#actually thinking of switching Backpack to the mechanic and having Jacket as the Engineer

[imflyingfish]

I have an oc I'm trying to design (or more a character concept) and tbh I really want to know what other people could come up with.

He's a middle schooler living in a zombie apocolypse who's most notable feature is his jacket/coat, which they capture birds in to release them as a ranged attack.

Jacket lives with his gang- a group of middle schoolers who do not call eachother by their names but instead by their specialised object (the healer for example is called Pillow, the heavy is called Backpack ect)

I have a design for him already but tbh im more interested in what others can come with since i feel like i haven't been abke to explore all concept versions of him. The reason why im struggling is bc im struggling to make him different to another character .

Tldr i guess this is a character design prompt. Draw this character if u want!!

[creepy-crowleys]

((Probably going with Demolisher for Crowley's class. Which is... actually the one I think I started her on. The in-game classes don't do much beyond determining your starting weapons - and you can switch from them pretty much once you've finished the tutorial - but I think it works for her. :d))

Demolisher

Responding to cries for help from the alley behind the convenience store, the schoolgirl slips off her uniform jacket, folds it, and stuffs it into her backpack. There will be blood—lots of blood—and she does not want it stained. She slides a ball-peen hammer out as she puts the jacket away and goes off to crack some skulls. The swordsman pivots, opening his soul to Gaia’s will as he slices upward at the looming ak’ab. His blade meets the insect’s carapace with a crack of thunder, nearly deafening the swordsman even as it hurls the ak’ab upward to splatter against the limestone walls of the tomb. She moves faster than the strike team expected. The Orochi sergeant in charge gasps as the old woman they’ve been sent to liquidate instead cuts down two of his men in a single slice. She seems to shrug off bullets and tasers, laughing as she crashes through them. She toys with them—holding back the fire and lightning that course through her—just to enjoy the thrill of battle again. The zombie crouches over its kill, ripping oversized handfuls of steaming-hot flesh from the first hiker’s body. Long has it roamed these backwater hills, growing in might and size as it devoured man and beast alike. It doesn’t even notice the lithe young man in the rainbow shirt until the youth knocks its head clean off with one swing of his blazing golf club. Demolishers channel divinity through implements of war, imbuing their weapons with heavenly radiance and striking like the thunderbolt of Zeus.

Like a Wrecking Ball

Demolishers burn with an inner fire. This wellspring of power is the blessing of Gaia at its simplest and most primal, like a primitive hominid cracking skulls with a jawbone. They smash things and they smash them good. More than any other, the demolisher class includes Bees from all walks of life: athletes, doctors, homemakers, mechanics, musicians, soldiers, students, and more. It is not physical strength that marks a demolisher, nor is there any special training one needs to take a stick and hit things with it. There is only the accursed gift of Gaia. Demolishers may be blunt instruments, but that does not make them incapable of finesse. Besides channeling anima into explosive melee attacks, they also have a natural capacity for protective magics. They can learn to see the invisible, make their skin hard as steel, and surround themselves with mystical barriers. If they live long enough, demolishers can learn to be as adept and subtle as any assassin or punisher.

Property Damage and Noise

Demolishers fight in the front line, leading charges and taking on whole armies by themselves. They’re loud and destructive, and they’re often sent into the field to act as diversions for more discreet operatives. Sometimes, though, the best defense is a good offense … and nothing says “offense” like a one-person wrecking crew.

Where They Fit in the Secret World

... In the Secret World, demolishers could be anyone from anywhere. They manifest their power as walking siege engines, channeling anima to wreak destruction in the most direct way available to any class. ...

Why the Secret Societies Want to Recruit Them

Secret society leaders aren’t immune to the raw, charismatic power of demolishers. Every society wants to find its own modern Hercules, someone who can trade blow for blow with oni and giants. Demolishers often serve an almost symbolic role within societies, representing the epitome of Gaia’s might—and that of the faction for which they work. In the field, demolishers provide excellent support for … squishier … team members. A demolisher in full tactical gear with a breaching maul is a better bullet stopper than a reinforced concrete wall, and much better prepared to smash a draug in the face. Play a demolisher for a simple but effective gameplay loop. Choose this class if you want power by way of channeling tremendous and explosive energy into melee weapons. There’s nothing subtle here.

[esperantoauthor]

Follower Celebration Fic!

@blaineandersimp and @porcelain-nightbird requested a BadBoy!Kurt story so here you go! Thank you to all of my lovely followers, this is for you! I hope you enjoy it!

Title: Full Service Author: Esperanto Length: 2,700 words

Summary: When Blaine's car breaks down, he finds himself being rescued by a very snarky mechanic.

Read it below the cut or on Ao3

There was a strange thunk from below followed by the insistent hum of the tire pressure warning turning on. Blaine cursed and pulled his car off the road. He took a moment to stare out into the half-darkness of the late summer evening. He wished, futilely, that the tire would just… be okay. That he could close his eyes and when he opened them, the yellow light would turn off and he could drive the rest of the way home.

When he opened his eyes, nothing had changed. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and discovered that there was no service on this particular back road. This is what he got for avoiding the highway.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hitting the wheel with the palm of his hand in frustration.

He mashed his finger against the dashboard, turning on the hazard lights, and then killed the engine.

He was seriously regretting not letting his dad teach him how to change a tire.

He took a deep breath. He needed a plan.

Lights flashed in his peripheral vision and he looked over his shoulder to see that a car was pulling up behind him.

He was pretty sure he had seen an episode of Bones that started exactly like this. But this might be his only chance at getting help. He swallowed thickly.

Someone was getting out of the car. It was large and black. He watched in his rearview mirror as the dark figure approach his car. Blaine still flinched when they rapped on the glass of the driver side window.

Letting out a shaky breath, Blaine rolled down the window.

A pale-faced boy with cold, blue eyes stared back at him. He seemed to be appraising Blaine. Taking in his mandated blazer and tie, his carefully gelled down hair. The boy smirked slightly and then rested his elbows on the frame of the open window, bringing his face even closer to Blaine’s.

“You have a flat tire.”

“I’m aware.”

“Well, that’s something at least.”

“Did you just pull over to mock me?”

“No, but I can’t deny it’s becoming an increasingly appealing temptation.”

Blaine let out a small grunt of frustration.

“What, Daddy never taught you how to change a tire?”

Blaine’s jaw dropped at how close to home this stranger had just hit.

The boy seemed to realize he had struck a nerve. Tone a modicum less harsh, the boy added, “Well mine owns a tire shop. He just locked up but lucky for you, I have the key. Why don’t we get your spare on and then you can follow me back to the shop to get a new tire put on?”

“Or you can just put the spare on and I’ll drive back to Westerville before I miss curfew,” Blaine countered. He checked his watch. If the boy could get his tire changed in the next thirty minutes he would just barely make it back to the dorm in time.

“Westerville? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not driving all the way to Westerville on a spare tire.”

Blaine scowled.

The boy rolled his eyes. “Whatever, it’s your life. If you want to roll the dice it’s no skin off my teeth. Just don’t expect me to come bail you out a second time. Come on, pop the trunk.”

Blaine pulled the lever to release the trunk and then followed the boy around to the back of his car. Now that he was out of the vehicle, he could take in more of his strange savior’s appearance. He was dressed in black from head to toe with metal studs pressed into the cuffs of his black denim jacket and the cartilage of his ears. He was also unexpectedly, upsettingly pretty.

The boy was pulling a large metal device out of his trunk that Blaine hadn’t even been aware was in there. Then, suddenly, he began dumping the contents of Blaine’s trunk out onto the dirt.

“Hey!” Blaine shouted in protest.

The boy paused his reign of destruction and gave Blaine a scathing look.

“You’re… you can’t just put my stuff on the ground!” Blaine knew that his voice was pitching embarrassingly high but he felt suddenly vulnerable with his fate in the hands of this stranger.

“I’m sorry I don’t have an ivory pedestal upon which to put his majesty’s things,” the boy drawled.

Yep, the boy had definitely sized him up and passed his judgement already. Blaine loved his uniform but it sure did lead to a lot of assumptions.

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable not to want my personal possessions on the ground. Just… if you give me a minute I will clear out the trunk and put them in the back seat.”

The boy took a step back, palms out in resignation. “Whatever, I thought you were in a hurry, man.”

Exasperated, Blaine quickly gathered his shoes and backpack off the dirt and carefully set them into the backseat of his car. As he began shifting the rest of his items, his curiosity got the better of him.

“Why do you need me to clear out the trunk anyways?”

“Where did you think your spare tire was exactly?” he spit back.

“I… I guess I never really thought about it.”

The boy muttered something indecipherable under his breath but Blaine would have bet good money that it wasn’t complimentary.

When the trunk was cleared out, the boy pulled some invisible handle and the entire bottom of the trunk lifted up, revealing a spare tire. The boy’s eyes sparkled with triumph.

“Time to jack!” he declared.

Blaine let out an undistinguished snort.

“The car, Pretty Boy, not your dick.”

Blaine turned very red and began coughing so violently that he had to step away from the car. He could hear the boy cackling with laughter, clearly very pleased with himself.

“Alright, stop being such a prude I need you to give me a hand for a minute.”

Blaine took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to compose himself.

He crouched down next to the boy, admiring the way that the car was now a good foot off of the ground, lifted up by the large metal contraption the boy had found in Blaine’s trunk. The boy was expertly undoing the large metal bolts that attached his wheel to the car.

“Hold out your hand,” he instructed.

Blaine did as instructed and after a few more turns, the first bolt came loose. The boy set it in Blaine’s hand. “Don’t you dare lose those,” he warned.

“I’m Blaine, by the way.” They were crouching inches apart. Blaine felt like he should at least know the boy’s name.

“Huh. I’m Kurt.”

“Thank you for helping me out, Kurt. You didn’t have to do any of this. You could have just driven past me. Really, I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Kurt tutted. “Whatever. I can’t just let idiots flounder. It’s my only personality flaw.”

“Well, I guess mine is that I never learned how to change a tire.”

“Yours is worse,” Kurt said scathingly but when Blaine looked up he saw that the boy was smiling.

“Hand,” Kurt prompted as he loosened the next screw.

The tips of his fingers were warm against the palm of Blaine’s hand. It sent a shiver down his spine.

—

By the time Blaine made it back to the tire shop, darkness had fully settled over the city of Lima and his curfew was dead in the water.

Kurt switched on the lights and they turned on one at a time, until the whole shop was lit up. It was a nice shop, Blaine had to admit. Everything was well organized and gleamingly clean. Kurt looked out of place with his torn jeans and his navy blue eyeliner.

“If you don’t want to get grease on your uniform you should either stand back or put on some of those, Prep School.” Kurt pointed to a row coveralls hung on hooks.

“I told you my name, Kurt. Why do you insist on calling me stuff like that?”

“Oh so you don’t go to prep school?”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Blaine countered, frustration beginning to rise.

Kurt narrowed his eyes and then laughed. “You’ve got me there. I don’t realize you would be so touchy about it, Blaine.”

“I’m not I just… well, maybe I am. I’m more than just a rich prep schooler with no functional skills, okay?”

“Okay. Then what are you, pray tell?” Kurt asked with a mischievous grin.

There was a loud sound as the spare tire dropped to the floor. Kurt regarded it with satisfaction and then wiped a drop of sweat from his brow, leaving a smudge of grease in its wake.

He moved the spare tire aside and then looked at Blaine expectantly.

“I… I don’t know…” It came out hushed and pathetic.

“Oh, so you’re normal. Well, that’s a relief.”

When Blaine looked at him, Kurt was actually smiling.

“Not normal enough for my dad to teach me to change a tire apparently,” he muttered to himself.

Kurt must have heard him because his eyebrows furrowed together. “What do you mean, not normal enough?”

“Oh you mean you couldn’t figure that out from one look at me? Your system might be flawed there, Kurt.” Blaine couldn’t resist the opportunity to seize the upper hand back from Kurt in this conversation.

Kurt, it transpired, was unflappable. With a shrug, he simply agreed. “Might be. Maybe I’ll plug my brain into the diagnostics computer after I make sure your car doesn’t have any other problems. So why aren’t you normal, Blaine? Besides being a rich idiot.”

“Too gay to be normal.” It came out strained despite Blaine’s best attempts to sound breezy.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

Blaine felt his eyebrows raise.

Kurt smirked in response.

“Well, I guess my dad was wrong. Being gay has nothing to do with your ability to fix cars.”

“Clearly,” Kurt said with a grin. “We have the same brand of tire as what’s on your car. Do you want me to just match the tire or did you want something cheaper?”

Blaine pulled out his wallet and frowned as he paged through the bills. "I only have fifty bucks.”

“Yeah, well that’s not going to cover a Michelin tire, my friend.”

“Can I get you the rest this weekend?” he asked, biting his lip nervously.

“You promise you’ll come back?” Kurt asked, raising a single eyebrow.

“Yes! I promise.”

“Hmm… I would need your phone number so I can harass you if you don’t show.”

“I’ll show! I may not know what I am but I know I’m reliable. And we’ve already established that I’m a rich idiot so you know I can pay. Please,” he whined, giving Kurt the full force of his puppy dog eyes.

Kurt turned slightly pink and took a step backwards. “Well, those are probably in violation of the Geneva convention or something,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely towards Blaine’s face. “Yes, fine. You’ve convinced me. Now stop making that face, for the love of God.”

Blaine grinned in triumph.

Kurt disappeared into the back room to locate Blaine’s new tire. Blaine checked his watch and realized that if he didn’t call in soon his parents were going to get a message from the school saying that he hadn’t signed back in.

Kurt reemerged, expertly rolling a large tire over the concrete floor, humming to himself. Blaine pointed to his cell phone and then stepped over to the side of the garage to call his parents.

“Look, Dad, I don’t know what you wanted me to do!”

…

“Well I couldn’t call triple A because there wasn’t any cell service!”

Blaine began to pace.

“Well, I didn’t get murdered, actually. A very nice boy is almost done changing my tire.”

…

“No, he didn’t overcharge me. And you should really reconsider giving me an emergency credit card because I didn’t even have enough cash to cover it and if he hadn’t…”

…

“Look, I’m sorry I don’t know what else you want me to say. Are you going to call Dalton or not?”

…

“Okay. Well, thank you.”

Blaine hung up and then bitterly added, “For nothing.”

He looked up to see that Kurt was openly staring. Blaine let out a sigh and put his face into his hands.

“Um, are you okay?” A hand hesitantly rested on his shoulder. Blaine looked up to see that Kurt was standing next to him now.

Blaine rubbed his eyes and then nodded. “Fine.”

“So, your dad kind of sucks, huh?”

Blaine nodded again.

“Sorry about that,” Kurt said softly.

Blaine looked at him in surprise.

“What? I’m not a complete asshole. Just like… most of the time. Besides, I’ve heard gay guys love assholes so…”

A fit of laughter overtook Blaine. It was loud and uncontrolled. After a moment of stunned silence, Kurt joined in. They cackled and guffawed until they could barely hold themselves upright. Blaine laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his cheeks, or maybe the tears were from something else, but the release felt good regardless. Blaine had to lean against the wall to stop himself from collapsing and Kurt had to lean against Blaine for the same reason. Kurt dipped, nearly falling over, but Blaine managed to wrap and arm around his waist fast enough to keep him upright.

“Woah, there!” he said, still cackling.

For some reason, that only made Kurt laugh even harder. He clutched at Blaine’s blazer and pressed his face into his chest to muffle the laughter. Blaine felt his whole body grow warm. He didn’t drop the arm that was around Kurt’s waist.

Kurt lifted his head and suddenly they were nose to nose.

Blaine realized neither of them was laughing any more.

He felt the warm breath from Kurt’s exhalations on his cheek. Kurt smelled like honey. Blaine reached up and wiped the smudge of grease from the side of his cheek. Kurt let out a barely perceptible gasp.

“If I kiss you will you still pay me for the tire?” Kurt whispered.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to?” Kurt whispered again.

“Yes.”

The wall was pushing into his back and his hand was somehow on Kurt’s neck now and then hot, warm, wet. Blaine groaned into the kiss, pulling Kurt’s face closer, still not remembering how exactly he came to be pressed up against the wall but very glad that he was. He felt like his whole body was melting and if not for the insistent pressure of Kurt keeping him upright against the wall, he would be goo on the floor right now.

Kurt wrapped one of his legs around Blaine’s and holy fucking shit Blaine had to grab the back of his thigh to keep him from falling over. Once they were stabilized, Blaine felt himself sink back into the kiss, letting Kurt be in control. Letting himself be pressed into the wall by Kurt’s firm chest and insistent hands.

Kurt’s tongue brushed against his and he felt his knees actually start to go weak.

Then suddenly he could breathe again, ragged gasping breaths. Kurt didn’t sound any better.

The stared at each other in silence.

“Wow, the sign wasn’t kidding about full-service,” Blaine joked.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Please, the rest of our customers wish they were so lucky.”

“Oh, so you mean you don’t make-out with all of your customers?”

“Considering that most of them are over the age of forty, consider us both relieved.”

Blaine let out a reluctant sigh. “I really do need to get home. My dad’s only going to get madder the later I make it back, and he’s already pretty furious.”

“Well, I’ll see you next weekend then.”

“Kurt, are you asking me out on a date?”

“What? No, I… you said you would be back to pay for the tire, so I just…”

“Too bad,” Blaine replied with a wicked smile. He scooped his keys up off the table, leaving Kurt utterly gobsmacked. He hopped into his car and started the engine.

Kurt rapped on the window of his car. Blaine cooperated and rolled down the window.

“You are very frustrating, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Sure, my parents tell me that every day.”

Kurt looked sad for a moment. Then his smile returned and he reached through the window to put his hand on top of Blaine’s on the wheel.

“You know, you can pay me back for the tire anywhere. It doesn’t have to be here.”

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“Breadstix? 10am? They have all-you-can-eat pancakes.”

Blaine grinned.

“It’s a date.”

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 6/?)

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Synopsis: You were a mechanical engineer, now a nurse for androids, who moved back to Detroit after the revolution to offer aid. After reconciling with an old friend, you became rather acquainted with his android partner.

Please support me on AO3 & thanks for reading ♥

The rain had finally started to die down when Connor pulled into the Thirium Clinic's parking lot. There were only a couple other cars present, likely your coworkers.

The android retrieved an umbrella from his trunk before trotting over to the entrance. Not wanting to make a mess by dripping water all over the place, he decided to wait outside, beneath the awning covering the front entrance.

"I'm right outside," he messaged you.

Not even a full minute later, a nurse came sprinting through the building, over to the front door. He could see her through the window, and lifted a brow at the sight. She smacked the door with her side, swinging it open, and hung half her body out the doorway.

"Are you Connor?" she asked, beaming with a wild grin.

"...yes," he replied, feeling strangely uneasy under her gaze.

The nurse stuck her head back inside and shouted, "I told you he was an android! You owe me twenty bucks!"

She turned back around to face Connor. "You can come inside - already a mess in here anyway," she said before immediately flinging herself back inside.

Connor hesitated for a moment before letting himself in; sure enough, the roof had leaked at the seam, which allowed water to come pouring in through a gap in the wall. There were puddles everywhere. The nurses for closing shift didn't seem the least bit perturbed by it.

"We've been dying to meet you," the nurse who had made a bet about him proclaimed.

Another nurse approached, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He fished his wallet out of his pocket and threw a folded twenty-dollar bill at the other nurse. It smacked her on the side of the head before fluttering to the ground.

She hastily snatched it off the floor and waved it in the air, laughing maniacally for a second. She shoved the crinkled bill in her pocket before turning her head to the android.

"Soooo, what do you do, Connor?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm a detective with the Detroit Police Department," Connor answered, his hand unconsciously lowering to straighten his tie. Considering it was sopping wet, it was a pointless effort.

"That puts a new meaning to 'blue blood', huh?" she teased, elbowing the other nurse.

"Sir, I want this woman arrested for shitty jokes," he said dryly. "It's physically hurting me."

"Tch. Shut up," she retorted, lacking any real spite. In fact, she was still smiling. "My jokes are amazing."

"They're criminal," he retorted, lip twitching.

You came around the corner, bag in tow, jacket zipped up over your scrubs, hair pulled back sloppily. Your eyes landed on Connor and-

-oh damn.

He had said he got caught in the rain; but, he wasn't just a little dampened, he was absolutely soaked, clothes clinging to his body. The best part was that Connor didn't seem the least bit perturbed by his state, standing there, completely unbothered by it.

"You're a little wet?" you chuckled as you walked up to him.

Connor's lip twitched into a nervous smile. "Sorry. I promise the car is dry - well, except for the driver's seat."

You looked up at Connor's freckled face like a lovestruck moron. A week and some odd days was way too long. He was more handsome than you remembered, gorgeous smile on his lips, brown eyes reflecting the shiny, obnoxious overhead lights. His LED was shining a magnificent blue.

"So, this is the one you've been keeping from us?" the female nurse teased as the party headed for the door. The male nurse took care of the light switches along the way.

"Everyone needs to be protected from you," the male nurse jutted in, loudly, to make sure she heard him.

"I haven't been keeping him from you," you laughed.

"You probably should," the female nurse teased. "He's way too cute."

You seemed embarrassed by that, a slight blush on your cheeks, trying to hold back soft laughter. You were forthcoming with how attracted you were to him in private; yet, Connor still felt pride bubble up inside him when that same attraction was presented in front of others.

Was that... normal?

"See you idiots tomorrow," you teased on the way out. The male nurse locked the door while the other stayed behind so they could walk to their car together.

Connor was prepared to open the umbrella, but realized the raining had stopped.

"Let's hurry before it picks back up," you said before starting a trot over to Connor's car.

As soon as you slid into the passenger, tossing your bag into the back, you realized it was still warm in the car.

"Did you...?" you uttered as Connor slid into the driver's seat. "-run the heater for me?"

"Yes," he replied plainly.

"Oh - thank you." You felt embarrassed knowing that he took the time to be mindful of things that, as an android, he was unaffected by.

Connor started the car and carefully peeled out of the parking lot.

"Your coworkers are very curious of me," Connor observed. You glanced over at him, perfect posture, hands on the wheel in the textbook locations they were supposed to be. You hadn't thought about it when he brought you to his apartment, but Connor drove a manual transmission. It made you wonder if he used his car for work more than he let on. Or maybe he just felt more comfortable like this?

"Yeah, they're just being dorks," you replied softly, tearing your eyes away from him.

"I hope they don't trouble you."

Connor left it unspoken; but, you knew what he was referring to.

"Oh - no, it's not - people are just like that. It has nothing to do with you being an android," you insisted. "You know - they're just being nosy."

"I understand. Officers at the precinct enjoy gossiping about each other's relationships," Connor said, some intrigue in his voice.

"Oh?" You hummed. "What kind of gossip goes on about you?"

"I don't believe they think I am capable of it," Connor explained.

Capable of dating? -of sex? His words brought a frown to your face, not that it was particularly surprising. You had wondered what kind of environment Connor worked in. Was he an equal part of the team or just another android? Somehow, you doubted it was the former. Hank was probably the only one who gave him any respect.

"It doesn't bother me," Connor added, sensing your frustration.

"Oh, I - I shouldn't butt into your job," you said.

"I don't see it as 'butting in'," Connor uttered. His eyes had been focused on the road; but, he let them shift to you for a second. "I like when you ask questions about me."

That made you smile. He said it as if it was something he wasn't quite used to experiencing. "Then, I have something I wanna ask - is there anything you've wanted to do? -something you were afraid to ask about? -or, just, didn't have the chance?"

Connor's LED shifted to yellow for a moment as he pondered your question.

"A concert," he blurted out. Not expecting that answer, you looked over at him, intrigued. He seemed really concentrated, taking your question very seriously.

"They seem overwhelming," he added on with some uncertainty. "But, I think it would be fun to experience something like that," he continued, sounding a bit more confident this time. His LED shifted back to blue.

"You know you said you wanted to treat me to something?" You asked. "Then, let's do a concert."

"Well, I - uhm - wanted it to be something that you wanted," he said, almost apologetically.

"I do," you said with a chuckle, shifting your eyes back to the road. "I haven't been to one since I was a kid. It'll be fun. -and, taking you to your first concert would be an honor."

"I'll do my best to make it enjoyable," he stated - no, promised.

"You don't have to-" you began, cutting yourself off when you realized he wasn't really going to listen. You grumbled quietly to yourself. When your eyes shifted to the android for a second, you caught him smiling.

Sometime later, the car slid into your driveway.

You remained seated, staring ahead like an idiot. Connor didn't say anything, either because he was polite, or because he didn't want to leave.

"Do you wanna come inside and dry off?" you blurted, turning to Connor.

He seemed surprised by your question, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"I - I mean-" you sputtered. Simultaneously, Connor answered, "yes."

You smacked your mouth shut, and Connor uttered, "I don't want to keep you up late?" not very convincingly.

"You wouldn't," you squeaked. "-and some towels to dry your car?"

"T-that would be nice," Connor stated, a little more confidently.

"Y-yea," you stammered before rotating around to slip out of the car. Connor shut it off while you fished your bag out of the backseat and scurried inside.

You tossed your bag onto the dining table - that was never actually used for dining - and made a dash for the master bathroom. After fishing out some towels, you returned to the entryway, where Connor had waited patiently.

"I might have something that fits you if you want a change of clothes?" you offered as you handed him the towels. "I could go look for - uhm..."

You could have smacked yourself being this way. You were dating, had sex, for fucks sake. This shouldn't be so damn hard.

"Thank you," Connor replied, caught off guard by the offer. "Are you s-?"

"It's no trouble," you interrupted him gently, giving him an encouraging nudge.

Connor returned to his car and you sprinted into your bedroom to rummage through your dressers. You definitely had some oversized lounge pants that would fit him. When you fished them out - light grey, strings missing - you tossed them onto the bed and kept digging.

Sure enough, you had a couple white T-shirts leftover from your days in uni. The course demanded white and you decided to buy men's because they were cheaper, and large was the only size they had left at the time. At least, they were going to come in handy again.

The android was waiting in your entryway again when you exited to look for him.

"Hope this is alright?" you offered, holding the clothes up.

He hardly glanced at them. "Anything would be adequate."

Anything? Well, geez, then wear nothing.

-you wanted to say.

"You can come inside," you laughed, gesturing to the hallway that led to your bedroom. Connor followed you through the living room to your bedroom and into the connected bathroom. You set the clothes on the countertop near the sink. When you turned around, Connor was already undressing.

It wasn't new, but-

-it still swarmed your tummy with butterflies.

To distract yourself, and so you wouldn't stare at him stupidly, you retreated to your bedroom to change out of your scrubs and into something more comfortable. Connor stepped out of the bathroom just in time to see you pull a shirt over your head and cover any exposed skin.

You turned to see him standing there, looking almost nervous, out of his element. Up until now, you had only seen Connor dressed prim and proper, or not dressed at all. He looked startlingly good in a plain white shirt and grey lounge pants, or maybe you just liked how domestic it was.

You were about to blurt out a question: to ask him if he was thirsty. When you remembered, he couldn't.

"Oh - uhm - I forgot something," you uttered, stepping towards him.

"What was it?" he asked, brow furrowing. "Do we need to go back to the-"

Connor silenced himself when he saw you leaning in, the look in your eyes ushering him closer. He met you halfway. It was brief, chaste, but enthusiastic. He closed his eyes, and let himself get swept away for a moment. It felt good, maybe better than it did last time because he was starving, something he didn't know he was capable of.

When you leaned back, you uttered against his mouth, "thank you for the ride."

Connor's LED flashed red as he contemplated leaning back in and claiming your mouth again. You were also standing between him and your bed. All it would take was a little nudge to get you falling onto the sheets.

No-

-that was-

-inappropriate.

His LED hummed to yellow and then back to blue as he calmed his processor.

"No need to thank me," he replied, almost robotically.

You turned away, saying over your shoulder, "gonna get a drink."

As Connor followed you into the kitchen, he looked around your house casually. It was simple, furnished lightly, hardly any decorations. Then again, you had just moved back here not too long ago.

In the kitchen, you poured some juice from a pitcher in the fridge, and sipped it. The android joined you in the kitchen and leaned against the counter, posture slouching, collar on the shirt wide enough that it exposed his collar bones.

"Not as fancy as your apartment," you commented, noticing he was looking around.

"I didn't realize it was," he replied, sincere. "Hank referred to it in that sense, as well."

You laughed quietly before chugging the rest of your drink. It was easy to see Hank saying something like that about Connor's apartment. He probably had a few other choice words that Connor decided not to mention.

"I bet you two had some crazy shenanigans when you first met," you said, beaming at Connor.

Connor chuckled warmly, looking down at the floor for a second. "The first night we met, I had - ugh - spilt Hank's drink and he threatened to attack me, and I informed him that I was 'worth a small fortune'."

"Oh?" you chuckled. "How much we talkin' here? I've got student loan debts," you teased, tapping your chin in faux consideration.

The corner of Connor's lip twitched. "Are you plotting to get rid of me for a profit?" he asked, voice lowering an octane. It was clear he was joking, but there was something a little dangerous to his tone.

"Maybe-" you laughed.

"Because that is very illegal," Connor explained. The laughter drained from your face and you stared at him, very much enjoying the change in tone in his voice. His eyes were the only indicator that he wasn't being serious. Something mischievous was in his gaze.

You saw his LED fade form blue to yellow as he continued, "as an officer of the law, I would have to arrest you for conspiring to comit a crime." His slight grin broke the tension in his voice.

"What if I said I was sorry?" you offered, stepping into his space. Connor looked down at you, crossed between predatory and innocent. Sometimes, it startled you how he managed to look like a seasoned detective and eager rookie at the same time.

He had a few inches on you. You loved how he had to crane his neck a little to catch your eyes.

"You can't bribe me," he uttered carefully.

You hummed, accepting the challenge that Connor had not realized he made. Your hands fell onto his chest, slowly falling down the material of the shirt, testing the waters. Connor let you, standing stiffly against the counter. He was staring at you fiercely.

What if-

Would he like it if-

Part of you was afraid he would be uncomfortable by the suggestion. Part of you wanted to take the risk.

The look in Connor's eyes changed drastically when you slowly sunk to the ground in front of him, like he suddenly had no idea what was going on.

"Ugh-" he stammered when your hands lowered to the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and out of the way to dig your fingers into the hem of his sweatpants. He was already pitching a tent, you realized, as your face lowered to crotch level.

Oh-

-he definitely knew what was going on.

Connor gripped the edge of the counter for dear life. "I-I was just joking," he stammered out. "You don't have to-"

"I know," you replied, giving him a very real smile.

Connor visibly relaxed, his panicked eyes shifting between your eyes and your mouth. You saw his adam's apple bob, a gesture that he had no need for, being an android.

"Do you want me to stop?" you asked, hands stopped at his waist.

His LED flashed to red for a second before returning to its golden hue. "No," he replied lowly.

Connor looked incredibly nervous despite the fact that this wasn't your first sexual encounter together. He had given you amazing lip service last time, and you were dying to return the favor. You didn't exactly get the opportunity to appreciate his anatomy properly.

You slipped the hem of his lounge pants down until his cock bobbed free. He wasn't fully hard yet, which surprised you because you didn't know that was an option. You had anticipated it would behave like an on and off switch; however, it seemed that you had misjudged the intricacies of his anatomy.

You pressed a kiss to the tip and heard Connor sharply suck a breath in through his nose.

"You okay?" you uttered, your lips still close, knowing full well he would feel your breath against his skin.

His LED flickered to red again for a brief second before back to yellow. You were tantalized by the thought of what exactly it was you were doing to him: what buttons were you pushing, what types of thoughts rushed through his mind.

His brown eyes were hypnotizing, more beautiful than anything you had ever seen before and expressive to a fault. They constantly changed between raw hunger and innocent passion.

"Yes," Connor eventually answered.

You ducked your head down to kiss at the base and slowly trailed back to the tip, taking your sweet ass time to mask the fact that you were admiring him.

You wrapped your dominant hand around him, reveling in the feel of his skin. It was smooth, velvety, dragged along the artificial organ beneath. It was easy, very easy, to forget that his cock wasn't real. It was indistinguishable from any human's.

He had freckles on his thighs, like sprinklings of spilt coffee, and freckles in the dip where his thigh met his torso. His pubes were neatly assembled around his base and trailed up to end beneath his belly button, soft but still wiry like real hair.

-somebody took the time to make him look this, you realized.

You had to force that thought away. This wasn't about that, this was about him.

You pushed those thoughts away by sucking the tip into your mouth and sinking halfway down, forcing a strangled grunt from the android. You felt him harden fully, stiffening in your mouth. It startled you a little. You shifted back to the tip, lapped your tongue at the underside, and sunk back down. Connor moaned, a staticky, broken sound.

Oh. You had missed those noises: his voice box going on the frits as his processor was too busy focusing on the feelings in his sex to simultaneously deliver proper audio output.

Eager, spurred on by his beautiful noises, you took in as much as you could and near choked, sputtering and coughing when you went too deep.

Connor's hand landed on your shoulder and he huffed out a weak, "a-are you okay?"

You hummed around his member - the vibration briefly putting him on edge - and slid back. Keeping your hand around the spot that you recognized as your limit, you bobbed your head back down, till your lips met your palm. You stroked what your mouth couldn't fit.

Connor's hand maneuvered off your shoulder to the back of your head, where he caressed you with the type of loose touch that suggested he was afraid to grab you too hard. He stared like he was possessed, awestruck at the sight of his cock disappearing past your lips, overwhelmed by the simple fact that you wanted to do this to him.

He wasn't sure why-

You had engaged in intercourse-

-but this-

-this was different.

Connor was released into the world with a different understanding of humans compared to most androids. While he was given instructions on who to obey and when, he wasn't exactly made to serve humans, at least not traditionally as most androids were.

That translated to having a knowledge for social issues that most androids did not.

As such, he knew full well that there was a power dynamic in this action, one that could be perceived as degrading. You were on your knees, servicing his phallus with your mouth-

-surrendering of power.

-giving of trust.

But, when he took in the sight of you, cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen from the friction, eyes closed peacefully and brow lowered in concentration - you seemed pleased at the opportunity to do this to him. Maybe Connor understood; after all, he had dived face first into your sex the second it was presented to him.

Lost in his thoughts - trying not to be lost in his thoughts - trying not to overanalyze, or analyze at all - Connor failed to realize he had been puffing out little noises through his mouth each time his cock slid back into your mouth. It was a faint sound that resembled an inhale.

You heard it, and you loved it - you loved that you could do that to him: this powerful android.

His fingers were tangled loosely in your hair, barely holding on, mostly as a gesture of praise than to maintain control. You did, however, notice the faint way his hips shifted forward slightly, urging you to continue when you sunk back down. You cupped your free hand over his hip and uselessly attempted to hold him down. He seemed to notice, eventually, and suddenly halted his movements.

In your enthusiasm, you managed to drool all over him. Excess saliva coated your palm, which aided in jerking him off. Your hand trailed behind your mouth when you slid back and forth, creating a symphony of lewd, wet noises. You paused to suction tightly around him and carefully draw back to the tip. Connor hissed out a loud, staticky, "aahhhh."

He was trying to watch you; but, as his orgasm approached, his optic sensor began to fail him. He could feel the tension rising in his core, his thirium pump overexerting to keep up with the demand on his processor. His sensor's focus was shifting to his cock, the feeling of the countertop digging into his back starting to go numb.

Connor's fingers suddenly tightened against the back of your head, the pads of his fingers gently digging into your skull. He seemed like he couldn't decide if he wanted to pull you off or push you down.

"W-wa - s-stop," he panted. "-m close-"

You pulled off with an obscene, wet sound, giving him just the slightest break, enough to refocus his eyes. Your hand lowered for a second to cup his sack. Of course, that felt as real as it looked. You squeezed gently and saw his jaw tighten.

"Why do you want me to stop?" you uttered, voice a little hoarse. You almost didn't recognize yourself, sounding so sinful.

"I want to..." he responded lowly, trailing off as you started stroking him again, tugging gently at his shaft. Connor didn't know what the correct answer was. He wanted to touch and please you, too; but, he wasn't being entirely selfless. He wanted to take you again.

"What's your refractory period?" you uttered, sounding quite debauched, lips wet and jaw tired.

Connor gawked at you for a moment, and you ate up that delicious expression. He looked fucked out of his mind, gaze hazy and cheeks red.

"4.27 seconds," he answered lowly.

You almost laughed. He definitely searched his manual for the answer to that.

"Then, come for me," you encouraged, immediately drawing him back into your mouth. It startled a moan out of him.

You were more enthusiastic this time, drawing in as much as you could and sliding back tightly, mouth hot and dripping wet with saliva. The sensation started to claw its way through him again.

He didn't have to obey humans anymore. He broke down every wall that his programming had built up around his free will. However, your gentle command, breathed like a plea on his skin, spurred him on. He doubted he could stop even if he wanted to.

Connor let go of your head and let his hand slide down your back, settling at the top of your spine. He hunched over, thighs trembling and groaning, something like the thrum of an engine rumbling in his chest, mingled with the voice of his audio output unit and the mechanical pieces in his chassis. He moaned hoarsely, a sound that wasn't quite human. His hips shifted, bucking gently into your mouth, as he chased the sensation.

It shouldn't have-

-but fuck if it didn't make your clit throb painfully.

You slid back to the tip so you could look up and catch the sight of him doubled over in pleasure. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched, LED shining magnificent crimson. There was a faint red tint to his cheeks and the tops of his ears. Fuck, he looked beautiful - and you, you did that.

You fluttered your eyes shut and continued working him over through his orgasm, until he relaxed against the counter, straightening his posture. His hand maneuvered around to cup your jaw and gently pull you off of him. He was huffing in air to cool his systems, eyes taking in your face with adoration.

"You okay?" you asked lowly, ignoring the ache in your jaw and the numbness in your mouth from the friction.

"Y-yeah," he breathed.

He reached for you with his other hand, bending over slightly to help you rise off your knees. As soon as you were standing, his arms wrapped around your back and tugged you in. He claimed your mouth hungrily. You reciprocated as best you could, feeling less like you were being kissed and more like you were being devoured, not that you minded.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for dear life while one of his hands maneuvered to the back of your neck, holding gently to keep you where he wanted you. He liked how puffy your lips felt, tasting you with the knowledge that you were just tasting him - that this sinful mouth brought him to completion - that you wanted to do that to him.

Rutting against each other in the kitchen, you realized he was still hard as steel between you. Either taking consideration for the question you had asked him... or, maybe, he decided that he just wasn't done with you yet.

Connor pulled back when you started huffing pathetic breaths of air through your nose. You gasped when your mouth was finally free.

"Sorry - sorry," he stammered out.

You huffed a short, breathless laugh. Sorry for wanting you so bad... the nerve.

Connor ducked his head down into your neck and lapped his tongue against your throat. You hummed at the sensation, letting your head fall back, easing into the touch.

"Please?" he pleaded into your neck. One of his hands was teasing the hem of your pajama bottoms, right at the base of your spine.

"Mhmm," you hummed pathetically.

The android's hand dipped down, past the hem of your panties and in between your thighs. His longest digit dipped between your folds. You were already dripping wet and slippery with arousal. His finger glided through your folds and found your entrance effortlessly, slipping in with ease.

"Oh," Connor breathed against your throat, surprised by how soaked you were. His breath was hot like the exhaust out of an engine and nearly burned your skin.

You were so, so warm on the inside, walls squishy and compliant to his intrusion. He almost couldn't believe that you had gotten this excited over sucking him off.

He crooked his finger and you cried out, "fuck!" breathless and desperate, clinging to him like you were afraid you were going to fall. He continued that gesture, stretching you tenderly. At this angle, he couldn't reach your clit. But, that was fine; right now, you just wanted him inside you.

"Okay - okay - that's enough," you urged, pushing at him until he let go. "Bed - bed - please."

You had intended for Connor to turn around and walk and you would follow behind him; you didn't expect the android to scoop you up and carry you effortlessly through the house.

"Wait - wait," you pleaded before he could set you on the bed. Connor complied and carefully set you down on your feet, looking at you with nervous eyes, as if he had made a mistake.

You gave him a soft smile and then a gentle push and then another, until he got the message and sat down at the edge of the bed. His palms fell into the sheets and he leaned back slightly, staring at you with bright, brown eyes and LED a vibrant gold hue.

You admired him as you slid your bottoms and underwear off, very much enjoying how he looked, seated at the edge of your bed, cock hanging out, hungry look in his eyes.

He was oozing lubrication from the tip in preparation for what was to follow. His eyes didn't leave yours when he reached down to smear it down his shaft. He didn't intend to make a show of it; but, you looked down and stared just a little longer than necessary.

When you approached, he stopped, and let that hand fall back into the sheets. You took hold of his shoulders and carefully climbed onto his lap, thighs on either side of his.

"Oh," Connor sighed, suddenly understanding why you had nudged him onto the bed.

You smiled, feeling like a seductress. Your forehead fell against his and a sigh slipped free when you felt that velvety tip brush against your folds. You shifted your hips and lowered, slowly impaling yourself on his length.

Connor's head fell back and he hummed, groaning low in his throat. The faint distortion in his sound lit a fire in your belly. His hands lifted to brush your thighs, sliding up to settle at your hips. He touched carefully, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to. The look he was giving you was tantalizing: hunger and adoration.

You gripped his shoulders for balance and slid up until his cock was only halfway inside you before rolling your hips back down. You moaned, fanning hot air over his cheeks. Again, he managed to leave you awestruck.

"Ohh, Connor," you breathed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him in closer.

The android nuzzled his face into your neck, resisting the urge to thrust up into you. Your mouth was warm; but, your sex was burning hot, muscles fluttering around him.

Connor peppered kisses along your jaw, artificial breath heavy on your skin, expelling the heat generated from his processor. You could feel the texture change in his hands when his skin faded away to expose the android flesh beneath. It didn't bother you if he gained pleasure in analyzing you. It must have, for Connor groaned into the skin of your neck.

His hands lifted suddenly, curling beneath the hem of your shirt. You removed your arms from him briefly so he could pull the fabric through and toss it somewhere in the room to be forgotten. Connor's shirt followed soon after.

Your bodies clung together again, chest to chest. This time, Connor's mouth sought out yours. The kiss wasn't particularly wet; but, it was noisy, sloppy, fleshy sounds echoing between you. His hands continued to smooth up and down your back, the rough texture of his android skin leaving goosebumps.

"Is it uncomfortable?" he uttered, some insecurity in this tone. He was so close, his lips brushed yours when he spoke.

"Not at all," you panted against his mouth.

You nudged against him until he complied and leaned back, flat on the bed. You braced your hands on his chassis, palms flat on his chest. Connor stared up at you like he had no idea where he was. His hands continued tracing an invisible trail along your waist and thighs, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You rolled your hips, riding him a little more enthusiastically. "Oohh fuck," you uttered, low in your throat, breathlessly. Connor stared, awestruck at the sight of you above him, shifting your hips to take him in deeper, hands pressing down on him. The pleasured look on your face, eyes closed and mouth open, while you took and took was enough to drive him insane.

He was trying to be still, in case this was how you wanted him to be. But, he could sense your frustration, hear it in your voice, feel it in the way your hips shuddered, trying to grind down harder, to get him deeper.

"Please," you whimpered pathetically, eyes fluttering open to look down at him: freckles splattered down his body, muscles tight as the tension rose in his body, pleasure etched across his face.

Connor experimentally lifted his hips to meet yours. Your eyes fell shut and you moaned loudly. Well, he didn't have to be told twice.

After a few thrusts, your hands slipped and you fell on him, chest to chest. Your hands fell onto the sheets and you briefly attempted to sit back up; however, Connor kept the momentum going. Immediately, you gave up and went limp above him, letting him drive into you at the speed he wanted.

You lifted up onto your elbows to kiss him. You missed and pressed a sloppy wet kiss against his cheek. Thinking it was intentional, Connor kissed back against your cheek. You would have laughed if not for the fact that he was churning up your insides.

Your head fell into his hair where you uttered lewd encouragements . "Please - please - mm'close. Con - nor - fuck me - aghh. Don't - stop." He turned his head, lips falling against the shell of your ear. Likely, he intended to say something; however, all that came out was static. Of all things, it was that that pushed you over the edge. You panted and wheezed above him, shuddering violently. Connor could feel it in the thundering of your heartbeat and the way your walls tightened around him.

Connor's head tilted back, pressed down into the sheets, and his eyes pinched shut. His LED was a magnificent shade of crimson.

When he finally stilled, his hands were still holding your waist.

"Connor?" you breathed, finding the strength to lean up and look at him.

His eyes were closed and he wasn't moving.

"Connor?" you asked again, some panic rising in your voice. He turned his head with a small twitch, eyes blinking in tune with his LED. The color softened to blue. "Did you soft reboot?" you asked, concern heavy in your tone.

"N-no," the android replied quietly. "Was just..." he trailed off. "Really good."

You exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. "You worried me."

Slowly, carefully, you lifted off of him. The skin on Connor's hands returned, holding you to try to help. Your legs were sore; but, it was worth the hunger satiated in your core.

"What was it you were trying to say earlier?" you asked softly, taking a seat beside him to catch your breath.

Connor was watching you carefully, likely to make sure you were okay. His brow furrowed slightly at your question and he shifted his eyes nervously away from you.

"I wanted to... to say something that you would like," he offered.

"You mean, dirty talk?" you replied softly, voice dripping with interest.

"Yes," he confessed quietly.

"You did that last time, too," you commented, rising to your feet. Connor watched you curiously, waiting for an explanation. "You said there were things you wanted to do me, and when I asked what those were, you didn't answer."

"I'm... afraid I will say something you won't like," he confessed quietly.

"Connor," you said his name breathlessly. "I doubt there's anything you would say that I wouldn't like. Do you wanna run one by me?"

Connor was leaning up, seated at the edge of the bed. You stepped in close to him and caressed his cheek with your hand. Connor leaned into the touch. You loved the way his skin felt, like he had just shaved yesterday morning, even though that was impossible.

His eyes flickered up to yours, uncertainty in them.

"That... you're mine," he uttered quietly, so quietly that you almost didn't hear him. "It feels wrong."

"It can be," you said, honest, sincere. "But, I don't think you mean it that way. You don't ever try to control me or tell me what to do. You're protective and sometimes that can feel possessive and that isn't always a bad thing. You always know what's right and what's wrong, Connor."

"I don't think I always know what's right," he retorted gently. "I don't want to control you." He sounded almost pained by the mere thought of it. "But, sometimes, I feel like..."

"It's new and can be a little scary; but, I trust you, no matter what..."

Connor pressed a kiss against your palm before gently removing your hand from his face. "I don't want to hurt you..."

You rolled your eyes gently, fondly. "You said that last time, too." He was still holding your hand; so, you gently squeezed back. "You care so much about what I want," you breathed. "I know that you would stop if I asked you to. I want you to feel comfortable with me - that you can be yourself..."

Connor's eyes shot up to your face. "I do," he proclaimed, sounding almost insulted at the suggestion. "I just - I-... I don't want to lose control."

You returned beside him on the bed.

"-of myself," he added on.

"Connor," you began fiercely. He seemed a bit surprised by your tone change. "We all feel that way sometimes: afraid we'll lose ourselves. I'm not telling you to not be afraid, just that-... -that-... -that you aren't alone."

His LED shined yellow for a moment, eyes focused on yours as he pondered over your words. His LED shifted back to blue and his shoulders relaxed. The android leaned in and nuzzled his nose against your cheek. You smiled at the intrusion.

"Connor?" you whispered, questioning, hopeful.

"Thank you," he murmured against your skin.

“Are you okay?” you asked, leaning back to look into his eyes.

“I feel better,” he uttered.

You nodded, maintaining his gaze for a few seconds longer, hoping that he would tell you if something was wrong. He seemed more relaxed now, brown eyes warm and inviting. To further prove his point, Connor stole a quick kiss from your lips, then another, and one last one.

You pulled back with a smile and rose to your feet. "I better get to bed... You-... you can-... -whatever you'd like." You wanted to ask him to stay, but wanted him to make that decision without your interference.

"I'd like to stay?" he asked sincerely. “I’ll have to leave before you get up...”

You nodded with a smile and retreated into the bathroom to clean up and brush your teeth. When you returned, Connor was already tucked into the sheets, like he belonged there. You turned the lights off before joining him.

"Do you have a band you want to see?" you uttered tiredly into your pillow.

"Not in particular," he answered quietly, shuffling in close to nuzzle up against your back. His bare legs tangled with yours, having ditched the lounge pants. You smiled against your pillow, thinking that maybe there was no point in suggesting clothes since you had a track record of ending up this way.

"My favorite band is Starset if you want to try them out?" you offered, pausing halfway to yawn.

Connor nodded into the flesh of your shoulder. He waited patiently until your breathing pattern shifted, telling him that you were asleep.

He searched the internet for that band and immediately recognized one of the members as an android. He wondered if it was a coincidence that you enjoyed music made by an android. Or, maybe, all things considered, that made perfect sense.

The first song that came up was titled 'Starlight'. He listened to it in its entirety and found the lyrics left a strange hole in his chest.

♪ ♫ “So say the word and I'll be running back to find you...

A thousand armies won't stop me - I'll break through...

I'll soar the endless skies for only one sight...

Of your starlight...” ♫ ♪

[shepherds-of-haven]

College!Au of Shepherd members? What likely are they (i.e. jock, player in the soccer team, bad-boy, the clichès.)? definitely not thinking of writing an au, and im certainly not thinking of maybe making a small edit about it. nOt aT aLl cApTAiN

Hi there! Have you seen the college AU asks? This one is pretty detailed about what kind of students they are, and this one is more succinct with their majors/minors! But I’m always happy to go more in-depth about AUs! 😉

In my imagination, Blade, Trouble, and Chase were suite-mates freshman year and get an apartment together when they’re not living on campus. (Halek, Red, and Riel are also roommates and then Riel can’t stand living in a dorm anymore so he buys a townhome with his family’s money and allows Halek and Red to live there to give himself some semblance of a social life.)

Blade is the scion of a very wealthy family who’s expected to take over the family business one day. Instead he majors in Criminal Justice and--in my imagination--secretly aims to become either a detective or a prosecutor because he suspects his family is involved with criminal organizations. He’s generally quiet, solemn, broody, and troubled (just like in the game lol) and is only dragged out to do “normal” college things by Trouble and Chase’s persistence! He’s in the fencing club and also goes to a mixed martial arts gym off-campus, sometimes with Trouble, which also happens to be the one Briony goes to. 

Trouble is in ROTC and majors in mechanical engineering, with dreams of joining the Air Force and becoming a pilot after graduation if he can keep his grades up. For some reason I have this idea that he got into this university on a soccer scholarship? He plays guitar and later gets a dog because fuck it, he’s always wanted one, and he’s rebuilding an old motorcycle in his spare time at this garage where his old school friends work. He definitely wears bomber jackets and letterman jackets like, a lot. He’s very popular and considered a “jock,” but a friendly one! He has an English class with Red and a math class with Riel, going to both of their study groups and then driving them crazy because he either doodles instead of studying or texts. Part-time, I feel like he delivers pizzas for some reason...

Chase is the third part of their trio and is more lax about his studies than the other two (which is a bad influence on Trouble). He does not talk at all about his family or home life and generally spends the holidays with either Blade or Trouble’s families. He’s an undeclared major and has no idea what he wants to do after college and is not worrying about it. He pays smart kids to do his homework for him, so he has an excellent GPA, much to the class president’s (Riel) fury. He’s part of a frat but doesn’t actually drink at parties, more concerned that everyone’s having a good time and making fun memories than he is about himself. He doesn’t allow any scummy behavior in the frat and secretly, on a whim, auditioned for a student play and is surprisingly very into it, to the point where he asks Briony and Trouble for help with his lines. After throwing a huge party where [x] happens, he starts a group chat with everybody involved in this story and it’s sort of how they all become friends, even though many of them already knew each other individually. Oh, and he’s very into Tinder, much to the chagrin of his other two roommates.

I think Briony, Ayla, and Lavinet are also roommates, and so are Shery, Tallys, and Mimir. Briony-Ayla-Lavinet’s place (BAL? Brionaylavi?) is Party Central, whereas Shery-Tallys-Mimir’s place (STM? Shallir?) is Quiet Coffee-Drinking Art Loft Sometimes Hipster Slam Poetry Book Clubs Central. 

Briony is either a journalism student or a law student, I can’t really decide. She takes a lot of extracurriculars at their university as a way to blow off steam, including a painting class (which is where she met Shery) and a horseback riding class, because why not? She has been training at the same mixed martial arts gym since she was a teenager, and she starts bringing Ayla and Lavinet there so they can defend themselves when they’re not altogether. Despite her cheerful attitude and popularity around campus, she seems to be running from a past back in her hometown that she doesn’t talk to anyone about, not even her closest friends: an obsessive ex and a dark past are just some of the things she doesn’t want catching up to her. Sometimes she earns part-time money covering shifts at the cafe Shery works at. 

Ayla is a journalism/communications student who will later switch majors to hospitality and hate it. She gives wilderness tours and white-water-rafting tours in the summers as a seasonal job and plays volleyball on the university team during the spring seasons and track and field during the fall. Her grades are abysmal and she goes to the tutoring center often for help, which is how she meets Red and Riel. She rides a Vespa around town and also attends the yoga class that Tallys teaches. Yes she wears leather jackets and occasionally beanies. She was too cheap to a buy a meal plan at the university cafeteria so she often skims from others or uses their extra meals before the week runs out. She is a lover of junk food and crams their apartment pantry with all manner of chips, soda, ramen, packaged mac and cheese, and etc! She also definitely games. 

Lavinet is a wealthy socialite daughter of the CEO and founder of a huge conglomerate: think a Paris Hilton, but more grounded. She’s majoring in business and political science, being groomed to take over her father’s role, but she wants a taste of “normal” life before that happens. All of her rich friends from high school thinks she’s slumming it with the other kids, but Lavinet’s having the time of her life. She tries not to stand out too much, but she unconsciously does, anyway: wearing designer coats and sunglasses to class, driving a flashy convertible, and keeping her books in a high-end handbag, because backpacks are “schlubby.” She means well but can sometimes be a bit of a drama queen to her roommates. She also loves juicy gossip and eats it up! She has been known to take her roommates’ phones and flirt for them with potential dates. She has a popular vlog and Instagram account, which I imagine is how Briony’s dark past catches up to her. She loves to get coffee at the shop that Shery and sometimes Briony work at and always seems to have a latte in her hand. She can point at any given person and name what lipstick they would be if they were one. She’s fairly good at her studies and loves to be in charge of study groups and gets into a war with another girl who tries to ‘poach’ her study partners. She absolutely takes French and fashion design classes and heads all over campus turn when she walks past!

Red, Riel, and Halek live in what is known as the “Nerd House.” Red is pretty much always at coffee shops and libraries, studying and reading, so much so that he doesn’t notice multiple other students checking him out in his rolled-up sweater sleeves and messenger bag. He’s got a bit of an “Academic Hipster” vibe and definitely has hipster tastes in music and books. He goes to poetry readings at cafes (of which Mimir is a staple) and goes on a lot of first dates that don’t lead anywhere, giving him the reputation of either a really picky person or a playboy. Does he wear glasses? Absolutely. Is it because he needs them? Probably not. On some subconscious level he is probably aware that he looks smart and cute in them. Sometimes he plays pickup soccer with Trouble’s practice team (he played in high school) when he realizes he’s been sitting around too long reading and needs to get some blood pumping! He studies philosophy and history as a double-major. 

Riel is the class president and later valedictorian of their class. He majors in math, business and finance, history, and psychology as one of the university’s only “quadruple majors”. He comes from an extremely wealthy family that has donated so much money to the school that many of the buildings have his last name on them. Occasionally he volunteers at the tutoring center, where his worst and most rebellious student is Ayla, who he vows to break. You can often find him in the music building, reserving one of the practice rooms to play beautiful classical piano, which he doesn’t like to play at home with his roommates around. He abhors eating or studying outside because, mysteriously, every time he walks through the quad, a frisbee hits him in the head. He is the head of a business fraternity that is constantly being pranked by Chase’s frat. 

Halek initially attended their university as a Food Science major, but dropped out and now attends the culinary arts institute across the street. (His twin brother, Naolin, goes to a prestigious university across the country and is studying to become a doctor.) He works as a barista at the cafe where Shery and sometimes Briony work as servers: the one with sleepy eyes that you end up spilling your life story to when you sit at the counter to drink your frappe and study. Plays the drums in a band that performs at open-mic nights and owns a tank of fish. In class he was constantly falling asleep at his desk but has no trouble now. Definitely smokes weed in his room occasionally and has a litany of tattoos up and down his forearms and hands (and for that matter, Ayla does too).

Finally, the Art Loft trio, Tallys, Shery, and Mimir, who definitely have a garden on their roof and hang their clothes up to dry in the sun up there, which Lavinet for whatever reason refers to as their “solarium.”

Tallys is a plant biology major who aims to be recruited into the country’s top holistic/nature-based pharmaceutical company. She teaches yoga outside of class to make money (and Ayla and sometimes Lavinet attend her morning classes). For whatever reason I feel like she smokes and looks really freaking cool doing it but decides to quit after a relative has a cancer scare. She enjoys classical music and plays the violin when she can. She is shares cooking duties with Shery and picks her up from her job at the cafe so she doesn’t have to walk home at night, leading many to mistakenly assume they’re girlfriends. She constantly has AirPods/earphones in, listening to music, and rarely speaks to others outside of class. Strangely, she owns a flip phone and owns no social media. 

Shery is a nursing student who loves to cook and bake as a hobby. She’s a natural introvert and prefers to stay in with her roommates, watching TV while she embroiders, or something, but one day she decides she wants to be more social and that’s how she befriends Halek and Briony. She owns a cat who rules the roost in their apartment as well as a hamster. She keeps detailed diaries and also writes poetry, but is too shy to share it with anyone, including Mimir, her roommate who’s an art major. She always wears pastels and very cute clothing and is a straight-A student. Her parents are pretty stingy so she works at a coffee shop, the Haven, as a way to earn money. She’s also helping with costume design for Chase’s play and rides a bike to campus and to work. She’s close with her professors and often visits them during office hours just to chat.

Mimir is an art student who’s making a big splash in the local scene, as she’s regarded as something of a young genius for her bizarre slam poetry and cryptic, surrealistic paintings. She often does readings at the Haven coffee shop during open-mic nights, and she constantly wears a hoodie, even to class. She paints her nails black and rocks that goth artist aesthetic, complete with dark eye makeup and black lipstick. She rarely speaks, but when she does, it’s usually to say something startlingly-insightful or incredibly mysterious. She feeds birds in the main quad on campus, to the point where they recognize her and will fly to her hand. She smells constantly of incense and can sometimes be seen rummaging around in trash cans on campus for her art installations. There is a mysterious cloaked figure on campus who rides a unicycle while blowing on bagpipes that also spew fire that everyone thinks is her, and she only smiles and fades away when anyone asks. 

[queenmylovely]

The Law of Attraction i

Summary: John deacon x fem!reader. Your first week of classes with Professor Deacon.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: little bit of awkwardness, cussing (probably)

A/N: This is the first part of a probably miniseries or two-parter to fill the request I got. I just am incapable of not writing some backstory I guess. Side note: this takes place in the present but John is in his late 30′s. For you, anon, don’t worry, spicy things are coming soon! I hope you all enjoy, and any feedback including likes, replies, reblogs and asks are greatly appreciated! Requests are open!

Request: idk if you write for prof!deaky but like… i’d be so down for that. 

Part ii, Part iii*, Masterlist 

(look at this picture, what the fuck)

💥💥💥

In your junior year of university, you had finally decided on your major after switching between math and physics. You had definitively chosen electrical engineering. While you had enjoyed math and physics, they were much too focused on theoretical equations than on real-world objects, which is where you found most of your interest.

The problem solving and designing aspects of electrical engineering were what had appealed to you the most. You could plug input into equations and get the correct answers in your sleep, so creating was what would challenge you in the way you wanted to be.

Since you had taken all of the math and physics prerequisites already, you were able to jump straight into the engineering classes and labs right away in the fall of your junior year. When you had registered in the spring prior, you had wanted to keep two days empty so that you could have days free for your part-time job at the admin office. This had somehow ended up in you having five classes between three different professors. Two of the professors you had only one class each with, which meant you had three classes with the same professor. Your days off from classes had landed on Mondays and Fridays, which you thought would be good bookends to your pretty heavy Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Plus, the admin job would be good for starting and/or finishing homework when it was slow.

_____

The first Monday of the semester was spent getting a quick brief on your duties as administrative assistant. It seemed like it would be pretty simple; answering phones, putting appointments into the computer’s calendar, scheduling tours, and directing people to the correct offices around campus. They also said that you were free to do homework in your down time.

That Monday was pretty busy though, which was okay since you didn’t have any homework aside from printing out the syllabus. (Which you might have used the office printer to do.)

You had some pretty frantic-looking students asking questions about how to change their classes or where to find their professor’s office. Since you were a junior and had changed your major twice, you were pretty fluent with all of the forms and were able to answer their questions easily. You went home around 5:00, which, with the hour lunch, made for an eight hour day. Since you were taking 16 engineering credits, you felt pretty good with working 16 hour weeks.

Tuesday you started with a System Modeling and Control class that was 75 minutes long, and started at 9:00. The professor seemed nice, which was good, but you were more worried about the professor you had later that day since he was the one you had three classes with. Two of which were labs of no more than 25 students. First, though, you had an Electromagnetic Theory lecture with him on Tuesday and Thursdays.

The class was at 10:30, which meant you had fifteen minutes to walk down the hall from your first class. You figured you would at least get a good seat.

Walking from room 215, you counted the numbers on either side of the hall until you reached 220. The door was cracked open with a rubber door stop and you looked through the crack to see that it was empty. There must not have been a class in there yet. You pushed the door open and walked in, seeing there were actually a couple people there on the edges. The room was lecture style, but pretty small with only four rows with 10 seats each going up from the floor. There was a lectern in the middle of three blackboards that had been wiped completely clean. You nodded at the other students as they looked up at you, but chose to sit in the middle of the front row. Since you were probably getting a later start to electrical engineering than most, you wanted to be front and center to absorb as much information as possible. And perhaps you were a bit of a teacher’s pet at times.

You pulled out the fresh, three subject, college ruled, spiral notebook you had gotten for this course and a mechanical pencil. Labeling the first page “Electromagnetic Theory,” you then flipped the page and wrote the date. You also took out the syllabus for the class and skimmed over it again while you waited for the professor and the rest of the class to get there.

Students slowly trickled in, most opting for the edges of the room and a couple joining you in the front row, but still near the sides. Once it hit 20 past, the professor walked in. He was on the taller side, a man in his late thirties from what you could tell, with brown hair that was shorter on the sides and longer and kind of curly on top. He was pretty handsome, in kind of a dorky way. He was wearing a plaid button down shirt tucked into jeans with a black belt and dad sneakers. You giggled at that last part and found your eyes drifting to his left hand to see if there was a ring there. There wasn’t. You shook your head slightly at yourself. He was your professor, and your professor with who you will be spending over five hours a week, and a crush will not make it any easier to learn, you had to remind yourself.

Just before class started, a rush of ten students came in at once, and one finally filled the spot next to yours. The two of you said hi and exchanged names (hers was Sarah), and were starting to talk about majors until you heard a loud scraping sound. The class turned their heads to the front of the room to see the professor pushing the lectern all the way against the wall. He finished and faced forward, noticing that the class had its eyes on him.

“Well, since I’ve got your attention, I might as well start,” he said with a smile and the class chuckled. “As it says in your syllabus, I am Professor Deacon, but as I know some of you know by your familiar faces, I am often referred to as ‘Deaky,’” he said, putting air quotes around the nickname, which earned another laugh.

“You can call me whichever you prefer, because I really don’t care. Alright, so obviously this is the class for Electromagnetic Theory, so if you’re in the wrong room, go ahead and leave now, we won’t judge,” he paused for a second and when no one moved, continued. “Good, we can get started.”

That first class was spent going through the syllabus mostly, and outlining the type of assignments and materials everyone would need for the course. He had a pretty dry sense of humor, and cracked jokes throughout the class, which helped to put everyone at ease. That being said, it seemed like it would be a very technical and involved class, and the assignments would require a lot of time and were process-heavy. Professor Deacon highly encouraged using his office hours for help or to answer any questions, and you made sure to highlight when they were on your syllabus.

When the class came to an end and everyone was packing up, you chatted to Sarah about it.

“Have you had Professor Deacon before?” you asked her.

“Oh, yeah, I had him for Introduction to Electric Circuits my freshman year. He’s a nice guy, and not too tough a grader. Everyone does really call him Deaky, just so you know,” she answered with a smile.

You nodded, “Good to know.”

She left for her next class and you said goodbye to each other before you walked down to the front of the class where Professor Deacon was.

He was writing something down in a little agenda and you stood waiting for him to finish when he looked up and saw you. “Hello,” he said cheerfully.

“Hi. I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, extending your hand for a handshake. His hand met yours and shook it firmly, and you didn’t miss how warm it was against yours. “I just wanted to introduce myself because I’ll be in both of your labs tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s you. I had noticed that there was a student on all three of my rosters. Did I have a really good rating on ratemyprofessor?” he joked.

You laughed lightly and responded, “I couldn’t say. I just declared as Electrical Engineering at the end of last semester, so I have some catching up to do.”

“Really? Most people would have a lot of prereqs to get through first. What was your major before?” he asked warmly.

“Well, first it was math my freshman year and then it was physics last year,” you explained a bit sheepishly.

Professor Deacon didn’t seem to think there was anything unusual about changing your major three times however, and just smiled a toothy smile and said, “Ah, that makes sense. Well, welcome to the department, and I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow,” you smiled back before turning around and walking out the door. You were relieved that the professor you would be seeing so much of this semester was nice, although weren’t sure you would be able to bring yourself to call him Deaky.

_____

The syllabus for the labs had said to only bring a folder, pen or pencil, and to wear at least short sleeves, long pants, and closed toed shoes, all of which you had to be willing to get dirty. As you got ready in the morning, you pulled on a faded pair of jeans, a shirt you had used in the past when painting, and your old pair of tennis shoes. You grabbed a jacket to wear over your clothes as you walked through campus and headed out with just a shoulder bag instead of the backpack you normally took to class.

You drove over to campus and parked in the engineering building’s parking lot. You had bought the parking pass for that building since three of your classes were in it, but hadn’t realized that the engineering labs were in a different building on the other side of campus until the day before. You sighed as you turned your car off, knowing you had close to a twenty minute walk, but put on your headphones, turned on some good music, and started walking over.

The building was old and the cinder blocks were painted white, though you could tell from where it was peeling that it had had many coats over the years of varying colors. You had heard from someone in your Computer Science class (which was an hour after your first with Professor Deacon on Tuesdays and Thursdays) that the building used to be the main Engineering building until the university got an endowment for the new, fancy one. Looking at the building, you thought that it must have been pretty cramped since there were only three large rooms and four little ones, which had since been turned into professors’ offices and what could be called the lobby with a check-in desk and no one behind it. There were two offices for the professors whose names you didn’t recognize and they were both of the left side of the building, opposite of the labs. The last one was on the right side, in between the furthest lab and the “lobby” itself, and had a nameplate labeled “John Deacon.”

Each of the lab rooms were designated for a different type of lab. Lab A was filled with cars and engines which you assumed was for mechanical or automotive engineering, Lab B was filled with drafting materials and models which you assumed was for civil engineering, and Lab C was filled with old computers and motors, which was exactly where you were supposed to be.

There were a couple people already in the room, milling about and chatting to each other. You were glad to see Sarah and went up to her to say hi. Looking around at everyone, the two of you laughed at how you all looked more like house painters than engineering students.

“I’m not entirely sure how our clothes would get dirty, but I guess it’s better safe than sorry,” she commented to you.

“I don’t know, maybe if we accidentally blow something up or it catches on fire, the smoot won’t ruin our clothes?” you guessed and the two of you laughed.

“I for one, wasn’t planning on any explosions, but I guess I know to keep a close eye on you now, Y/N,” said a voice from behind you on your right. Sarah and you whipped around to see Professor Deacon standing right there with a smirk on his face. You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment and Sarah had to hide her giggles behind her hand.

“I-I’m- that was just a joke,” you stammered out.

“Hmmm, I guess we’ll see,” Professor Deacon said, walking to where there was a chalkboard at the front of the lab. Before he turned completely away, though, he shot you a wink that eased your nerves about the joke you made, but for some reason sent a shock of adrenaline (or something else) through your body at the same time.

The rest of the lab went better. Professor Deacon started with introductions of everyone since it was a smaller class and people should definitely know each other by the end of the semester. He then went over the lab and safety procedures, congratulating everyone for their proper attire. He himself was wearing these old carpenter pants that looked straight out of a 90’s catalogue and an oversized t-shirt that seemed like it was a souvenir from Bali but had grease stains all over it. And he was wearing the same sneakers as the day before. You couldn’t help but think it was kinda cute that he wore the same sneakers all the time.

He also took everyone on a little tour of the lab building, starting with Lab A and B briefly and then a more indepth look at a room only accessible through the rear of the building. It was a storage/equipment room that housed a bunch of scrap metal, lumber, spare parts, abandoned student projects, and tools. Everything in there was for free use of students of all labs to work on their projects and the projects for the department. To a bunch of engineering students, it was a treasure trove.

Finally, he took everyone back to Lab C and pointed out all of the stations and larger equipment in the big room. After the tour, he had everyone do a little exercise with some of the tools to get acquainted with them. By the time everyone had completed the exercise, the two hours and forty-five had pretty much elapsed and Professor Deacon let everyone head out a little early.

Of course, since you were in his next lab that took place in 15 minutes, you stayed. And, it seemed that you were the only one in both of these labs, so you stood around awkwardly as everyone left. You were about to grab your phone from your pocket when you heard his voice.

“So you didn’t blow anything up, I’m relieved,” he teased from behind you.

You turned around to see him smirking yet again and laughed lightly before replying, “I mean, it’s only been the first part of the first day so I wouldn’t take your eyes off me just yet.”

There was a beat when both of you realized what that sounded like and you saw Professor Deacon’s ears get pink as you felt your neck heat up. Your eyes widened and you determinedly did not make eye contact.

Trying to relieve the tension, he cleared his throat and said, “Anyway, I’m sorry, but you’re about to have the same exact lab in 15 minutes. I would say you could leave but then you wouldn’t meet everyone else, and there are a couple different things that I talk about.”

You were glad that he changed the subject, and further tried to get things back to normal, “That’s okay. I’ll have a leg up on everyone when we try out the equipment.”

The two of you laughed, and you couldn’t help noticing what a nice laugh he had, “That’s the spirit. They’ll be baffled at your ability to use the air compressor slightly better than they can.”

“Hey, I was the best and fastest in the class just now. It might not have been a competition, but you know it’s true,” you said, still smiling, but pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“You’re very passionate. I like that in a… student,” he said, matching your intense gaze. Neither of you had time to think about his hesitation before saying “student” because a group of your classmates walked in at that moment.

Looking down at his watch, he noticed that it was only five minutes before class started, and he walked away, giving you a nod, to go grab the lab rules handouts.

You watched him walk away and sighed to yourself. It seemed the crush you were trying to fend off wasn’t going anywhere, and with all this time spent with him, was only continuing to grow.

💥💥💥

Taglist: @somekindof-cheese @gwilyoubemine @deacytits @supersonicfreddie @siriuslovesmarlene @bowiequeen @acdeaky @deakysgirl @sunflower-borhap-boys @deakyfordays @queensilveryrog @happy-at-home @ceruleanrainblues @briarrose26 @bensrhapsody @painkiller80 

I just kinda created this taglist so if you would like to be taken off or added, just send me a message or ask!

Reminder that my requests are open! If you would like something in a sort of one shot format/length or blurb, etc. send it in! I’ll write for any of the Borhap or Queen boys (Freddie only platonically), Lucy, Patrick Murray, Gardner Langway and adult!Tim Murphy or possibly any of the other characters these people have played if I know enough about them!

[stanleywbaxton]

Rhapsody: Aeroplanes

I went on an aeroplane, recently.

And it's been so long. Every year, since I was born, my family would jet off on another long-haul flight to the other side of the world; it's how I spent a two week chunk of my school holidays. We had a chain of doing Texas many years in a row. Before that, several trips up and down the east coast of Australia. 

You know exactly what halted my 20 year-long streak.

As a kid, before I learnt that poor people existed, I couldn't fathom the idea of someone never being on a plane before. It seemed like such a natural thing for everyone to do. To go on all these holidays I had no idea were that expensive. I couldn't fathom never being out of the country, even. Americans still flummox me with that one.

To dream of flying makes you human, I thought.

I think about people who are terrified of flying. Those who can't rationalise hundreds of tonnes of metal soaring through the skies. Those who look down to the impossibly small houses below, and can't comprehend seeing the Earth like gods do. Those who watched one too many documentaries on flight crashes. Those who clutch to their sickbags like it's a rosary, the only thing grounding their mortal form here.

And I feel genuine sadness, at that.

For me, I'm as excited for the plane ride itself as I am for the holiday.

It's been three years. I didn't realise how much I missed it. Manchester Airport heaves with holiday-goers and strains from its covid-ravaged workforce. I've been through my share of travel rushes, so this doesn't phase me, but knowing how to navigate it all doesn't dampen the constant adrenaline of not wanting to be the one guy holding up a security line of a hundred people. Where's your boarding ticket? Your passport? Is your covid test valid? Did you get all your electronics out of your bag? Is there something in your pocket you forgot? Is it shoes on or shoes off? Do you need to remove the jacket, too?

Then it all melts away at the familiar sights of luxury brands.

My instincts kick in, as I'm eating tax-free breakfast. I'm on holiday.

I'm going to be on a plane soon.

Boarding is nothing special. Sat at a gate playing on a Switch while waiting for a seat number to be called out. When I was younger, it was my DS. I always found the amount of times your pass needs to be checked funny, as well. Check at security. Check at the gate. Check before you're on the plane. Check while you're on the plane.

I will speak now from experience. A backpack under the seat beats a carry-on suitcase. Always.

And seating's always a palaver, isn't it? One extended queue, and then you've got one guy shoving his bag into the overhead bin and holding up everyone behind him. Then it's fumbling by that person shoving theirs up and squeezing by this person who's sat down, all just to sit down in an awkwardly leg-roomless chair.

Does that safety demonstration actually do anything, in the end? Twenty three years of my life and I've never needed that lifejacket. It's the exact same on every single airline. I have it committed to memory. I could jump up and join them.

Then, it doesn't matter. I'm on a plane.

My pupils dilate.

It's the unknowns, that get me. The thing about windows on an aeroplane, is how you can barely see the outside. In a car, you have full view of the world. Half of those walls are glass, and should you be so lucky the clouds above you smile down. In a plane, you're given a circular slice of nature. No more. When you're in a queue with anywhere between two to twenty planes in front of you, there's no idea how many away you are from escaping into the clouds.

The mechanical flaps on the wings ripple and flex, like an eagle catching the wind in its feathers. Satisfied, it marches on. 

Everytime the engines rumble you aren't sure if it's another part to the slow advance, or this is the one where it will make its triumphant assault on the sky. You can try peering out of that window, desperate for any glimpse of your orientation, but to no success. The tarmac here looks the same as the tarmac there. The tarmac there looks the same as the tarmac of the runways. Another rumble, another slow stop. Another rumble, longer this time, another slow stop.

Then, they don't rumble. They roar to life in an instant and barrel down the runway, the cabin shaking and metal grinding in its wake.

Pilots approach it differently. Some treat it as a delicate operation. To carefully ween the plane off the ground, to remind it of its purpose and the job it must do. So carefully, to not upset those the plane protects. Others treat it like rearing a wild horse. This plane will fly, hurled upwards, regardless of who or what inhabits it. You can feel that jolt when the wheels are no longer touching the ground. The weight liberated from them as the engines take the burden. You can feel it.

Flying sates a deep, deep need in my soul. I didn't realise how much I needed it. I'm not entirely sure why I need it. But I felt something as the plane took off. Like it was scratching an itch in a place I couldn't chart on a diagram. Like it was nourishing organs I forgot I had.

And the turbulence as you climb. The brief moments of weightlessness as the pilot banks and pitches through the winds. All the lefts and rights as we discover exactly which direction is our 'forward', to plough through unchanged for the next seven hours.

More. I want more. I want the sky to battle and bend us for having the audacity to think we could grace her heights.

I feel those fights, the most. After I'm off this plane and readjusting to life below the clouds. I feel my body trying to compensate for knocks of turbulence that aren't there, and popping my ear canals on reflex. I feel rushes through my veins preparing my heart to be left suspended in my ribs, just for a few seconds.

This is where I belong. In the infinite, insurmountable sky. Feeling the gentle rumble of meticulous engineering with a thousand hours behind it. Seeing how blue really is such a gorgeous colour. Looking down, hundreds of thousands of people through that little circle, realising how insignificant we all actually are in the end.

I'm at peace, here. I wish I could live in the skies.

Then I remember half the budget that went to this holiday is for everything this part isn't.

I went to Chicago, recently.

The city was wonderful to me, and makes me want to return. American cities have a specific touch, every road the same; all squares, no curves. I turn left, I should have turned right. I go straight on. I turn left. I turn left. I'm lost. I turn right.

I see one of the most beautiful skylines I've seen in my life.

I turn right, I should have turned left. I go straight on. I turn right. I turn right. I'm lost. I turn left.

I see the peak of American architecture a stone's throw across the river.

Americans are so eager to tell you how it's so easy to not get lost in their cities. They're built to be navigable! Here's a key. A crossword puzzle. Here's a number system that no other country uses to tell you how to navigate urban planning that only came to be in this single corner of the world.

It doesn't matter. I will never get used to it. There's nothing I can do to not look like a fool as I find myself clueless in the masses of these jungles, and the only victory is to embrace it.

One of the many things I've learnt to embrace.

I went to Macy's, recently.

In Chicago. My mother's taste in fashion has worn off on me, and I found myself on the better end of Captain Vimes' Boots Theory long before I read Discworld. I was walking around in black Levi jeans, a vintage edwardian-style blouse, a cape and mantle made from real leather; I'll wear plastic when I'm embalmed and thrown into the dying Pacific.

I get many comments on the outfit. Living in alternative fashion means you start getting used to the attention you recieve, but those unique compliments always stick in your mind. One man on the CTA called me a superhero.

I look like I belong, among the jewellery that's quintuple my credit card limit.

"Excuse me," an assistant says, as Americans are so fond of, and I'd been continually reminded of their unique approach to customer service, "what brand are your boots?"

The question stuns me. Never in my life had I had someone care for what was behind the fabrics. They only cared for the looks, no regard to the name and price tag behind them. As they should.

"Russell and Bromley," I say.

"I've never heard of them!" she sings. "They look so good!"

"They're a UK brand," I say, to her continued amazement. I smile and thank her for the compliments.

I wander back through the aisles, thinking how lab-grown gems shine just as bright.

I'm on the edge of that world of luxury. The world most will only experience through television series and documentaries. I brush by it almost everyday, to the point most people think I live there. And I know, because of how capitalism works, I will find myself ascending through salaries and back in the throngs of it, just like I was at the age of eight, dutifully following my mother through perfume aisles at the airport. 

My socialism is fueled by champagne.

But that world, it only exists on the ground. Where everyone else cares what you look like, and not where they put their boarding pass last. Where makeup isn't decanted from Italian leather and shoved into plastic bags. Where your high-end purchases aren't made two feet from someone on a budget airline.

I walked around Chicago in brands. Ones you wouldn't find imitated on the highstreet, but brands nonetheless. There's no use pretending they're something they're not. On the aeroplane, I wear my old zipped jumper with the fluffy hood to keep the cabin chill off. I wear my reliable jeans I bought five years ago with a hole I stitched over. I wear my trainers so broken-in they would be impossible for anyone else to wear. Only my arch fits that sole.

People fly in suits, of course. There's always the one. Some business-type with sunken eyes running on a redbull and jetlagged six hours behind. They probably have a meeting scheduled for the moment they run out that cabin door.

But there's no glamour here. There are no appearances to keep up. That suit holds as much fashion weight as my shirt with a still-unidentified stain does. On the plane itself, they're jammed into the same seats and given the same rules on when we can and cannot leave them. They eat shitty food and drink that one tub of water covered in tinfoil that's inexplicably served on every single airline. There's no glamour here.

We are all at the mercy of the sky. We respect it; we have to.

And yet, the aeroplane itself is the one thing that doesn't. Man was not given the means to fly. None of us have wings. And trying to circumvent that, to build our way to the heavens, eventually there's no oxygen. 

We made the aeroplane with no need to breathe. It only uses the air to travel, a careful balancing act of physics. How much thought, has gone into that? How many attempts and failures to bring us the dominators of the sky so commonplace today? Have you seen, the tests they put them through? They bend and break these beasts and strain them to their absolute limits, to face one of the most extreme biomes on Earth. The one place we were never meant to conquer.

They try so hard to make aeroplanes something they're not. The paradigm of luxury and style. Sophisticated. A jetsetter, a professional, rolling up to their velvet-clad seats with a pristine carry-on suitcase and a permanent, white-toothed smile. You see them, on every single advertisement. Served by a dutiful stewardess who wants nothing more than to dedicate herself to their entire existence, no more than an automation. Just like they would be served back on the ground. Or perhaps, they're served a slice of a life that, to them, is just out of reach, not realising how far that gap truly is. Maybe they, too, get mistaken for being part of it.

But the existence of an aeroplane is one that defies every attempt at aesthetic sanitation. There is no room for the matter of making things look 'better'. The exterior cannot change like a car can. Consider that, how many cars you've seen looking so different from the other. Someone believes this curve is more aerodynamic than that one. This shape is so much easier on the eyes than that one. 

An aeroplane cannot afford the silly opinions of man. One wrong concave surface, or a window slightly too big, or a wing too small, renders faults and stress that ruin its integrity. Then soon it will be unfit to fly. They all look so similar by a simple ruling of physics. Every plane is beholden to the sky, as much as it has the audacity to pierce it.

The aeroplane is the perfect evolution of rigourous engineering.

And there is beauty in that. Of course there is beauty in that. 

The beauty of the cabin with pressure calculated to the exact needs for life thirty thousand feet from where it should be. The beauty of the engines bursting into speeds scaling hundreds of miles per hour. The beauty of the wings, precision tensile strength and able to weather the worst storms humanity could dream of. 

A beauty that is in defiance of the world on the ground.

I've experienced the luxury they so desperately wish to sell. Multiple times. When we went to Australia, my parents deemed it reasonable to splash out the extra pounds on legroom and hot towels before takeoff. Business class.

They do so certainly try. This was Singapore Airlines, an airline that prides itself on an image of prestige and luxury for everything that isn't economy. Legroom is the one often quoted, but what isn't is how you get waited on. The cabin crew put on a whole performance of being butlers, remembering your drink orders and what snacks you like to eat. Doting on you so carefully that your meals are made exactly how you want them. The seats lean back far enough to turn into beds, with privacy shields from the rest of the world. You could play, to my five year old brain, the best games on the entire planet with that remote I have seen nowhere else but hoisted by a stretchy wire in an airliner chair.

But all around you, even the interior clad in rich colours, is still the omnipresent realisation that you are on a plane. The constant drone of the engines that no sound-cancelling has truly figured out how to silence. The toilets, that have terrified child and adult alike. The odd bits of turbulence that don't suddenly stop because you walked left instead of right.  Physics doesn't bend around a few more stacks of cash. You speak louder over your closed-back headphones to the person next to you, in bed. You clench your phone to not fall into a suction vortex, while applying skincare. You wear your seatbelt while the cabin trembles through the forces of nature, as you are handed a menu. 

It cannot be hidden. It cannot be covered in diamonds and jewels to be sold as something it's not. Even as they try, the cracks are revealed everytime they ascend. For that plane to be that little slice of luxury they are so desperate for, it would never be able to leave the ground.

They are completely beholden to its antithetical beauty. As the plane is beholden to the sky.

And capitalism has tried—oh, how it has taken what corners of the aeroplane it can!—as it has tried with everything else. All those lies of aeroplane luxury. Of painless flights. Of Egyptian cotton and French wine and Italian chefs. Of the world they're so used to packaged with a bright pink bow and brought on as cabin luggage, not a single inconvenience to grace them.

And the aeroplane will soldier on by the laws of physics, by the laws of the sky, forever suppressing form over function. Forever exposing how hollow those lies truly are. 

And there's nothing they can do about it.