#Benji Fray

[justmoreocs-writing]

Kindred Story Introduction

Life as a Shadowhunter wasn’t for everybody, but Aoife wouldn’t have swapped it for anything. She knew danger lurked around every corner, knew the threat of injury was a constant shadow over them. It didn’t bother her too much, least of all because she had people around her that she trusted implicitly, who made it all that little bit easier to bear. However, a mission gone horribly wrong, a chance meeting with a pair of fiery haired twins, and Aoife’s life shifts from the normal danger level expected of her kind, to something far more terrifying.

Benji’s life was normal. It was calm and it was perfectly fine by him. But a chance meeting in a nightclub, the discovery of just how far from normal his life really is, and Benji swiftly realises how much of his life was a lie. Suddenly thrust into a dangerous world, and needing to quickly learn how to protect himself and the people he cares about, Benji wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed to a quiet night in for birthday celebrations this year, or if he might just love the thrill of it all like Clary seems to.

[justmoreocs-edits]

Kindred Story Introduction

Life as a Shadowhunter wasn’t for everybody, but Aoife wouldn’t have swapped it for anything. She knew danger lurked around every corner, knew the threat of injury was a constant shadow over them. It didn’t bother her too much, least of all because she had people around her that she trusted implicitly, who made it all that little bit easier to bear. However, a mission gone horribly wrong, a chance meeting with a pair of fiery haired twins, and Aoife’s life shifts from the normal danger level expected of her kind, to something far more terrifying.

Benji’s life was normal. It was calm and it was perfectly fine by him. But a chance meeting in a nightclub, the discovery of just how far from normal his life really is, and Benji swiftly realises how much of his life was a lie. Suddenly thrust into a dangerous world, and needing to quickly learn how to protect himself and the people he cares about, Benji wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed to a quiet night in for birthday celebrations this year, or if he might just love the thrill of it all like Clary seems to.

[callmearcturus]

oh my gd that would be INCREDIBLE- the character building alone would be Fantastic, but fitting ethan and benji into a world where mutants are a thing??? i want to se how they each navigate that social strata, how ethan might try to use his mutation to disguise himself more, and how benji relates to his mutation (does he know? is it coincidence? is he just the luckiest sombitch alive?). anyway im in neither of these fandoms but i have been adoring your writing and now yearn for this fic.

oh lmao punct gave me the thumbs up to share a bit of what if mission impossible/x-men fusion

we have been watching the good xmen movies and obvsly were like "okay what would the mutations of the IMF team be" if this were an AU where they were, like, International Mutant Force or something less stupid

(well nothing is as stupid as Impossible Mission Force so--)

anyway right away: Ethan is a telepath, but we're kind of obsessed with telepathy as a power but also a disability that has to be constantly managed and accounted for. so:

Ethan is not an omega-level mutant like Charles Xavier or Jean Grey, but he's pretty powerful. His telepathy is tangled up in the way he falls a little in love with everyone he meets and is categorically unwilling to accept collateral damage on a mission. He finds it astonishingly easy to let his mind drape gossamer connections to everyone in his vicinity and is buoyed by the feelings he picks up on.

On the flipside: he is absolute dogshit at untangling himself, and it takes much longer for him, like fighting against some innate nature of his mutation. One way this manifests is sleeping; if Ethan is alone and sleeps, his unconscious mind will just drape over everyone in the vicinity and he has to untangle that for a while when he wakes. One way of dealing with this: early on, he asks Luther if he can hitch a ride in Luther's mind as he sleeps, so his telepathy will octopus around Luther while he sleeps, and it's much easier to untangle that in the morning.

On the scale of What Is He Capable Of: Covertly skim through minds for specific information: max one or two people at a time if he wants to keep hidden. any more and he can't be sneaky about it. Converse with people telepathically: 4 to 8, any more and his coherence frays badly Broadcast to people around him (maybe to alert to danger): CANNOT do so subtly, has been pushing this over the years from 20ish to double that to even more, but as he pushes himself more and more, he's more likely to just pass tf out or get a nosebleed Range?: The longer he's connected to someone's mind, the further away they can be and still be in Ethan's reach. Luther could be on the other side of the world and if Ethan really focuses, he can transmit an image or emotion or 'hey i'm alive.' Nothing beyond that but still.

Speaking of Luther, his mutation is extremely high perception of electricity and sonic fields. This manifests in several ways:

Luther can tell when something is powering on, can feel devices and machines around him and has an affinity for them, able to read them via touch or from hearing them when power is moving.

As he gets older and more honed in his work, he can grip a cable and get a sense of where the data is going/coming from, tracing things. The data moving through the air is tangible to him. He's a beast against any and all security systems, able to just feel where motion sensors and cameras are.

I think maybe he can learn to hold and redirect energy over time. He's never going to have lightning powers, but I can imagine him placing a hand on a wall outlet and pushing and shorting out a specific device in the room with an overcharge. But primarily, his power is observational.

BOY it has downsides. Luther is constantly struggling with overstimulation, and because it's not exactly sound or light, it's energy he can ambiently detect, he struggles a lot with controlling it and avoiding getting overwhelmed. Once he and Ethan are buddies, Ethan tends to just hitchhike in Luther's mind. When they're off the clock, he'll filter out all the extra stimulus. When they're on a mission, Ethan helps Luther cut out the superfluous information and humming energy so he can narrow in on what he's working on.

Those people who have Smart Houses where every device is somehow connected to wifi, Luther hates them so much. Just SO much. The proliferation of Google Homes and Connect With Alexa shit is going to turn him into a terrorist someday.

okay so Benji. lmao. here's where shit gets wild.

the thing about Benji is he doesn't know he has a mutation until he's an adult and working in the IMF as support analyst and tech. sure there's been some odd moments in his life. when he was a kid, he was in a car crash and somehow wound up outside the car and fine. and once he was riding a bike through his village and accidentally went down a hill, but managed to land the bike instead of winding up in a crumpled pile of limbs at the bottom. but maybe he was got lucky!

then an actual threat happens at the IMF and a gun goes off at Benji, and the world slows to a crawl. he can just... step out of the way, and the bullet eases by him. turns out, Benji sets off-- okay. it's either a time dilation effect or its superspeed. both are functionally the same, and i think the effect is undetectable to other people so no one knows for sure. but it only happens when Benji perceives himself to be in a life-or-death instance.

he also can give it to people by touch. if Benji's panic switch goes off, he can grab another person and move them and they'll perceive the same dilation he does. the IMF is overjoyed because this is extremely exploitable, and Benji gets rushed into the field because if a mission goes tits up, just shoot at Agent Dunn and he can cheat time.

Eventually, Benji gets assigned to work with Ethan bc the handlers figure Ethan is a telepath, he can just reach into Benji's mind and give him a shock and make him think he's about to die. Isn't that so much nicer than just shooting at him? But Ethan is a fucking telepath and clearly sees the extreme stress all of this has put Benji through. He never sets off the panic switch and more often uses his telepathy to soothe Benji's nerves than anything. Like with Luther, Ethan rides-along in Benji's head a lot.

This throws a wrench into Rogue Nation obvsly because Ethan hears "the IMF has been absorbed by the CIA" and he does not wait 6 months to reach out to the guy who can fuck with time if you threaten his life. because of course the fucking CIA starts experimenting, seeing how they can reliably set the panic switch off. they come up with a device like an epi-pen that can be used to basically give Benji an almost-heart attack but then Ethan breaks Benji tf out of Langley's grasp and tows him across the globe bc no one else can be trusted not to traumatize the shit out of Benji.

As Benji gets older and more adept at his power, he discovers a side-effect of Ethan being tied to his mind more often than not; Benji starts 'going off' when Ethan is in peril. ETHAN IS NOT AMUSED BY THIS because he risks his life all the time and now Benji's going off because of that where it gets tres interesting is that Benji has spent so long talking telepathically, he knows how to direct a thought at Ethan to get his attention (as does everyone who works with Ethan more than a few times). and if he telepathically taps on Ethan, he can pull Ethan into the dilation, even if they aren't touching. it's kind of all Ethan's fault; he's the clingiest telepath ever, and having accumulated years of connection to Benji has just urged Benji's mutation to expand in that direction.

anyway that's that

WE ALSO HAVE BEEN DELIBERATING ILSA POWERS, mostly along the lines of mimicry

one of the ideas I super liked was Ilsa being a power-mimic but she doesn't luck into innate understanding of how a power works, so it's very dangerous for her to borrow someone's power. like, an example we were kicking around was Ilsa accidentally picking up on Ethan's power and, not understanding how his telepathy grabs ahold of people, she accidentally ties her mind and Ethan's together the moment she gets his power, and they're Stuck for a while because Ethan can't untangle her knot and she is figuring out how tf it even works. it's a nightmare.

another idea was the Rogue Powerset, touch-based connection with its own pitfalls. Ilsa able to subtly touch a human and glean some information from them, but she has very little control over what info she gets. and once she touches them, they black out a bit, losing about a minute of time, which is just long enough for her to get out of there. but if she bumps into a mutant, she gets their power for a while instead, and it's messy and awkward and well, she wears long sleeves and gloves a lot is what I'm saying.

and Punct liked how Ilsa might self-select into spycraft because she needs to learn all these skills to protect herself, so she follows the career path and just keeps her power very very quiet, only using it when it's too useful to avoid. or on accident. for instance: when she meets Ethan and Ethan hurls himself into the fight and she touches his skin, Ilsa gets the telepathy juice. while Ethan is dazed from the contact, Ilsa uses the telepathy to sneak him out the back tunnel, then makes the other Syndicate members trust her so her cover isn't blown.

we also came up with a VERY FUN ONE for Grace, which is matter teleportation. Grace cannot teleport herself, but she can move things around when she focuses on them. There's huge limits on this:

smaller items are easier than larger, lighter is easier than heavier.

she doesn't have to see the object to move it but she does need to know about it pretty thoroughly and have a strong idea of its shape and the space its taking up.

example: if you set a closed, empty box in front of grace and told her there's a snowglobe inside, she could try to retrieve it, but it won't work (obvsly, it's empty) and she won't know why and might keep trying to 'grab' the object.

this would make her and Ethan extremely potent, as he can get eyes on something and transmit the information Grace needs to her, and she can grab the object.

because of how her power works, Grace has fun skills about guessing the weight of things. toss her an object and she can probably tell you pretty accurately how heavy it is. this isn't a mutation; she is just hyperfocused on that sort of info because it assists her power.

ANYWAY I THINK THAT'S ALL

[the-golden-comet]

✨🏴‍☠️Find Four Lines Tag🏴‍☠️✨

Thank you so much for tagging me here, @leahnardo-da-veggie !! 💛✨

My lines to find: a line about hatred, a line about pain, a line about relationships, and a bittersweet line.

Your lines to find: a line about love, a line about a friend, a line about an animal, and a happy line.

Going to sail the high seas for this one 🏴‍☠️💛✨

Peter Hart

A line about hatred:

Peter clenched his teeth, incensed. Then, slowly, he laid the prince down on his bed as his eyebrows upturned in pained anguish. Seeing the red streaks down Benjamin’s cheeks, his pale fright, his trembling body, made Peter’s chest burn with wrath.

A line about pain:

Peter and Benjamin were whipped in the opposite direction with such force that Captain Hart’s right shoulder re-dislocated. Hissing through the pain, Peter grit his teeth and bared through it, staring intensely down at the terrified ginger in his grasp. There was no way he was letting go. Not now, and not ever again.

A line about relationships:

“Peter….why were you carrying rope?”

“Few reasons. For starters, when I first collected you from your bedroom, I noticed a few things:” Peter handed one of the rope ends to Benjamin, who took it in puzzlement. “One, your knots need work. If you were to escape out your window on the knot you initially made, it would’ve come all undone as soon as it bore weight.”

“…..You corrected the knot?” Benjamin’s eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

“Aye. I needed an escape as well.” He shrugged, then pointed to his frayed end. “Also, since we were already ‘tying the knot,’ might as well make it official, mmm?”

Benjamin laughed gently. “God, you’re corny.”

A Bittersweet Line:

Finally, the dance concluded as Captain Hart pulled away, his lips weakly upturned and his eyes shining. Benji’s eyebrows furrowed at the puzzling expression Peter was giving him. Was it happiness? Was it sadness? Joy? Sorrow?

“Are you alright, Captain?” Benjamin questioned softly.

Peter snapped out of his haze, putting the metaphorical mask back on as he feigned joy. “Aye, Benji. It sure has been fantastic, hasn’t it?”

I will very gently tag (no pressure): @gioiaalbanoart , @wyked-ao3 , @clevah-girlboss , @autism-purgatory , @authorcoledipalo , @jev-urisk , @tragedycoded , @sableglass , @words-after-midnight , @ceph-the-ghost-writer , @somethingclevermahogony , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @48lexr , @illarian-rambling , @lychhiker-writes , @rotting-moon-writes , @paeliae-occasionally , @thecomfywriter , @mysticstarlightduck , @ominous-feychild , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @theink-stainedfolk , @drchenquill , @rivenantiqnerd , @writeahurricane , @theaistired , @leatafandom , @differentnighttale , @inseasofgreen , @jadeglas , @pluppsauthor , @lavender-gloom , @yourpenpaldee , @astramachina , @justabigoldnerd , @pippinoftheshire , @agirlandherquill , @talesofsorrowandofruin , +open tag! ✨

[sebbianas]

“Hey, Benjy. Can I ask you something?”

Benjy looks up from the book he was reading and finds James Potter walking towards Peter’s bed. Even after weeks of hanging around Peter’s dorm, he was still not used to James Potter just casually walking up to him. “Sure, James. What is it?”

James looked conflicted at first, opening his mouth to say something but then closing it and shaking his head. Benjy waited patiently, he continued to watch James build up the courage to ask until finally he let out a sigh and sat at the edge of Peter’s bed.

“How…” James started, he played with the frayed threads on Peter’s quilt. “How did you know Peter was the one?”

Benjy eyes widened a little with surprise, out of all the questions James could have asked this isn’t the one he was expecting. “I—”

“Sorry. That was too invasive.” James interrupted, standing up quickly from the bed. “I’m sorry I asked. You don’t have to answer at all—”

“James.” Benjy said firmly, using his headboy voice. This got James’ attention. “Sit.”

James sat down. Benjy felt giddy at that.

“Is everything okay?” Benjy asked, hoping to comfort James a little.

James stared at his hands, he seems so nervous that Benjy wanted to reach out to him. He let out a loud sigh and then fell into the bed. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just, I’m just worried that I’m falling too quick again and that I’m going too fast but Regulus— he just— I love him, you know? Is it bad that I want him to be the one for me?”

Benjy smiled softy at James. Peter was right, he does have the biggest heart out of everyone. “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know? You have a big heart and so much love to give.”

James turns to look at him, his expression raw and vulnerable. “What if it scares him away?”

“If feels the same as you do, it wont scare him away. And if he don’t then maybe he doesnt deserve the love you offer.” Benjy answered truthfully. He reached out to pat James slightly. “From what I can see, he feels exactly the same.”

The way James brighten up made Benjy feel like he won the lottery. “Really?”

Benjy smiled, matching James’ energy. “Yeah.”

“Thanks, Benj.”

“Anytime.” Benjy patted James again. “And oh, James?”

“Yeah?”

“I didnt know Peter was the one.” Benjy confessed. “But I wanted him to be, so worked on it. I showed him that I can be the one for him.”

James eyes widened and his grin got bigger. “That’s so cheesy, man. But— uhm— Thanks. For treating Pete right.”

“I love him, James. It’s what he deserves.”

[desertfangs]

🍀 Some quick & silly St. Patrick's Day Heacanons For Daniel and Armand 🍀

(encouraged by @hekateinhell, who may or may not regret their efforts)

Back during the chase years, Armand showed up at a bar where Daniel was drinking on St. Patrick’s Day wearing his usual clothes purloined from a victim: a sweatshirt and jeans, maybe. None of it was green. Daniel pinched him and laughed. Armand frowned, confused, and Daniel had to explain the tradition of pinching people who weren’t wearing green, which led to a long conversation that amounted to Daniel going, “I don’t know, that’s just the tradition!” 

The first time Armand heard about them dyeing the Chicago River green for St. Patrick’s Day, he insisted they go see it. They made the trip, stayed in some fancy hotel overlooking the river, and Armand stood on the edge of the river looking down at it for the half the night while Daniel drank discounted Irish Whiskey and made conversation with people at the riverside bar. With the lights they shine on the river, Armand could see the vibrant green pretty well but Daniel made sure to get up early and to go take a few Polaroids so Armand could see how green it looked in daylight. 

Since Armand was asleep during the St. Patrick’s Day parades while they lived in New York, he’d take Daniel down to the Irish pubs on the parade route after dark and get visuals of the parade from people’s thoughts. The first time they did it, Armand spent the entire night asking people what the point of St. Patrick’s Day was and engaging a lot of very inebriated people into discussions about the point of modern holiday celebrations and parades. 

Daniel and Armand have also had long conversations about why the four-leaf clover is lucky (“Because it’s rare and hard to find, why does it matter?”) and why the beer is often dyed green (“For fun! People just like to have fun.”) after which Armand made Daniel drink far too many green beers. 

Night Island definitely had a big St. Patrick’s Day celebration in the 80s, complete with decorations, Irish music and dancing, green beer, the works! Once Daniel became a vampire and couldn’t drink cheap whiskey or eat corned beef at the pub, it lost some of its appeal, although Armand’s unabashed loved for holidays and their shared love of people watching still made those kinds of celebrations fun.

At least once since moving into Trinity Gate, Daniel has tried to pass out green bowler hats and shamrock headbands for the occasion. (Benji tried to refuse but if he can wear a fedora, he can wear a green bowler!) And every year if they're in NYC, he tries to convince Armand to wear green and go out into the fray with him, because it’s the perfect place to hunt for the Little Drink and people watch, which is still a pastime they enjoy. Plus, they like asking inebriated revelers what they think the origin of St. Patrick’s Day is. The answers are usually funny. Benji keeps telling Daniel he should film it for TikTok but he refuses to learn another social media app.

Please feel free to share your own vampire-related St. Patrick's Day headcanons, I'm always curious to hear this stuff.

[iinsawdious]

OOO OOO OOOOOOO benji x whoever you wish, but the fic is titled "The Rope is Fraying" >:)))

The Rope is Fraying

Benji wakes with a startle, gasping for air. Heart beating fast, he grasps at the sheets for some form of grounding. It's fruitless, as the rope begins tightening around his neck. He's back in the compound. He's back in the noose.

Ethan wakes when he feels the bed shaking, groggily trying to comprehend what's happening. He snaps to as soon as he realizes Benji is thrashing, panicked. Ethan knows what's happening, it's not anything new.

Springing into action, Ethan clears his throat. "Benji, it's me. It's Ethan." At the sound of his voice, Benji seems to calm a little. But Ethan knows it's not over yet.

"Benji, can you take some deep breaths with me?" Ethan says softly, and Benji nods, panic still in his eyes. Ethan refrains from taking Benji's hands, even if he really wants to, and leads Benji through some breathing excercises, repeating that Benji is home, and they're safe. Slowly, Benji seems to return to the present, until he's simply quiet.

Ethan asks Benji if he can touch him, to which Benji gives a relcutant go ahead. Ethan gathers Benji in a tight hug, rubbing his knuckles along Benji's spine. Benji smushes his face into Ethan's shoulder, quiet still. For a moment, Ethan listens to Benji's breathing.

"I love you," Benji says, muffled against Ethan's shoulder. A small smile creeps onto Ethan's face. "I love you too, Ben."

>> five line fic prompts

[malec-ao3feed]

Wrapped in blood and silk

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Js62lon by ToTheStarsWriting When Alec came back from Alicante, life had seemed to finally be looking up for him. No longer "Acting" Head of the Institute, all of his hard work had finally paid off. He was the youngest official, fully-vested Institute Head in the past 150 years. Something he'd worked damn hard to achieve. So of course he should've expected for something to happen to change that. With the introduction of Clary Fray into their lives, and all the chaos she brought with her, Alec came home to an Institute in upheaval. Unsanctioned missions, a search for the Cup, and Valentine's daughter running free. And his very first steps towards trying to fix it all - reaching out to the High Warlock they'd all managed to use for help somehow without paying him - ends with a whole lot more trouble than Clary could've ever brought him. Alec goes on a journey that starts with pain and ends with a strange bond he never wanted, a husband he never thought he could have, and the chance to finally affect some real changes in the Shadow World. That is, if they can all survive long enough to see it happen. Words: 2832, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane, Valentine Morgenstern, Jace Wayland, Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fray, Simon Lewis, Raphael Santiago, Ragnor Fell, Catarina Loss, Jocelyn Fairchild, Imogen Herondale, Original Characters, Benji Sunkeep, Andrew Underhill Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added Additional Tags: Angst, This one is gonna hurt some, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Human Experimentation, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Alec Lightwood, Hurt Magnus Bane, BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF Magnus Bane, Slow Burn, Surprisingly, Magic, Blood Magic, Valentine Morgenstern Being an Asshole, valentine is his own warning, Discrimination Against Downworlders, The Clave Being an Asshole (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Alec Lightwood Against the Clave, hybrid alec, Tags Contain Spoilers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Js62lon

[starfoam]

Here’s how it actually ends.

Timelines fray and tatter. Too much separation from the Focus can do that; with Lo gone so often, and for so long, the knots that tie the strings of her reality to others come loose. Eventually, all at once, they all untether.

It happens slowly. Doors close off one by one; she assumes their timelines have ended or rebooted, or the entrance has moved. The water’s temperature rises slowly, the danger only becoming apparent once all other doors are closed and she realizes that Lys and Hiroshi and Archie’s doors are gone. She tests her magic, but nothing gives; her magic is as strong as ever, but she’s too far away from other timelines to open their doors.

She understands, then, that it’s none of their timelines that are ending.

The world shrinks, gradually. First she stops hearing news about Kanto, then Sinnoh; one day Kalos disappears, and the next her stepmother Felicia is gone. Her mother is melancholy for days and gets worse with each one, without knowing why; when Lo opens her door one day to find a vacant apartment that’s never been rented, she’s almost relieved.

Akala disappears next. It’s not clear why; maybe it was just the one she visited least. Kiana is troubled, but can’t put words to it; Lore looks at Lorelei with terrified eyes.

“Can’t you do something?”

“I am.”

It’s a month after the process started when all that’s left is Melemele; Lo, Lore, Kiana and Kei survive. Everyone else is a ghost, grey and vacant, a shadow of themselves.

It’s Kiana who finds the cave again, desperately searching for an escape; the well stands resolute, shallow and bottomless, a single drop of water disturbing its pristine surface and falling from an unknown source. They all look into it, and Kei opens his mouth to ask if it’s safe.

He disappears a moment later.

“It’ll be okay,” Lo says, putting a hand on Kiana’s shoulder. “I’m holding this place steady. You’ll be safe the whole way to the other side.”

“And what’s there?” Kiana asks. Lo smiles, and kisses her forehead. She watches as Kiana sighs, and nods, and takes a breath.

She crashes into the water, and disappears on its surface. There’s nothing beneath.

Lore looks at Lo.

“So,” she says, “you ready?”

“Yeah,” Lo says, and gives a sad smile. “I am.”

Lore can’t reply before Lo pushes her in.

The well dries up.

----

Melemele island. It’s summer. Lorelei “Lore” Snow wakes up in her childhood room. Her sister Kiana, aged 10, is banging on the door - it’s her Trainer day! They can’t be late!

Lore smiles, and shakes her head, and starts to get dressed. Her goomy, Benji, burbles in confusion.

“It’s the big day,” she says, “we need to get going early. C’mon, let’s get your wagon.”

She never falls down a hole.

---

There is a gap between time and space. In a quiet moment, it grows a little bigger.

In its new pocket, a castle stands, on a floating island of pitch-black sand and water that swirls with starlight. A young woman stands at the palace doors, and turns inward.

A hundred thousand doors open. Her eyes are red with tears, but she still smiles.

“C’mon Benji,” she says, as a strangely-shaped goodra trots behind her and follows her into the light, “let’s see where this one leads.”

The door closes behind her. The castle waits. It is a place for now, but one day it will be home.

[justmoreocs-writing]

Hugging them to shield their face from the sight.

Using this prompt list.

‘It’s OK,’ Aoife said, even if the simple statement tasted like a lie. She’d grown so used to seeing horrors that she had almost forgotten what it was like to see the destruction of demons for the very first time. How long it took before it became something almost normal. It never got nice, but eventually she’d figure out how to compartmentalise it. Benji wasn’t at that stage of his training yet.

‘How?’ His voice was little more than a strangled whisper, his eyes locked on the horrific tableau before him. He was crouched, closer to the truth of it all than was advisable.

Aoife didn’t answer him. Instead, she lowered herself to his level and pulled him in for a hug, shielding his face from the sight. She held the back of his head gently, lowering his face to the crook of her neck; wound her other arm around his back to hold him steady. He trembled ever so slightly, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the tears started.

‘I can still see it,’ he mumbled against her.

‘I know,’ she soothed, rubbing gentle circles on his back. ‘But it’ll fade.’

‘When?’ She heard the sob behind the question, and tried to ignore the way it broke her heart. Things were so much easier when she didn’t care about the stupid Mundane kid that had stumbled into her world.

‘Eventually,’ she assured him, wishing there was something more she could do to protect him from the horrors that would come with being a Shadowhunter. Wishing that this wasn’t the life his parents had hidden from him for so long, because at least then he would have known how to cope with it all.

Benji carefully wrapped his own arms around her, clinging to her as if she were the only thing keeping him afloat in that moment. And for once she hoped her assurance was more than just simple words. Hoped it was more akin to a spell and he’d be able to distance himself from the horror quicker than she had. That it wouldn’t occasionally plague his nightmares when the cracks showed between the compartments built to hold those memories in.

[justmoreocs-edits]

Perspective Character Introduction: Benji Fray

Name: Benjamin Andrew Fray

Nickname(s): Benji / AKA Benjamin Fairchild / AKA Benjamin Morgenstern

Birthday: 23rd of August

Age: 18 years old

Height: 180cm / 5’10’’

Dominant Hand: Left

Occupation: Shadowhunter in Training

Species: Nephilim

Faceclaim is KJ Apa

Character Tag

Story Tag

[callmearcturus]

more rogue nation physicality obsessing before i sleep

i would murder to get my hands on benji's e-ink laptop from this scene. its AMAZING. i would use it for everything. say goodbye to eye strain forever, holy shit.

every fleeting glimpse of Ilsa is great. ALSO ITS A SMALL THING BUT ITS HUGE TO ME: i love that under her flowy, beautiful golden dress she has like this fitted black shorts thing? because yes that makes perfect sense, if anything ever happened to the dress, she could ditch it and have something easy to move in underneath ready to go.

sorry i just think this shot is stunning, the dramatic shadows of ethan and the assassin in the foreground, the colors and lights, love it

okay like its hilarious when TC is short BUT what i love about this fight scene is that it's not a one-off joke. the guy's stature is a very big problem for Ethan. he completely no-sells the kick to center mass Ethan gives him, he doesn't stagger in the way Ethan keeps trying to do, and Ethan has no leverage on this guy. it really takes Ethan's usual combat style and causes problems.

the spinning around in unison is so funny

the amount of effort this ONE GUY takes lmao, i love it. i love when Ethan gets the shit kicked out of him! i love that Ethan (and Ilsa and others) have a Specific Fighting Style and that informs how they handle situations. There are rules to how they move and those rules are consistent.

ALSO I LOVE THE FACT THAT SOLOMON IS AT TURNADOT and if Benji didn't have to run to the lighting booth, he would have found him eventually. goddamn fucking Lane.

shout out to benji getting throw bodily into a wall too and how real it feels. AGAIN, spoke about this before, but Luther and Benji are both tech people but Benji is a field agent where Luther is an eye in the sky or mission control. Benji doesn't hesitate to throw himself into the fray and I love that repeated note.

Ilsa locks eyes with Benji and congrats Ilsa, you are now doomed to care about this fluffy lil man for the rest of the franchise. Ethan imprints on everyone and Benji gets everyone to imprint on him. Key and lock. ten out of ten.

[unhallowedfm]

merlin's beard, gabriel longbottom (sean teale), is that you? it’s been so long – i thought you might’ve been dead! i mean, you never know in times like these. well, it’s good to have you back in the fight. come on now, there’s no time to waste – we need you to re-enter the fray within the next 48 hours, or else i fear all might be lost. don’t let us down – the world is counting on you.

[ he/him, cis man ] greetings to all of our listeners! we start today’s potterwatch with a long-awaited update on gabriel longbottom who was finally spotted alive just last night, wandering the streets of london. for those of you who haven’t tuned in before, they are a twenty-nine year old muggleborn gryffindor alum who works as an auror. they are oddly reminiscent of constant scruff on his face, hands bruised from a rough night prior, fingertips always tapping against whatever surface is in front of him, random sketches, empty rooms full of empty chairs and the raw instinct to survive which makes sense considering their protective, diligent, selflessness, judgemental, impulsive, and short-tempered nature. you might know of them as the adopted child of hannah and neville longbottom, and we’re sure that their family will be relieved to hear they’re safe and sound — or at least as much as you can be, in times like this. to all our listeners, if you catch a glimpse of someone who looks a bit like that muggle sean teale, that’s them. before approaching, please be aware that they’re rumored to be affiliated with the erinyes, so best proceed with caution. these are dangerous times we’re living in. well, thanks for tuning in, folks. we’ll play ourselves out with i know the end by phoebe bridges. [ benji, 28, he/him, pst, none ]

[oddcryptidwrites]

Oc Bag Game

@anyablackwood tagged me in this and I'm gonna leave it an open tag for anyone to hop on and play!

Rules: Name five things (or more!) your OC would have in a backpack or any bag at school.

(Since I've already done this for IASH, and most NYTF characters don't carry bags, I'll move onto the Neon Squad universe, since I've been giving them love in my head recently)

Cassander (on his person, he doesn't carry bags):

Wallet

Car keys

Aspirin for his knee

Handgun + bullets

Cell phone (that is 5+ years out of date because he refuses to upgrade)

Felix (in a small cross-body bag):

Protein bars (at least 4)

Epipen (as many as he can fit)

Whatever the most recent thing he stole is (which Cassander will make him take back)

3 weeks old phone (the screen is already cracked)

Wallet (likely lost) with no money in it

Max (in a fancy messenger bag):

Notebooks (one for each class he's taking)

Exactly 3 random pens

Epipen (1)

His laptop (fancy) and charger

Phone with a built in wallet case (with his student ID in the front)

Expensive headphones

September (tote bag):

Jar of dirt (large)

Black cloth (about 1'x1')

Approximately $49.38 in cash and change in a coin purse

A flip phone

Bones (who knows where they came from)

A piece of paper with entirely incoherent writing on it

Briana (expensive purse):

Excessively large water bottle (empty)

Fifteen used tissues (shoved in a side pocket)

Three empty chapstick tubes (and one half-used)

Epipen (1) (Notice a trend yet? it's because they need the epinephrine, but not for allergy purposes. It's about to get excessive)

Sunglasses

Wallet and keys to her car, connected together with several key chains

Dead phone

Benji (also a tote bag):

Six tubes of lipstick in varying colors

Epipens (3)

Metal mint tin full of hair ties, clips, earrings, and 100$ in cash

A single rock

Two handguns, sixteen bullets between them

Drivers License (loose)

KiKi (bookbag which hangs on the back of her wheelchair):

Literally so many books and notebooks the bag hardly closes

Ancient laptop with a fraying charging cord

Ungodly amount of pens and pencils

Lab coat and goggles

Student ID (on a lanyard attached to the bag)

Phone without the notifications turned off

Wallet (somewhere)

Tylenol bottle (almost empty)

Several used and unused epipens

Dina (in a duffle):

Scarf pins

Chapstick (one tube, cherry flavored)

Epipens (6)

gym clothes

combo lock

Phone and chunky headphones

weightlifting belt and gloves

Cael (bookbag):

Sketchbook (mostly full)

Pencil pouch full of colored pencils, pens, graphite pencils, you name it

School-owned laptop and his personal laptop (both are dead and they have no charger)

wrist braces (2)

Dead phone

Loose SmarTrip card (almost empty)

[unknownjpegs]

tears

The night air is cool and stings his warm cheeks, which he would usually fucking hate. But it’s nice after a long night of awkward pauses and unreadable facial expressions. Stuffy. That’s what parties are. Always, always fucking stuffy; crammed full of bodies, of sound, too. many people and voices for him to get a word in edgewise, much less have thoughts of his own amongst the noise.

But Maran’s hadn’t yet been to leave. Busy chatting up some girl he’s had a crush on the last month or so, dark hair and torn tights and platforms that put her nearly at his height. So Benji waits, patience fraying until he knows from the glances other people send his way that a nasty scowl paints his face. That’s when he knows it’s best to retreat, collect himself before Maran gets any more gossip aimed his way about his mean, unapproachable friend that made everything awkward.

Fortunately, parties like these — in nice, big houses like these — always have an empty room to spare. When he finds it he’s unapologetically nosy, peering at polaroids and post-it notes pinned carefully in place on a cork board. He’s noting a shopping list, an exam next Wednesday, a reminder to call ROXANNE W. IN BILLING.

It’s a nice little oasis — silent, the important part — until the creaky bedroom door is kicked open. Benji jolts, nearly falls off the windowsill’s ledge, where he’s propped himself. The cigarette he’d lit for himself goes flying off into the night, a little red ember spinning against blue until it’s snuffed out by wind.

The person that stomps into the room doesn’t know this. Doesn’t even see Benji right away, not as the window’s angled towards the door. They pace in a quick circle, hunched shoulders doing nothing to hide how tall they are. When the intruder turns, Benji’s realizes it’s a partygoer, maybe several years younger. Handsome — fit, actually, with big sad eyes and red hair to match his cheeks.

He yelps when he notices Benji at the window, jumping backwards to flatten his shoulders against the door. Which slams loudly shut. Although he finds his reaction amusing and face compelling, Benji scowls and waves his now-empty fingers.

“Owe me one, mate. Fuckin’ hell.”

“I’m just — oh my God, I can’t — I can’t believe they’re here and he—fuck! Sorry. I’m so sorry.” The stranger stutters it out quick. Nearly incomprehensible around an accent Benji can’t place. Not local; the vowels aren’t as soft, cadence too fast. He has a hell of a time with placing American accents sometimes, especially when they’re messy and jumbled like this one.

“No place is private, s’pose.” Benji mumbles. He ignores the stranger’s fidgeting, the frantic movements of his hands as he talks to himself under his breath. “Well, since you’re in no state — I’ll go, then. Leave you to it.”

Frankly, he can’t imagine wanting to be someplace less than next to a stranger with tears streaking their cheeks. Benji kicks his feet to the side, hopping down from the window and reaching for his jacket. He’d stuffed it into the corner as a cushion, and now he shakes the crispy falls from its lapels.

Or tries to, anyway. A big pale hand encloses over his forearm. Benji’s lip curls angry and he wrenches himself away, other hand between their bodies palm-first.

“Oi, man. Hands off! Y’wanker. Whatever the fuck your issue is, how about you deal with it in your own space?”

“Do you have another?” The man asks. He leans towards Benji, bent at a waist that looks trim beneath the loose material of his shirt. His eyes snap up, cheeks flushing, unaware they’d even fallen there in the first place.

“Huh?

The other man gestures out the window towards Benji’s lost soldier. “Do you have another? Cigarette, I mean — or like, fuck. Sorry, was that your vape? Those things are expensive. I’ll pay you back. Although probably, uh, cash? I don’t have any of those apps.”

Benji blinks twice at him, jaw slack at the barrage of chatter. “You’re crying.” He points out flatly.

“H-huh?” The man touches fingers to his cheek. “Oh.”

“Related to the cigarette, at all? Might mean it’s a problem, you get that kinda reaction —“

He laughs, the sound choppy and pitched high. “Oh, no. I just saw — well. Okay, it doesn’t matter. What matters is if you have another or not.”

Benji holds his gaze as he reaches for the assigned pocket of his jacket, flipping the box top-side facing him to pull one out. He comes a step closer, more of the moonlight gathering at the high planes of his face, and Benji feels — nervous. He’s pretty. Pretty pretty, the way most people work and pay to look. Even (or especially) tear-stained as he is.

“Don’t touch me again.” Benji warns as the stranger tucks the cigarette to his mouth. He holds up a lighter on instinct, hand cupping around the edge against the open window’s draft, and watches the end catch. Watches and watches and stares at that little wick of flame as it licks and burns the tube’s contents. When he glances up, he finds a pair of severely green eyes glued to his. With a rough clearing of his throat, Benji retreats back to his spot.

His own replacement cigarette is halfway to his mouth when he’s jostled by the ankles. The stranger climbs up with him, knees tucking up towards his torso to make room and leave Benji his requested space.

“Uh.” He says. “I wasn’t really plannin’ on company.”

“I hate parties like this.”

Benji blinks at being so blatantly ignored.

“Sorry. I won’t rant about this. Dude, I’m drunk, sorry. I won’t rant. Swear.” He’s silent for a moment. “But fuck, I hate parties like this, you know? You just run into anybody.”

“Nobody you ever want to run into, either.”

“Exactly!” The other man shouts, reaching out to nudge Benji with his free hand.

Benji feels awful for what happens next, he really does. It’s instinct: rough-housing with Maran, going heels over shoulders in a mess of limbs and bony elbows; a fight with messy punches and his weight thrown haphazardly.

His leg snaps out, heel of his boot connecting with a thigh, and the stranger’s eyes widen. It happens practically in slow motion, his pinwheeling arms and Benji’s hand shot out to just graze the material of his brown jacket.He loses balance, legs kicking for purchase on something, but it’s no use — he falls from the ledge with a little cry, rolling along the shingles of the roof.

He careens over the edge and Benji scrambles after, carefully maintaining balance as he peers down to the ground below.

Fortunately, they’re only on the second story. Even more fortunately, the side of the house is bracketed with massive bushes. In the grass not several paces away from where Benji’s victim had been flung smolders the cigarette, a plume of light smoke winding into the air as it begins to burn dry grass.

One of those massive pale hands shoots out from the mess of branches and leaves, smacking over the cigarette before it catches anything but itself alight.

“Holy shit.” He’s thankfully laughing as he scrambles out of the shrubbery, long legs comical in the stumbling that ensues once he’s free. Benji watches him wipe both grassy palms over his face, leave little green smears that compliment his eyes instead of the glistening trail of salty tears.

He turns round several times, clearly out of sorts. When he finally tips his chin up to find Benji, hands braced above to push himself half out of the window, the resulting smile — well. Benji rolls his eyes to give himself an excuse to look away from its toothy stretch.

“I didn’t —“

“I have sticks in places sticks shouldn’t be!” The stranger snorts, folding forward to rest hands on his knees. Benji finds his laughter contagious, lifts a sleeve over his mouth to cover the blooming smile.

“What’s your—”

Benji’s intruder falls backwards with a dramatic stumble, both hands clutched over his chest. “I’ll sue.”

“Wrong side.” Benji points out, carefully slipping from the edge of the window to the overhang, boots dangling off the side of the roof. “Heart’s on the left, if it’s a cardiac something-or-other you’re after.”

“Ah, thanks.” He switches to the left. He stands up finally — when he lifts a hand to tug at Benji’s shoestring, that’s when Benji realizes exactly how tall the prick is

“Sound, though?”

“Huh?”

“Sound?”

The redhead tosses his head back and laughs, all his confusion and the adrenaline from the moment compounding into a fantastic bout of hysteria. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying, dude.”

“I dunno what the fuck you’re sayin’!” Benji cackles back, suddenly feeling every ounce of alcohol he’d ingested that night. His hair falls around his face as he leans further over the edge. “You know you are pretty fuckin’ impossible to understand?”

“No you.” The stranger fires back. Then his own drunk, glazed eyes light up. Like he’s just thought up something groundbreaking: “No, your mom.”

*

He doesn’t tell anyone that story: how they met. Not really.

He tells people he found out who Xavier was the following week, at an adorably well-organized party Matilda throws to celebrate her birthday. Some new guy she’s been hooking up with is there, along with his roommate. Ends up being Benji’s stranger from the party, the catastrophe where two cigarettes failed to be shared. After he’d gotten himself back up to their window seat, they had talked until everyone had begun to clear out. Had talked so long and so enthusiastically, without care for topic or setting. And they’d been so engrossed in it that finally when it came time to part, Benji had entirely forgotten to ask after the bastard’s name.

Benji keeps the real story for himself. Because he’d been vulnerable, sitting there in a stranger’s home and ready to be free of the social nightmare. Vulnerable and alone until suddenly he wasn’t — and that felt like something, in a way. That Xavier had just sort of fallen into his lap the way he had. That their friendship started on a chance meeting, despite the layered web of mutual friends that would end up connecting them anyway. He tries to realistic, but that feels purposeful and less like a simple coincidence.

“I hated your fuckin’ guts at first.” Benji admits to him once. They’re laying in Xavier’s bed, not tangled up together like they will be in just a few months but close. Shoulders, elbows, hips brushing. Sharing a blanket, heads tilted together to gossip, to comment on the shit movie Xavier had put on, a near-empty bag of chips between them.

“Did you really?” Xavier asks, his eyes wide and brows. “I figured you were like…going through something, but —“

“Me?” He snorts, sitting up a little. The blanket falls away, puts the cold air to his arms and makes them ripple with goosebumps. He’s in a borrowed t-shirt, some dog cartoon character he doesn’t recognize twisted around itself by the elastic knots of yellow limbs.

“Yeah you.”

“You were the one crying.”

Xavier scoffs, reaching for the remote to pause the movie. Neither are interest in it — but he’s going to make a point, needs it to be quiet so he’s sure Benji hears.

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Yes you were.”

“You were drunk.” He argues. “You aren’t remembering things accurately.”

Benji makes an outraged noise, a wild bark of a laugh, before rolling to his knees to shove at Xavier’s heaving shoulders.

“No fuckin’ way in hell you’re gaslighting me, dickhead. If anything, you were drunk.”

“No you.”

One final good push brings them both over the edge of the bed, falling in a tangle of limbs with a loud thump that no doubt carries downstairs to the neighbor who undoubtedly hates the ever-growing number of young men living above them.

“Your. Mum.”

After a quick battle — Benji ends it quick with a nasty grapple, anyway — he keeps Xavier’s squirming body and desperately kicking legs pinned to the ground. Arm over his sternum, the blankets tossed in a mess around them. He’s panting with exertion, cheeks hurting from smiling so fucking hard.

By no means is it the first time Benji has looked at him and wondered what it would be like to kiss Xavier. The fear of him rebuffing that is strong, but his desire to maintain one of the best friendships he’s ever had, aside Maran, is stronger. It pains him to imagine Xavier shocked or disgusted or ambivalent — but it hurts less than imagining the things Xavier might think about the time they’ve spent together. Benji would rather never know what he tastes like than have Xavier assume all the movies, the late night chats, and gentle ribbing were done with some nefarious purpose — the only reason Benji had ever participated in any of those things was to get that big, toothy grin.

I’d never fucking lie to you, he thinks as he stares down at Xavier’s flushed face. He’s got a sheen of sweat, a bit of moisture that pools at the hallow of his throat. Benji imagines kissing him then. Imagines dropping his mouth to that spot, tasting skin with a sweep of his tongue.

He swallows and pushes away perhaps harder than he needs to, because Xavier whines and complains about a bruise on his collarbone for a week after.

*

After they’re together, Xavier doesn’t complain about bruises. At least —- not the ones Benji tends to tuck gently, sweetly into his skin. Every color looks fantastic on Xavier; the red blossom of a fresh hickey, fading purple of finger prints on his waist. Even the barely-there yellow green of imprinted teeth on his stomach look good. Compliment.

Benji’s tracing them thoughtlessly. Admiring the soft skin, where it’d broken just beneath the surface to leave evidence of his mouth.

“Benji,” Xavier whines. It’s a lovely, breathless sort of gasp that leaves him like it’s got nowhere else to go, like Xavier can’t hold onto it for a moment longer.

“Sorry,” he hums, mouth pressed to one of those marks. The vibration yanks another noise from Xavier — one that sounds as if he hadn’t meant to let go of it, either. “Too much?”

He barely cracks his eyes open, but gets a flash of gorgeous red hair messes across the pillowcase. Xavier’s chin thrashes left and right, his eyes squeezed shut. Chest heaving, he pets Benji’s hair back from his face with trembling hands and arches off the mattress.

“You’re so —“ he says hoarsely, his hips never pausing in their twitching, the gentle roll upwards only to dig back down into the bed. Press backwards into the seat of Benji’s palm, chase after his fingers. Greedy, he thinks fondly, and then angles his wrist so Xavier can take the more he’s so desperate for. The deeper penetration has him shaking all over; a vibration of his muscles that makes him squirm, makes his legs kick helplessly.

“So?” Benji prompts.

Xavier goes to answer — he tries to. It looks as though he really, really tries. But Benji chooses that exact moment (when his pink, shiny, bitten lips part, when that little wrinkle shows between his brows as he fights words to the surface) to return to the task he’d been interrupted from completing.

He holds Xavier still by the hips and swallows him down, eyes fluttering shut at the weight and taste and warmth on his tongue. He bobs back and forth only a few times in an uninterrupted rhythm; it’s not long before Xavier’s desperate, excitable strength starts to show.

Benji hum a laugh around cock in his mouth, for a moment cursed with the horrible mental image of choking and dying this way. He’d hate for that one to make it back to Saha — worse, make it back to Maran, who he imagines would stand over his grave and piss himself laughing about the fact. He pulls off to speak, a thick strand of spit connecting him to Xavier’s flushed tip. The rhythm of his hand remains constant.

“Finally let me get my mouth on this thing, and you’re trying to kick me off?” Benji teases, the words a gentle murmur to his bare hip bone. His jaw opens momentarily, offering a scrape of teeth to the spot.

“I’m— Benji, I can’t…I’m so fucking close, you have to —“

Benji sits upright with a little scowl, glaring down at Xavier when the movements of his body intensify.

“Bastard.” He laughs fondly, hands becoming steel as they manage to hold Xavier still. “Fuckin’ hell. Behave, Xavier.”

For a moment, Benji thinks he’s found the hidden passcode. Xavier does behave — he does stop. He goes absolutely motionless, his clawing hands paused on Benji’s shoulders.

And then Xavier chokes on a sudden ragged moan, chin jutting back to the ceiling as his shaking begins once more. This time, Benji feels the pulse of his orgasm in his hands. Watches, enraptured, as his cock gives a brief jerk and then spills a previously unwitnessed amount of cum over Benji’s paused hand.

The ego trip, bolstered by the wild noises coming from his boyfriend’s mouth, is short-lived. Tears spring to Xavier’s eyes immediately; fat, shiny diamonds stuck to the corners of his eyes. It reminds Benji of the little crystal stickers Matilda had used for Halloween, the night they’d gotten together. Night before, really. It hadn’t been official. Now here they are — tucked into the warm refuge of Benji’s messy fucking bedroom, a half-empty bottle of lube tossed to the ground. They’d pressed close and together like this after a nerve-leaden discussion that had eventually settled on a clear conclusion: yes, we waited long enough, now, right now.

Benji has never really ruminated on (or made a big deal about) his first time with a partner. Not until now, not until Xavier —

Whose tears turn, inexplicably, into bitter streams that course down his cheeks. Benji’s brow knits, confusion settling cold over him instead of admiration for Xavier’s post coital glow. He doesn’t really have one, so to speak. Instead he’s still shaking, his arms tucked around his waist instead of Benji’s shoulders.

Benji sits up immediately, both hands soothing a dance up and down bare freckled thighs.

“Xavier? Hey. A’right there, gorgeous?” The panic settles firmly, a heavy-handed punch, in his chest. Xavier is murmuring to himself. Most of it is a soft babble, but his concerned ear picks up one repeated word.

“Sorry,” Xavier mumbles several times, his shaking hands rising to settle over his eyes. His beautiful mouth is twisted into a frown that makes Benji’s heart ache, no panic required. “Sorry, I know that was quick — I didn’t ask, I just— it was too…sorry.”

“Oh fuck.” Benji hisses. He wipes his lube-tacky hand against the sheet and then darts forward, pulling Xavier onto his side so they face one another. Gingerly, wary of any sort of tension or movement to pull away, he wraps arms around Xavier, slide him and bring them chest to chest.

“Shh, fuckin’ hell. What ‘ave you got to apologize for, you loon? Nothing.”

Xavier continues to shiver, but the sobbing, hitching breaths eventually settle the long Benji rubs over his spine, squeezes his sides in gentle encouragement. He talks, talks, talks: shh, Xavier. S’fine, I’m not pissed or nothin’. It was hot, alright? s’what I wanted to happen. You’re allowed to— mate, the point is that you make a mess, yeah? That’s the fun. You’re allowed to feel good.

It’s a conversation they save for another time. Benji’s okay with that. He’s worried, but there’s a bubble of rage deep within him; it’s not a reaction without context. Without something to set him off. And he has an inkling to what that might be. What the story is, there. It’s just not one that Xavier has offered to tell just yet. And that’s fine — Benji is fine with that. He can manage the bubbling feeling in his chest, the hotter-than-anger catch of fire on a wick.

*

Benji’s swimming head allows him to notice the sensation of a mouth touching to his shoulder blade. The delicious hint of pain in that bite is fleeting compared to everything else. Xavier’s weight is a warm, encompassing blanket against his back. Sticky with sweat and pressed to him, keeping him down and still and prone. Strong hands tight against his biceps, and the filthy-feeling desire to give in to that display makes Benji arch his back into the next thrust, a moan bitten out into the pillow.

It’s only the second time they’ve — well, done it this way. The second time Benji has let himself be coaxed onto his back, knees parted; let himself be taken care of, stretched and loved.

And he is loved. It makes him blush to think about. It’s funny, makes him huff out a laugh, that the embarrassment comes to him then. Not at the obscene slap of skin or Xavier’s unapologetically noisy enjoyment of his body, not at the feeling of being filled and empty and filled, how he is. No, it’s the gentle I love you, I can feel you loving me that courses through him. Brings red to his cheeks.

“Xavier,” he tries to warn, knees pulling up as the orgasm touches beneath his belly button. His cock gives an almost painful jerk against the sheets and Benji ruts into that sharp fizzle of discomfort. When it hurts a little, it’s —

“Good?” Xavier responds, mouthing a line up the back of Benji’s neck. He tilts his head for a sloppy, off-centered kiss. Xavier keeps up the deep thrusts, purposefully slow and hard; doing his best to drive Benji through the center of the earth, he thinks.

“Yes,” he gasps back, head tilted for another kiss. “Good fuckin’ boy.” Benji gets so much as another I’m— out before it slips over him, the warm blanket of oblivion. Of white-hot arousal in his stomach, spilling into the interior of his chest and overflowing. Xavier’s pace falters, the rhythm off entirely as he groans and buries his face into the back of Benji’s head.

When he finally comes back to himself enough to move, Benji flips onto his side. Feels quite, in that moment, like an overfed dog barely a let o roll over. His limbs are heavy, stuck to him as alien weights instead of parts of himself. He feels satiated and sleepy, eyes fluttering as he stares across the bed at Xavier.

Fingers touch to his cheek and come back wet as Xavier holds them up for Benji to examine.

“Got you crying.” He whispers conspiratorially, sneaky and satisfied and humored by Benji’s lazy scowl.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Only thing gone to my head is — uh, blood. I mean, because I’m hard. Get it, Benji? Blood gone to the head?”

He wipes Benji’s cheeks as he talks. Yammers. Fucking goes and goes, this one. Reminds Benji of the first night they met, when Xavier’s charming nerves had often the best of him.

And now he can’t imagine a world without that constant chatter beside him. All the noise is good, even when he cries.

“Crying just means we have something else to figure out,” Xavier had once said, both of them angry and pouring tears after a nasty spat. “You should probably like, put your face really close to mine. We’ll think better that way.”

It had made him laugh, even through the misery of the subject and their shared annoyance. He thinks its fitting Xavier had come to him crying, all that time ago. It meant Benji had something to figure out, or it meant Benji had done something right. Deserved Xavier, just not an entitled observing, a desire to add him to some collection. But a deserved as in: yes, you’ve done good. Here is more good coming your way. Here is the greatest good you’ll ever know. And don’t forget to cry. Let him let you cry.

“I love you,” Benji says simply when Xavier pulls away from the kiss. When they face each other, eyes meeting and melting together, Benji thinks of how lovely his eyes look, a certain shine to them as well.

“You would say it after gettin’ —“

Xavier is rocketed to the ground with arms full of naked, faux-punching drummer. They dissolve into that how they always do; a fake fight, soft-swinging jabs, a shoulder check or elbow around the neck.

“Awful,” Benji accuses, not meaning a single word as he settles his cheek against Xavier’s bare torso. One of his hands coasts up his waist to paw filthy at the soft give of fat at his hip.

“It works for you.” Xavier points out. His thumbs, as they touch Benji’s jaw, are still wet from brushing tears away.

Benji hums and takes his face in his hands, too. He presses their mouths together in a kiss that starts (as it often does) relatively chaste. Just one, becomes two, becomes three that linger, that make him feel tight in the calves and abdomen; round two just on the horizon. His arms wrap tight around Xavier’s biceps to pull him in for another devouring, sucking mesh of their mouths.

“Yeah, whatever. Every time.” Benji admits, grumbling.

[ontheroadrp]

GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN, BENJI CORBEAU (jack o'connell fc)

life on the road can be tough, but we’re glad you and yours made it to taos!

what can we say, we loooove a violent man! breaking canadian stereotypes! a blue collar king!!! the french was such a treat to read! all of it was such a treat to read! welcome to the group!!!

BASICS

[JACK O’CONNELL, CISMALE, HE/HIM] ever heard about [BENJAMIN “BENJI” CORBEAU]? Out here on the road, they have a reputation of being [LOYAL + TOUGH] but also [IMPULSIVE & SHORT TEMPERED]. No wonder they’re called [KNOCKIN’ ON HEAVENS DOOR]. According to local legend, they’re [TWENTY-FOUR] and when they pull up to camp not a soul can mistake the sound of [HÉLÈNE BY ROCK VOISIN] following them. Some say they carry a [CRACKED GLASS BONG, FRAYED FLANNEL COAT WITH POCKETS FOR DRUGS, AND A BEAT-UP MAURICE RICHARD HOCKEY CARD] and have been travelling with [THE BOHEMIANS]. [OOC INFO: EMILY, 24, SHE/HER, EASTERN TIMEZONE]. 

  BIOGRAPHY 

Originally from Moncton, New Brunswick (Canada). He grew up in his mom’s childhood home in the French community of Dieppe. Benji’s memories of his mother are confined to the first twelve years of his life. Marguerite Robichaud (Mother) stuck around long enough to birth his second sister before hitting the road with a new guy, leaving them all behind with Joseph Corbeau (Father). Nobody could blame her. Benji’s father was an alcoholic who never strayed far from a pack of Molson, especially after a shit day at the mines. 

Benji grew up being described by his mother (and eventually the whole town) as “un p’tit gamin né avec des patins aux pieds!” (“A wild child born with skates on his feet!”). He hit the ice at the ripe age of two and the skates never left his feet. Smalltown hockey was his refuge. Benji became known for fierce fighting and reliable defence. Delicate hand-to-hand combat wasn’t his forte (he’s got scars to prove it!) but he was scrappy and, frankly, he was never the first to tap out. He spent most of his youth in whirlwind of trouble - smoking pot and cutting school to shoot pucks at the outdoor rink, eventually turning to harder drugs. The coach never had the balls to lay down an iron fist, mainly because the minor team counted on him to protect their prized centermen. He made his way up to the Fredericton Red Wings right after he graduated high school. While Benji slid through most of his youth without consequence for drug abuse or petty theft, he got kicked off the Red Wings after being caught selling product to opposing team members at a provincial tourney. Nobody on the team attempted to intervene in the removal process. It was a difficult reality to accept. Benji returned to Moncton with skates in hand, without the quasi-stable world of hockey training to keep him out of trouble. The game of life was a harder pill to swallow. 

His father managed to wrangle him into a job at the local mine. It came to an end after a pub brawl got out of hand. Benji smashed a bottle over a man’s head and was charged with a variation of assault causing bodily harm. The judge ordered eighteen months in prison with rehabilitative treatment as part of his sentence. Benji’s first overdose came three weeks after his release. Two officers found him passed out on a snowbank and brought him to the local hospital. His second overdose came two months after that. His youngest sibling checked him into public rehab in a desperate attempt to put her brother on a brighter path. The 30-day program didn’t help much. Benji drifted from shelter to shelter around the Northern area of New Brunswick, selling drugs to support his own addiction until he voluntarily checked himself into another public rehab facility for the third (and last time). The staff wasn’t entirely convinced that he was ready for the real world. They were probably right. He continued using & selling after the longer 90-day program. Dealing drugs certainly wasn’t part of his five phases of addiction recovery. 

Benji’s life is a compilation of burned bridges. Literally. He burned his Canadian passport after crossing the border and spending his first year on the road. The only flicker of his old life can be found in a slight accent if you ask him to pronounce certain words and a  beat-up Maurice Richard hockey card tucked away in his wallet. He’s fully bilingual … but don’t ask him to speak French. He’ll knock you to your f*cking ass. 

  STATS 

Athletics +3

Burglary +3

Contacts -3

Crafts (Sewing, mending, basket making, weaving, etc. etc.) -3

Deceive +2

Drive (like, actual driving ability) -3

Empathy -3

Fight +3

Investigate +2

Lore (Kinda like knowledge) -2

Navigation -3

Notice -3

Physique +3

Provoke +3

Rapport -3

Resourcefulness +3

Stealth +2

Will -3

EXTRAS: 

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