help my friend.” he spoke as he pointed the gun at Eddie and walked over to him. Eddie bit his lower lip, and simply gave the guy a dead stare.

“Are you gonna help my guy or what?” the man asked, closing distance between Eddie and him. “Why would we want to help someone who’s threatening us with a gun.” Evan spoke up, stone cold. The man scoffed at Evan’s reaction, and knocked the end of his gun on the side of the firefighter’s head.

A wave of pain went through Evan’s head as he received the ice cold gun to his skin. And his hand made its way to the painful spot. “Alright, let's see if you still won't help us if I did this..” The man grabbed (y/n)’s upper arm and pulled her towards him. A shiver rolled down (y/n)’s spine as she felt a cold metal resting on the side of her head.

“Hey! Don’t you fucking touch her!” Evan’s voice yelled through the massive open space of the 118 firehouse.

His arm was around her neck, pulled strongly around it so she had nowhere to go. She could feel the man laughing at the reaction he got from doing this. The second guy who was still with the injured man pointed his gun at Evan.

Her breath was shaking, she was terrified to take another breath. (y/n) didn’t want to believe what was happening right now. She felt like she was going to be sick. She tried to stay strong, to not show any weakness. But when she closed her eyes and squeezed them, a tear rolled over her cheek.

“Okay! okay! We will help you. But first, you got to let her go man..” Eddie tried to make a compromise. The man shook his head at first. “Look. She’s a paramedic. She can help your friend. But she can’t do that with a gun pointed at her head.” he tried to convince the man. Sure Eddie was also a paramedic. But they had to get (y/n) back to safety.

The man who was holding (y/n) still in his tight grip pushed the gun deeper into her skin, as he took a deep breath and breathed in her scent. He abruptly let go of the woman and he pushed her towards Eddie and Evan, who both catched (y/n).

_______

She was scared for her life and sweating like an otter as she wrapped the man's wounds. Her head was throbbing, and her vision was blurry as she secured the gauze on the man’s chest. It looked like she could see her own heartbeat through her eyes.

The injured man started to sound like he couldn’t breathe. “He’s developing a tension pneumothorax” (y/n) said as she ruffled through the medic bag searching for the equipment she needed to help the man. “Shit” she whispered under her breath as she sighed.

“(y/n) talk to me, what do you need?” Bobby’s voice spoke as he was sitting on a bench, with Evan and Eddie next to him at gunpoint. “I need a large bore needle. But I can't find it in the bag!” She says. “Stay calm okay, we have another medic bag in the truck.” Bobby tried to reassure her. “I need that needle if you want me to save your friend here” she spoke to the man who was also holding her at gunpoint while she was working on the man.

She wasn’t missing that needle in her bag. She wanted one of them to have the chance to radio dispatch or ambulance for help.

“You. Go get her that thingy” The gun pointed at Evan. His eyes shot up, in confusion. Unsure what was going on. They had restocked everything. They had enough needles in one bag. It looked like he had zoned out, while he watched his wife help this injured man while he held a gun to her head.

Evan slowly got onto his feet, and walked towards the truck. The gunmen couldn’t follow Evan to the truck, they were outnumbered. So they just hoped that he would return to them as fast as possible.

Evan sneaked to the front of the truck, and silently opened the driver's door. He grabbed the radio with his right hand as he silently pressed the side of the radio to talk.

“Dispatch this is truck one eighteen. I have a ten one hostage situation here. In need of emergency assistance.”

As soon as Evan disappeared between the trucks, (y/n) started to make loud sounds by digging through the medic bag. She hoped deep down that Evan would get her needle hint. And took the chance to radio dispatch.

The injured guy's breath was getting worse and worse by the minute. “What’s taking so long?” One of the guys called out as he started making its way towards the truck.

“I found it!” she yelled as she held the needle into the air, as if she had just won a price. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Evan walking towards her with also a long bore needle in her hand. Evan jogged over, dropped the needle into her medic bag and gave her a wink.

He did it. He radioed someone. He called for help.

Her gloved hands opened the package of the needle. She squeezed her eyes and pushed the back of her hand to her forehead to try and get back her vision.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks when he sees (y/n) squeezing her eyes, trying to focus on the needle between her fingers. Sweat was dripping all over her forehead. She was pale, it looked like she could pass out any second.

“You want someone else to take over?” Eddie asked her. (Y/n) stayed silent, she didn’t give him an answer. His voice was dull, as if he was an echo inside of her head.

An angry voice filled the open space of the firehouse. “Hey! shut the fuck up!” he spoke as he pushed the gun to Eddie’s chest. Eddie stood up. “You really trust her to save your guy? Look at her! She’s practically about to faint!” he pointed at his colleague who was staring at the needle in her hand.

Her breathing became shallow and the world around her started to spin. She really tried to calm herself down, to make all the symptoms she felt, to leave her body.

“Do you really have time to make such a mistake?” Eddie says as he looks over to (y/n).

(Y/n)’s eyes started rolling to the back of her head as she completely lost the balance of her body. Gravity pushed her down to the ground and the needle fell out of her hands.

When both gunmen were looking at what was happening to the female firefighter, Bobby and Evan both pushed one guy to the ground as Eddie took over the other man.

“You got him?” Evan asked when Bobby pinned his knee onto the back of the man. He didn’t wait for an answer. He just ran to his wife, almost tripping over his own two feet, screaming her name as he rolled her onto her back.

Evan’s hand gently patted the side of her face. “Hey! Hey! (Y/n)!” he softly said as he continued patting the side of her face.

Her mouth left a groan, but her eyes stayed close. “Tell your child to stop bouncing on my intestines” she spoke weakly.

Evan smiled through his gasps and pulled his wife into his chest. His left hand rested on the back of her head, and his right arm was around her back. “Don’t you ever do this again.” he says as he plants a kiss on her hair.

The garage door opened, and filled the firehouse with blue siren lights and sounds.

#911 #911 fox #911 imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evanbuckley #imagine #911 abc

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 2]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 2

[hindahoney]

Sorry for this but as a disabled Haitian black woman living in America, I cannot sympathize nor agree with Israel’s actions against Palestinian people and their own people. What they did to Ethiopian Jewish Women when they they sterilized them with their consent. I cannot support Israel ruthlessly bombing churches, schools, and people’s homes where people live. I feel so bad for the Palestinian people and hostages who have to deal with ruthless bombng in Gaza.

The lie that Israel sterilized Ethiopian women has been debunked countless times, and yet it persists and is used by pro-Palestinians to be like "Look! Israel really is apartheid!" so that you don't ask them why they have had black Ethiopian Jewish man Avera Mangisto hostage for 9 years, or why they beheaded a black man during the Hamas attacks with a shovel. So let's talk about it.

Israel never forcibly sterilized Ethiopian women. They provided them with the depo shot, which needs to be renewed every 12 weeks or it becomes ineffective, or in other words, you can get pregnant again. It is not sterilization.

So, why did Israel give Ethiopian women the depo shot?

Ethiopian women arrived to Israel in either transit or refugee camps due to them fleeing a genocide, both of which are always in constant need of birth control. They need birth control for a few reasons, the major one being that infant and maternal mortality rates in transit and refugee camps are incredibly high, few gynecologists are available to work at these camps, sexual violence is also higher in these camps than the general population, and post-partum care is lacking for the same reason that gynecologists are. This is true in every transit or refugee camp, not just in Israel. The advantage of the depo shot specifically is because it decreases the bleeding for women on their menstrual cycle, which is good when the camps are lacking in menstrual products, which can lead to health problems. If they were to get pregnant at the camp and decide to have an abortion, the mortality rates are, as predicted, incredibly high. I would also like to add that it is standard procedure to provide women in refugee/transit camps with birth control.

Due to the high volume of people at these camps who need medical care, and the shortness of staff, as well as a language barrier, it is possible some patients do not understand what is being administered. This means that it is a case of negligent medical care, and not eugenicist sterilization of black women. The conditions since the initial absorption of Ethiopian refugees has increased, given that there is no longer a rush to get them situated, and the Ethiopian population in Israel has grown substantially. That could not happen if the women were sterilized. Their population is now well over 160,000 and make up 2.3% of the population.

The accusation that Israel forcibly sterilized these women is as heinous as it is ridiculous, considering Israel was the one who did rescue operations to get them to safety in the first place. This is not to say that there is not racism in Israel, but there is racism in every country on the face of this planet, and Israel's racism is not so great that they forcibly sterilized an entire population of black women.

#ask hinda

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Family Planning

Life slows down once everyone is safely back on Pabu, and maybe now it’s time to start focusing on what you both want for the future.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: breeding kink, very very brief and vague medical procedure (birth control removal), established relationship, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, pre-established safe word (always play safe, folks), oral (f!receiving), unprotected PiV, scent kink, light marking, bandana as bondage, light hair pulling, love and fluff, soft aftercare.

“I can put a replacement in immediately if you’d like?” The doctor asked, turning in his chair, ready to remove the expired birth control implant buried in your upper arm. 

“Urm…” You paused, not entirely sure what you wanted to do. Honestly, you’d forgotten about the small plastic rod under your skin until Hunter had offhandedly commented that you smelt a little sweeter this cycle.

He sat beside you now, warm brown eyes sliding in your direction as the doctor waited for your answer. With nothing to do this afternoon, he’d offered to come with you to the appointment you’d made at Pabu’s only clinic. After four years at his side, having been assigned as the squad’s civilian handler at the start of the war, nothing was sacred anymore. Even more so after you’d fallen into bed together two years ago. 

Two years of waking up next to each other, of stolen kisses and wandering hands, of knowing looks and being railed against the nearest surface. Two years of ‘I love you’ and ‘stay safe out there.’

During the war, the two of you had discussed a family late at night, tucked away in a bunk together, voices whisper soft and full of hope.

Now, life had slowed. After rescuing Crosshair, Omega, and Tech from Mount Tantiss, you’d slipped off the Empire’s radar and had settled down properly on the tropical island. You had a home and a routine, were on a first-name basis with the locals, and even snagged a teaching job at the school.

Eyes shifting to meet Hunter’s, you chew on the inside of your lip. Was now a good time? Would your baby be safe, or would the Empire come sniffing if they caught wind of a child of an enhanced clone?

“It’s your choice, cyar’ika.” He states, his mouth’s corners turning into a devastatingly handsome smile. “It’s your body.” He adds. You know his stance on having a family, Maker above you play into often when he’s buried deep inside you late at night, but this feels like a pivotal moment in your relationship.

Holding his gaze, you’re not quite sure what you’re searching for – but you can see so much in his eyes. All the trust and love he has for you, all the support. At first, it had been terrifying to have someone believe in you so much, but your self-worth and confidence flourished over the last four years.

He’d be an incredible father. You’d already seen it from his interactions with Omega, how the young girl pulled all those paternal traits out of him. He’d go to the ends of the galaxy to keep you and your baby safe, of that you were sure.

Contentment seeped through your body, a feeling of rightness settling in your gut. You wanted a family too, and you loved each other - had been to hell and back for each other. You shifted your attention to the waiting doctor. “Don’t bother replacing it.” You tell him, hearing Hunter inhale sharply, the armrest of his chair creaking as his grip tightened on it at your words.

The doctor gave you a knowing look as he swabbed a disinfectant pad over your upper arm. “Normally, I encourage my patients to use other contraception, but something tells me that advice would fall on deaf ears.”

You make a slight noise of agreement, glancing over at Hunter as the doctor quickly removes the small implant. Your eyes take in the way he’s watching the little piece of plastic being removed, his fingers flexing against the arms of the chair, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the implant is pulled free of your body. And then those dark eyes find yours and steal your breath.

It was the right decision.

He’s on you the moment you get home, not even giving you time to properly shut the front door. Rough hands grasp your body, lips finding yours for a passionate kiss – there’s no finesse to it; it’s needy and messy, noses bumping and tongues meeting.

Buttons are undone; his shirt hits the floor, and his shoes and pants follow. Strong hands cup your ass and lift you, lips still pressed desperately against yours as he carries you a few steps further into the house, laying you on the couch and following you down. Your kiss breaks long enough for him to pry your dress up and off, lips meeting again before the garment even has the chance to hit the floor. He’s back on you, using one hand to prop himself up above you.

“Fuck, cyar’ika.” Hunter’s voice is low and smoky as his mouth moves to your jawline, light kisses peppered across it before he works down your throat, nipping gently at your delicate skin. Your chest heaves with each breath, mind spinning as your hand’s card through his hair, nails dragging across his scalp, eliciting a small hiss of pleasure and pain from him.

A needy whine breaks free, your hips lifting as you desperately seek some friction. Hunter matches your actions, grinding his hard-on against your thigh as he reaches the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. He bites down a little harder this time, your moan filling the air, pulling a growl from him as his tongue laves over the mark. The light sweetness to your scent is still there, but he knows it’ll only get stronger as the artificial hormones make their way out of your system. He can’t wait to bask in it.

Your bra is slung over the edge of the couch, hands cupping your breasts as Hunter’s mouth continues downwards, leaving a trail of kisses. Shivers skitter down your spine as he licks across the soft mounds, dragging the flat of his tongue across your rapidly hardening nipples. Drawing one into his mouth, he sucks, scraping his teeth gently across it. The pleasure makes you gasp, back arching as you chase the warmth of his mouth.

Forefinger and thumb tweak your other nipple, the double onslaught making you whimper. Hunter smiles against your breast, enjoying how easy it is to pull such delicious sounds from you. Downwards, he continues, scooting back a little on the couch to press more kisses across the softness of your stomach, yet he pauses for a second just below your belly button.

The actual reality of it slams into him. That damn implant is no longer in your arm, and while it might take a few cycles for your hormone levels to settle back into their natural state, his child could soon be growing here, nurtured by your beautiful body. He moans at the thought, hands moving to kneed gently at your belly.

Gazing down your body, you watch as the man you love laves attention to your stomach. You might’ve pulled away, self-consciousness flaring a little in the past, but you know why he’s doing it. You know the thoughts that are swirling through his mind. You reach down with one hand, fingers tangling in his hair, pushing his bandana off. You snag it with your free hand, sliding it down your wrist, knowing how much he loves seeing you wearing it.

It has the desired effect. Hunter catches the motion, groaning as the band of red fabric rests around your wrist, possessiveness flaring low in his gut and his hips flex, hard cock grinding against your leg again. Deft fingers pry your panties down, and he buries his face between your thighs moments later, turning his head to scatter kisses on your inner thighs. His stubble’s roughness contrasts with his tongue’s softness, and your hips buck in anticipation, desire building further inside you.

He presses forward, burying his face against your pussy as he inhales deeply, growling as your scent floods his nostrils. Tongue dragging through your soaked folds, his nose presses against your clit, and you grind against it, knowing how much he loves you riding his face. Fingers fan over your thighs to keep your legs open as he devours you, his tongue circling your entrance a few times before plunging in, pulling back a moment later to flick it over your clit, making you shudder. He repeats the action several times, driving you crazy with need.

Mouth finally staying on your clit, he presses two fingers into you, crooking them, rubbing your g-spot. The angle is perfect, and between his talented hands and hungry mouth, you’re done for. “Hunter!” You cry out his name, your release slamming into you. Your hips and thighs shake, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the pleasure sweeps you up, searing through your veins.

Smug satisfaction paints Hunter’s handsome face as he slows, lapping up your release before he takes his mouth off you, though he continues to lazily pump his fingers in and out of you, feeling the way you spasm around them as you come down from the high. “You have no idea how fucking badly I want to cum inside you.” He rasps, the smokiness of his voice amplified.  

Catching your breath, you’re mesmerised by the intensity of his gaze. Biting down on your lower lip, a thrill runs through you. “I think you should show me.” You challenge.

His growl is feral, your pussy clenching at the sound. Fingers slide out of you as he reaches for your wrists, grasping them as he hauls your arms up, pinning them against the couch above your head. Quickly, he ties his bandana around them, a smirk tilting his lips.

Softness creeps across his features momentarily as he looks down at you beneath him, and you know what he’s asking. “Havoc.” You re-confirm your safe word. You were entirely comfortable with this and had been the hundreds of times you’d done it before, but he always double-checked.

Shifting back to sit on his knees between your thighs, Hunter’s hands smooth across your body. You hadn’t been made for war or the frontlines, even though you’d insisted all those years ago on being out there with him and his brothers. You were softer, unable to take as many hits, making him want to protect you all the more.

You relax against the couch, content to let him lead, trusting him implicitly. He catches you off guard as he dips his head down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue swirling around the pebbled bud. Back arching, you huff a breath, squirming as his hands grasp your hips. His lips trail upwards, across your neck, leaving a mark on the other side to the one he’d made earlier. The sweet moan you let out is music to his sensitive ears.

“The way you sound pinned under me…fuck. Your moans are so pretty, cyar’ika. Can hear your heart racing too.” Hunter’s eyes close momentarily, losing one sense, further heightening the rest of them. He breathes in your scent once more, using one hand to pry your thighs further apart, dragging the velvety head of his cock through your slick folds. “So needy for me. This what you want?” He can’t help but tease, enjoying your whimpers and eager nod.

He makes you wait for a second, that mischievous glint in his eyes part of why you fell in love with him in the first place, and then you feel him press against your entrance, inch by glorious inch pushing into you. Your moan catches in your throat, pussy stretching to accommodate him until his hips are flush against you, heavy balls resting against your ass.

Hunter grunts as he bottoms out, eyes fluttering shut once again. “Such a good girl.” He murmurs, giving you a second to adjust before he pulls back and slams back in, making you both cry out. His eyes snap open, locked on your beautiful face as he sets a punishing pace. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, your arms trapped above your head, completely at his mercy.

Fingers grasp your thighs, keeping you in place as he pounds into you. The couch creaks beneath you, but you pay it no mind, too focused on the pleasure building inside of you once again.

“Gonna fuck you every damn day until it sticks. Gonna make you a mommy.” Hunter snarls, watching your lips part, your head tipping backwards as you moan unabashedly. You clench around him, and he knows his words excite you.

He won’t last much longer, having been worked up since you’d told the doctor to remove the implant. He’d never been more grateful for loose-fitting pants in his life – walking out of the clinic with a boner was not something he wanted the island residents gossiping about.

Pulling out of you, he chuckles as you whine. “Patience, mesh’la.” He chides gently, strong hands grasping your hips as he flips you onto your front. He unties the bandana, letting it fall to the floor, and you grab at the arm of the couch as he hauls your ass up, fingernails clawing uselessly at the fabric.

On his knees behind you, Hunter pushes back in, setting a quick pace again. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, making your back arch, ass pressing against him. “Feel you so deep.” You gasp, hearing a deep rumble of pleasure from behind you moments before a hand grasps your hair, tugging your head backwards.

A sharp sound leaves you, eyes screwed shut at the combination of pleasure and pain that erupts in your body. The warmth in your body builds, the edge drawing oh so deliciously closer. Hunter keeps a hold of you as his thrusts pick up, eyes glancing down to watch his cock slide in and out of you a few times before his free hand snakes around you to rub your clit. “I can feel you squeezing me tight. You gonna cum on my cock, baby?” His pace is relentless, hand letting go of your hair a moment later as he eases you down, your cheek pressed against the couch, back arching beautifully. The change in angle is pure perfection.

“Hunter!” You cry out his name for the second time this afternoon as the pleasure crescendos, your body clenching around him, muscles spasming as you climax.  

With your body clamped around his cock, Hunter gives two final thrusts before he stills and presses himself against you, shoving in as deep as he can with a grunt as he cums. His thighs shake as the pleasure washes over him, cock twitching as he fills you.

The sound of both of your ragged breaths fills the room, and the pair of you spend a moment catching your breath. Gentle hands smooth across your back after a moment. “Keep that ass up, cyar’ika. Don’t waste any, even though there’s plenty more where that came from.” Hunter murmurs, folding himself over you as he drags his lips across your shoulder blade, tongue laving at your skin and the thin sheen of sweat on your body.

You let out a little noise of agreement, tilting your hips a fraction to ensure none of his release can escape. It draws a deep chuckle from him, and you bask in the sound.

“I love you.” He whispers, warm breath brushing against your ear as you feel him ease out of you, his softening cock resting against your ass.

“I love you too.” You reply quietly, head tilting to capture his lips in a sweet kiss as his hands slide around your body, resting against your stomach. 

As the kiss breaks, he presses his forehead to your back, warm hands rubbing gentle circles against your belly. “Stay like this a little longer, baby.” He insists, the quiet sounds of your synced-up breathing the only noise in the room.

You know it won’t take, but you stay still anyway, soaking in the moment and the feel of his body pressed against you, safe and happy in your little slice of paradise.

#the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter x you #hunter x reader #hunter the bad batch #hunter x you #hunter bad batch #star wars #star wars clone wars #star wars the bad batch #breeding k1nk #smut #fools want to start a family

[thefreakandthehair]

I am a river / I am your river

written for ‘pool’ | wc: 442 | rated: m | cw: fake drowning (for training purposes) | @steddiemicrofic

It’s stupid. 

Steve’s been a lifeguard every summer since landing his teaching gig four years ago. He was co-captain of the swim team in high school, he’s spent more time in the water than he has on land since he was old enough to doggy-paddle, and he teaches basic CPR to the junior lifeguards. It makes no sense, then, that he’s wasting a valuable mid-summer Tuesday at the community pool for his biennial CPR certification class. At what point does experience trump arbitrary certification renewals? 

It’s stupid– until it’s not. 

Steve sees the fake-victim he’s supposed to pretend-rescue walking toward the pool and his own heart skips a few beats. Long, dark, curly hair sits in a messy bun on top of his head, tattoos litter his arms, chest, and torso visible with no shirt to cover them, and his swim trunks are just short enough to tease Steve with defined, hairy thighs. 

His immediate thought is a desperate need to bite them but he doesn’t have time to unpack that before the instructor starts barking instructions. 

“Rescuer, ready?”

“Ready.” Steve replies, trying to focus on the goal here. The goal being Rescue the fake drowning victim as much as Do not pop a boner mid-pool.

“Victim, ready?” 

“As ever.” Fake Victim’s voice is deeper than Steve expects and that does Steve zero favors in the way of his secondary goal.

“Go ahead and get ready to submerge, all the way to the bottom.”

“Alright,” the instructor turns to Steve. “Get him out onto the concrete and start CPR procedures. Thirty seconds. On my whistle.”

The whistle blows and Steve reacts immediately. It’s second nature, jumping into the pool and into action. He’s done this dozens of times between training and real emergencies, so swimming out to the center and pulling Fake Victim up onto his back at the surface takes no time at all. 

He must be an actor, or maybe a former theater kid, because he’s limp in Steve’s hands, complete dead weight. Steve would be concerned he’s actually nearly drowned if not for the one eye that cracks open and smirk that stretches across his face. 

“Hi handsome, come here often?” He teases with a wink before Steve reaches the edge and hauls him up onto the concrete, laying him on his back. 

Steve leans over and tries to focus, water falling from his hair in thick droplets as he gets in position for faux chest compressions and grins. “Oh, you know, just when I need to rescue pretty boys.”

Fake Victim’s eyebrows shoot up beneath his bangs as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m Eddie.”

#steddie #steddiemicroficjuly #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #st fic #st ficlet #myfic #myblurbs #i don't even know what this is exactly but here have a steddie meet-cute <333

[vaspider]

Hello humans!

My beloved brother Jake & his partner Roman are fundraising for medical bills for their two formerly-stray cats (Sunny and Scrambles) and their upcoming move to Portland.

Here's what Jake has to say about it all:

TLDR Roman Todd and i are moving to portland this spring, please help us with our continuing tremendous Vet Bills for Sunny and Scrambles that currently total $2,228.56 hi friends you can read the whole story over on the GFM but the short version is that we rescued two cats last summer (a very very very sick feral and a six week old kitten) and i was trying to bootstrap us through all the vet bills like a True American Man, which would have been "fine" if we were staying in jersey. however, NerdyKeppie has hit a ceiling with our current set-up and i need to move to portland so that we can take the business to the next level. so now i'm finally asking for help with these past vet bills!!! grand total of the cats' previous vet bills: $2,228.56 procedures still needed: dental surgery to remove Sunny's rotten teeth, spay for Scrambles

Sunny had one of her rotten teeth break today and required emergency surgery to remove the broken tooth. She'll require more help to get the rest of her teeth taken care of.

If you love your NerdyKeppie stuff, Jake is very much the one responsible for making things continue to happen. He is the one who keeps the spreadsheets and helps me make sure that shows get scheduled and things get ordered in the right quantities and sizes, who organizes items and standardizes size charts and keeps me on schedule with when we need to have art made and items posted.

We have hit the limit on what we can do with NerdyKeppie without Jake being present, in part because Emet hates to fly on account of being 6'8", so traveling to further shows wouldn't be possible, and we really just need more hands in the shop if we want to be able to do some of the bigger projects we want to do. If he's not here, we're just kinda... stuck at this level.

If you can help, please do - reblogs are very appreciated.

#NerdyKeppie #mutual Aid #fundraising