#and with more mechanical stuff like car maintenance

[bittershins]

Things my dad has done for me in the last week that have made me want to cry:

1) gave me a bag of quarters that he's collected from the change he saves, for my coin laundry machines

2) noticed my bass guitar case was starting to fall apart and took photos of the measurements of the guitar for me as reference. And also pointed out what's gonna give me trouble in finding a case (slightly weird shape as a semi-acoustic)

3) i mentioned by frustrations with my weak pinkies when it comes to fretting, and he turns up with some old racket balls he's had kicking around fifteen minutes later

4) every single time the neighbors cat was on the porch, he bugged me and my sister about it to go visit him (he does not want a pet cat whatsoever. However he will sing out of tune at it)

5) bought me LED plant lights for Christmas, because he knows i hate online shopping too my absolute core, and remembered me mentioning them

6) he always checks my car's oil before i leave, since i have a bit of a drive ahead

7) whenever someone is sitting with the dog on the couch, he tucks him in with a blanket. Without fail

[keferon]

YAAAAAAAAHHHH YEAHHH BABYYYY LGMTBFIFNFHFKRNJFJFJFKRNRKF BRAINSORM FALLING OUT OF THE WINDOW KGKGKGNGKKY

SNOW BOTS ARE BACK BABE, IF IT WILL BE LIKE THAT EVERY YEAR I MIGHT DIE ONE DAY OF HAPPINESS WHEEEZE (I mean, drawing them like that is so much faster, plus colors, plus snow, plus they all are alive, COME ON IT'S A DREAM) Go smooch @keferon and everyone who makes "everyone is happy" content wheeeeeze

[lightsaber-dorphin]

Jedi Order Corps and Subdivisions

More of my worldbuilding for the inner structure of the Jedi Order. This time focusing on the Corps and the schools of thought/ roles within the Order.

Some of these are canon, others are my own creation. The Jedi consolidating to one temple on Coruscant during the Ruusan Reformation is canon, but I’ve taken my own liberties with it. Without further ado, lore!

Prior to the Ruusan Reformation, there were a number of independent denominations of the Jedi. Most of them merged into one order based in the Coruscant temple during what was called the Reunification.

Many denominations had different ideas of what a Jedi should be/ how they should use their powers. As a result, Jedi from certain traditions tended towards certain jobs within the reunified order. The corps and their branches formed as a result of certain traditions and teachings being passed down by Jedi who occupied certain roles.

The corps aren’t administrative divisions. Individual Jedi have their corps and branch affiliation listed on file as a marker of what they specialize in/ what they’re trained to do. Jedi are selected for missions based on their corps and the specifics of the mission, and answer to whichever body sent them on the mission. (see my Jedi Order Bureaucratic Structure)

Reunified Jedi Order:

One permanent location on Coruscant

Wayfinders:

Wandering Jedi who are technically members of the Order & follow its precepts but don't answer to the Council

Nonspecific:

Individual members can and do have corps/ division affiliations, but the group as a whole doesn't have a corps/ division affiliation

Usually part of the Sentinels or EduCorps

People aren’t selected to be trained for these jobs it’s all volunteer work

A lot of people do it part-time or for short periods, but a few folks make it their permanent gig

Maintenance workers:

Sometimes someone says “what if instead of going on missions I patched all the holes in our drywall” and why would they stop them

Lots of part-time volunteers

Most are Sentinels, because their philosophy encourages learning random useful skills

Quartermasters:

Distribute supplies

The Order buys stuff in bulk and then Jedi pick it up from the quartermasters office

Kitchenmasters:

Jedi way of saying chef

Transport mechanics:

Do you know a Car Person? Imagine if they were a monk.

Accountants:

The most dedicated to preserving the Jedi way of life of any group in the Order

Without these unthanked warriors the Jedi Order would’ve been destroyed by late-stage capitalism

Most are Lore Keepers

Lawyers:

Usually hired from the outside

Inspired by "Jedi Counsel” on ao3

Sometimes a Jedi goes to law school

Temple Guards:

Protect the temple and are its first responders

Based on the lore from "Nameless"

Very connected to the living force within the temple

A little spooky!

Education Corps:

Advance in rank via academic achievement

Maven is the title equivalent to Knight

Can have multiple padawans at one time (but usually don’t)

Lore Keepers:

Strongly believe in the importance of academics

Believe knowledge is the path to connection with the Force

Based on "The Librarian's Lineage"

Preceptors:

Teaching is hugely important to the Jedi, and all Jedi teach & learn how to teach to some degree, but for Preceptors it’s their main focus

Like the MedCorps it has a lot of transfers

Normal Preceptors:

Classroom teachers

Have formal education training

Either work for the Department of Classes or the Department of Primary Classes

DoC and DoPC are roughly the same thing, except the DoPC is for the general education classes all Jedi take as children and the DoC is for elective and continuing education classes

Battlemasters:

Teach lightsaber classes

Have formal education training

Inspired by "Careless to Let It Fall" on ao3

Main differences are that there’s more than one & they take education classes

Crèchemasters:

One lead crèchemaster and two-ish assistant crèchemasters per every 6-ish younglings

Formal training in early childhood education

Must serve as an assistant crèchemaster before being a lead crèchemaster

Assistant crèchemasters are from "aphelion" on ao3

Exploration Corps:

One-on-one apprenticeships

Rarely in the temple (unless they have a padawan, when they’re required to be there more often)

Usually have a bed in a communal room at the temple instead of their own apartment

Use Knight title. Yes this is sometimes confusing

Vanguards:

Wandering explorers/ patrol the galaxy

Instead of responding to specific requests they visit places & are available if anyone wants their help

Specific purpose is to make sure the Jedi don’t neglect/ are unaware of certain parts of the galaxy just because it hasn’t requested Jedi aid in a while

Seekers:

Find potential Jedi and offer them a place in the Order

Bond with new initiates and ease their transition into the Order

Archaeologists:

Expertise in Force-temple ruins

An undead Sith~ sleeping in your bed. Who you gonna call? Ghost! Busters!

Work closely with the Lore Keepers

Most likely to become Wayfinders or leave the Order (by percentage not numbers)

“Former Jedi who got really interested in a niche of archaeology without many Force-related ruins” is a thing in the archaeology community

They can work on normal digs but the Senate won’t approve sending them/ use of Jedi funds

Medical Corps:

MedCorps padawans are very rare. Most members transfer in from another corps

Student healers from other corps have a healing mentor in charge of their healer training, separate from their lineage-master

Healer is the equivalent title to Knight. Healers-in-training are called Student Healers, no matter what their rank is

Knight Corps:

Knights being a fifth corps

This is the corps we see most in canon

One-on-one apprenticeships, Knight title

Guardians:

Focus on fighting abilities & lightsaber combat

Consulars:

Negotiators, ambassadors, diplomats

Focus on Force abilities

Sentinels:

Focus on non-Jedi skills such as hacking

Considered a midpoint between Guardians and Consulars

Shadows:

Jedi spies

Answer to the High Council

Watchfolk:

Permanent/ long-term posting within a system

Agriculture Corps:

Focus on nature-related abilities

Grow most of the food for the Order

Very involved in disaster relief work

Rarely in the temple & usually have a bed in a communal room instead of a personal room

Have long-term postings & typically get settled there

Padawans are assigned to a group rather than an individual

Maven is the Knight-equivalent title

The chapter that inspired this whole project

Terraformers:

Large-scale Force usage

Can revitalize uninhabitable areas

Use the Force to rapidly speed up regrowth, kickstart life on planets where there is none, etc.

Conservationists:

Don’t believe in using the Force on the scale that Terraformers do

Use the Force to help individual plants grow, stave off rot and parasites, connect with animals, etc.

Beastmasters:

Creature specialists

Force-sensitive animal control

Inspiration

[alespov]

thinking about older neighbor Leon 18+

{ tw; jealous Leon, age gap! terrible boyfriend objects being thrown, and mention of Leon getting into a fight. gn! reader, use of nickname 'princess" }

-Leon the retired D.S.O agent in need of a purpose in life, but he doesn't want to enter the agent life again. So what does he do, he opens up a mechanic shop. In the middle of a small town.

-He moved to a small suburb where he met you. His younger neighbor who at the time was having car troubles, and he wasn't one to pry but it also seemed you were having relationship issues as well.

-When he wasn't busy on a Wednesday afternoon, he made time to fix your car, while he was fixing your car. After a while he regularly started doing maintenance for your car,he didn't want you to get taken advantage of by other car mechanics. Leon had your best interest in mind. Sometimes you brought him an array of beverages and homemade desserts, as a sign of your gratitude.

-As time went on, Leon made sure to help you with other tasks. For instance, he cleaned your pool, cleaned your gutters, or helped you rake your leaves. Tom wasn't going to help you do it, Leon didn't like Tom. He had always thought Tom was more concerned about his phone than his girlfriend.

-Tom would often complain about Leon helping you so much, that you hardly paid Tom any attention. Simply because he always wanted to start a fight, Tom wouldn't do any housework or be affectionate with you. One night Tom was complaining about everything, he started to yell at you and throw stuff around the house.

You and him started arguing louder and this finally caught Leon's attention. "What's your problem, all you do is hang around with that stupid blonde idiot other there." He yelled at you, trying to intimate you. "What's my problem? My problem is you wouldn't pay any mind to me, so stop treating me like an option or you'll see how many I have". you wailed

-Tom stormed out of the house quickly, and you fell to the floor sobbing, you did truly love Tom. As of right now, you weren't so sure, all you wanted was some attention. You felt comforting arms wrap themselves tightly around you and heard sweet-nothings being sung into your ear.

-"Don't pay him any mind, he doesn't deserve you." Leon mumbed into your ear. He took off his coat wrapped it around you snugly, and carried you to his house. He sat you down on the chair so he could open the door. He picked you back up carried you up the stairs placed you in his bed, and pulled his covers on you.

"Stay right here princess, I'll take care of Tom for you."

-You didn't look over at the clock, but at some point, you drifted off to sleep. Until you heard the birds chirping and Leon moving downstairs. You got up and walked quietly down the stairs and tried to find the kitchen or wherever Leon was.

-"Oh good, you're finally up." You turned to your right and Leon was sitting in on the couch. you giggled softly and made your way to him, you hugged him and held on for a bit. You felt his strong arms wrap around and pull you closer."

"Thank you for coming to my rescue." you mumbled to him.

-You let him go and noticed his hands, were bruised. You didn't ask about it, You already had an idea of what he did.

-After that night, Tom never bothered you again, Honestly you never saw him around town or anywhere. Time flew by and you Leon got closer and eventually began dating. You were happier in this relationship, Leon worshiped you. He made you sure you were loved, he made sure he listened to you.

-So yeah you were glad you fell for your older neighbor.

| also accepting requests for Leon and Wesker|

[kentosovertime]

(n.) the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are

toji x afab!reader, fiance!megumi - 2.7k words

A/N: here's a comeback fic for my blog resurrection, had this idea before I stopped writing and FINALLY got to it, enjoy~

CW: explicit content, explicit language, age gap, revenge cheating, manipulation, humiliation, dubcon language, your dad will do, virgin!reader, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding, non consensual videotaping at the end, anger issues (rip the reader)

✨Masterlist | Tag List | Ask Box | Open Request Event | AO3 | Ko-Fi✨

“For fucks sake!” You screech, the sound of your rage swallowed by a bus that screams by the side of the road as you slam the hood of your smoking car shut. 

“At least it’s not in flames-” Starts a random passerby walking their dog, but is sent running when you send them a withering glare. After the weekend you’ve had and it’s only Friday night?

You open your phone, your glare turning to the long list of outgoing calls to every hotel within an hour of your apartment, all booked to no vacancy for a local festival. Your landlord really picked the perfect weekend to kick all their tenants out for “emergency” maintenance for an issue that was reported months ago. 

Someone must have threatened to report the living conditions, as his attitude quickly changed when he offered to reimburse the hotel costs if his tenants were forced to stay at one. 

Your gaze softens as you scroll through those calls to where Megumi contacted you, letting you know he had made it to the martial arts competition he was coaching this weekend. His soft spot and skill for taking care of children was what initially drew you to him, but right now you wished more than anything you could press on his name and he could come to your rescue like always. 

Calling a tow truck to bring your car to the mechanics wasn’t necessarily the issue… but being on the streets for the next couple nights was. With your car in this condition, it wasn’t like you could sleep in it, given your inability to find even a shity motel room in the worst part of town. 

You take a moment to mourn the fact that you didn’t move closer to where your family lives before realizing you really only have one option in front of you; Toji. 

The contact information for your boyfriend's father mocks you on the screen, daring you to call him, a perfect stranger, to come and save your ass. The lack of familiarity wasn’t based on a lack of effort on your part, having tried repeatedly to get Megumi to open up about his family. The most that you were able to glean was that his mother had passed away and his father wasn’t often present. 

“Hello?” A gruff voice answers on the first ring. You didn’t even realize you had pressed his number before he was on the line. “Sorry, Mr. Fushiguro? This is Megumi’s fiance…” An awkward, lasting silence stretches out between the two of you before you clear your throat and try again. “I’m very sorry to bother you, but Megumi is out of town and m-my car is billowing smoke a-and all the hotels are booked-” 

Toji smirks as you ramble, rather cutely he may add, grabbing his wallet and keys before he’s even told you yes to both of your requests. He chuckles under his breath as you struggle to not fill the silence, letting your words hang in the air again. 

“I’m on my way,” He hums as he twists the keys in the ignition of his car. “Get your stuff out of the car in case it explodes.” 

He barks out a laugh as he hangs up and hears a distressed noise of dismay leave your throat. You’re so easily worked up, he wonders if this is why Megumi has done everything in his power to prevent the two of you from meeting… a valid concern. Considering how that ex of his used to try to hang off of Toji. He shudders in disgust at the memory of the girl, still in high school and thinking she was worth a second glance. 

Something tells him you’d be a prettier sight. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

This is why Megumi has been telling you no… It takes everything in you to keep your jaw snapped shut as you watch his father prowl up to where you're standing over your suitcase on the sidewalk, nervously glancing at the vehicle he made seem may blow up at any second. 

You approach the car hesitantly when he waves you over, shocked that your legs work from how tightly your wound. He opens up the hood to take a look at what’s causing the smoke while you wait for your tow. 

“Here, sweetheart.” It only takes him a second to point out what's wrong with your engine, gently redirecting your finger when you point to an area in question. “I wouldn’t hold out too much hope that this is worth fixing… you may be looking at a new set of wheels.” 

Anger and frustration well up in you again, even as a flush of heat cascades down your spine at the small touch of his skin on yours. You’re thankful for the distraction the anger provides, given the other option is avoiding looking at how his tight black t-shirt stretches across his torso or drooling like a pitiful little girl. Your fiance is attractive, but there’s still a softness to his face. He lacks the hard planes and sharp angles his father possesses. 

“One thing at a time.” Toji squeezes your shoulder with a smirk, leading closer than he should. How is he supposed to help himself when you seem ready to snap with how tightly you’ve wound yourself? The tension in your back only winds further with how he kneads your skin. “If you need it, I’ll pitch in to help Megumi get you around for a bit.” 

Your mouth opens to stutter out a reply… or maybe a denial for such an open ended offer, but the horn of the tow truck stops you. 

“Let me handle that.” He hums. “I wouldn’t want the tow truck driver to try to take advantage of you.” 

Watching him leave, you pull the phone from your pocket, sending Megumi a quick update about where you’re going before your phone dies. You shove it back into its spot after you’ve powered it off, saving what’s left of the battery for when you’re able to dig out your phone charger. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Toji holds the door to his house open for you, bracing his hand on the small of your back as you cross the threshold to a surprisingly tasteful living room. 

“What?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, the shock must be written all over your face. “Expect a futon couch and a mattress on the floor?” 

“M-Maybe..” You rub your neck with a sheepish look, managing a small chuckle as he leads you down the hall to what you assume is the room you’ll be using. “Something about unmarried men and the lack of dining room tables and living out of laundry baskets.” 

The drive over had taken longer than you expected, he lives on the edge of the city, the houses given more space than what you’re used to from your apartment in the city. But it had given you the opportunity to partially acclimate to his overwhelming presence. All you had to do was not look at his face… easy. 

“I did have a wife.” He hums in thought. “The art of furnishing a house isn’t lost on me… Anyway.. This one is you.” He flicks on the light as he enters the spacious room, moving until he gets to another door, turning that light on too, the cocky humor back on his face by the time he turns back to you with a playful glint in his eyes. 

“You have your own bathroom… shower head’s detachable.”  He tacks on, watching you empty your overnight bag, setting your night clothes out before you turn your phone back on and get it attached to a charger.

“That’s not- I wouldn’t-” A shocked squeak flies from your throat as your eyes widen in embarrassment. 

“Your face is…” He howls in laughter. “Absolutely priceless. My room is down the hallway, last door on the right. In case you need me.”

“I-” His tone drips with innuendo, making the blush on your face deepen to a shade of crimson. So much for not thinking about him inappropriately. 

“So innocent, sweetheart. You’d think you’re still a virgin.” You watch in mortification as your future father-in-law leans cockily against the door jam to your bathroom, your mouth opening and closing, urging something to come out, an explanation, a lie, anything. Just something to make him not make fun of you. “Oh my god… you are. Even when you’re engaged to my son?” 

“He…” You wring your hands together, your voice barely above a mumble, looking down at your engagement ring in confusion, as if it could tell you the Toji’s lying to you. “He said he wanted to wait until w-we were married. That he’d wait…” 

He never said that it would be his first time, you realize. As quickly as your embarrassment comes, it's replaced with a low, burning fit of rage that’s ready to lash out. 

“Wait! You thought Megumi was a virgin?” He snickers meanly. “That’s fucking rich, hun. That ship sailed in fucking high school.” 

You listen, shaking with the anger that’s boiling inside of you, as he describes Megumi’s relationship with a girl named Himari, how he walked in on them more than once. 

Your mind starts to spin in circles, fueled by this rage that has nowhere to go. As insufferable as Toji is about this, you find your anger can’t be directed at him. It's Megumi that lied to you for the entire duration of your relationship, not his father. 

As your mind circles, every insecurity that you’ve had about your relationship that you so easily dismissed before bubbles to the surface one by one. He’s always working or volunteering somewhere. The apartment has just become a place that he sometimes sleeps, if he ever makes it home because he travels around so often. He even said he didn’t like his father. Admittedly, you can see how they would clash, but was that it? Or did he just not want you to meet Toji so his cover wouldn’t be blown?

Toji approaches you, leaning into that delicious anger to purr in your ear. “I could show you what you’re missing, sweetheart…” 

Your body doesn’t flinch as your eyes slide to meet his gaze directly for the first time. You nod ever so slightly in consent, your breath uneven from the anticipation that’s built in your core from when you first saw him. 

“I’m going to need a little more than a nod, swe-” It’s the spite that pushes you to kiss him first. Spite that doing this will hurt Megumi has much as he hurt you, and spite that if you have to hear Toji call you sweetheart one more fucking time you’d explode. 

The groan you swallow from Toji as he presses against you wipes any doubt from your mind as you press against his broad chest to push him to the guest bed and crawl up his body to grind yourself into the bulge in his pants, hungrily seeking out his lips again. 

“Eager little virgin, aren’t we?” He growls as he yanks your head back by your hair, baring your neck to him so he can nip at it. The lack of marks there by his son is a further invitation to take you for himself. 

“Ah-! Mr. Fushi-” A whimper escapes your mouth as he carelessly shoves a hand beneath the band of your leggings and panties and you squirm to pull away as his fingers immediately shove past your entrance to scissor you open. 

“Uh uh. That’s enough of that shit.” He bites a harsh mark into the juncture of your neck, grinning when you cry out with a mixture of pain and pleasure, fat tears welling in your eyes and spilling over, your core spasming around his digits he continues to bully into you. “I’m not fucking stopping until your dripping, sweetheart. I’m going to have you crying that its too much and I’m not going to fucking stop. Even if you beg.”

It stings, the foreign feeling inside of you, but that feeling is quickly replaced by a rapidly approaching orgasm. You can take him, you think as you reach down between you to palm him through his sweatpants. You’re ready for anything he could give you. 

Your efforts leave you breathless and end with you managing to work his pant’s down his legs as he rips your leggings from your body along with your panties. 

“Fuck-” He growl as you take ahold of his length and line him up with your entrance as you hover above him. “You better slow down or you’ll hurt yourself.”

“You’re too cocky for your own- oh fuck-” You hiss as you allow the head of his cock to breach your entrance. The sting returns and flares into white hot heat at your core, making you double over into his chest as each inch rips its way into you. Your hips rock needily into him, trying with desperate circles to work yourself open. 

By the third circle of your hips, Toji loses his patience. His hands reach out to grapple your hips, using his momentum to flip the two of you before he thrusts violently into you, fully seating himself before pulling from your heat to slam home again. 

“Broken in now, aren’t you?” He growls, slamming into you a few more times before the sting completely abates, making sure you really feel what he’s taking from you. “Took what you wanted like a greedy fucking whore. Now shut the fuck up and be thankful I’m giving you my cock.” 

He pulls out of you to manhandle you until your chest is laying against the covers, wasting no time before he’s hauling your hips back into where he kneels behind you, entering you roughly again and setting a punishing pace. 

“You take me like a trained bitch.” He pants, grunting as his hips slap against yours, sending the vibrations straight to your clit as you sob into the duvet. “You lying about this being your first time?” 

You don’t answer, your face planted into the covers from the angle he has you bent into. Toji growls in annoyance, gathering your arms behind you to pull you up against his chest before his free hand snakes around your front to deliver a harsh slap to your center, ripping a scream from you.

“Go on slut. Answer, daddy.” He slaps your clit again and you feel yourself gush around his length, pushed to the edge. 

“M’not lying, Mr. Fushigur-” Another slap has you trembling, fresh tears pouring down your cheeks as you build impossibly higher. “D-Daddy- M’not you just f-feel s’good. I’ve b-been wet since you showed up.”

“Greedy little thing’s so ignored by Megumi you have to result to fucking his dad?” He coos down at you condescendingly, degrading you further. His voice takes on a cruel tone as he starts circling your clit. “How are you going to explain to your precious fiance that you’re carrying his brother?” 

“W-What- n-no T-Toji you c- shit!” You cum suddenly around him, the image of you leaking his cum banging around your head until you're clamping so hard around him you’re pulling his orgasm from him. Shivers wrack your body as you feel the ropes of his cum pump into you and leak from where you’re connected.  

The two of you breathe heavily, your panting filling the room as you come down from your highs. In your haze you don’t notice Toji video taping his cock pulling out of your cunt or the cum that gushed out in its wake before playfully slapping your ass and walking into the guest bathroom to get you a towel. 

You slump against the covers, wincing as you reach for your phone when you see the screen go off with worried messages from Megumi about being near his father. Followed by numerous missed calls with the same message, pleading with you not to stay with him. That he’d rush home tonight to help you so you didn’t have to stay there. 

You scowl at the message, sending off something that gets right to the point. 

<Who’s Himari?>

You decline the immediate litany of frantic calls, fully shutting off your phone and shuffling out of bed to join Toji in the bathroom. Maybe the shower could be round two… and if not, you’d happily sneak into the master bedroom to make that a reality.

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @yelzoldyck @silversslut @aazaard @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @vantastic210@rafzaha @tirzamisu @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @firdaoz @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @sukunassoulmate @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems [[if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

[paper-mario-wiki]

Do you do farm stuff Scout? Or would you like to? Like owning chickens or tending an outdoor garden, that sort of thing?

From ages 7 to 19 I lived on farms, and was made to be an active participant in maintenance and usages of the facilities I don't know why the fuck I'm typing it like this, but I grew up on a farm. I was kinda in charge of everything, but slacked a lot and my brother had to cover for me. That said, I still spent a LOT of time doing chores.

At one point or another I've been responsible for most every farm chore you can really think of. All the basics like raking leaves, milking goats, collecting eggs, feeding chickens- but also the big stuff like moving tons of hay, herding flocks, caring for large animals such as llamas, alpacas, horses, and cows, as well as delivering babies, gutting and plucking fowl (only chickens and turkeys, though I've also cared for ducks and geese), dehoring, hoof cleaning, corpse transportation, crop maintenance, winter ice removal by breaking up frozen water troughs in 10 below weather (thought this was usually circumvented by anticipating the cold and setting up water heaters beforehand), constructing enclosures, slaughtering pigs, and etc etc etc etc etc all that shit. Bunnies snakes mini horses donkeys. All that shit. Farm stuff. Ya know.

Moved away when I went to college and immediately plunged into a mixed-zoning district in the Fushimi district in Kyoto. This was a really good transition from rural living to city living, because mixed zoning districts have blocks dedicated to apartment complexes and family homes right next to blocks of rice fields and ponds, which was behind the 7-Eleven I bought most of my food from.

Now I live in a SHITTY mixed zoning area in SHITTY America where we never stop hearing cars because there's a massive parking lot nearby and constant police sirens, not because the area is particularly dangerous, but because there's like 2 police stations nearby.

My ideal housing goal, which also happens to be my current goal in life, is to reach a slightly more rural version of the Kyoto living situation. The goals are very distinct:

0. I'm editing this one in after the fact to note that while I've used Kyoto as an example a few times in this post, I'm just looking for an area that feels right and would happily live in any prefecture that fits my needs.

I want to not be tied directly to a visa which would draw me away from doing whatever work I really want to do, like my student visa did later on when school started getting worse as professors were struggling to learn digital classroom mechanics. The visa I'm shooting for is dependent on a few ideas I have for businesses, but that's still kind of a long shot.

I want to be in a position of relative financial freedom so that I can spend enough time genuinely living there instead of just being tied to a computer all day, limiting me to the world I already know. This one's the big one, so I'm still workin on that. That said, recently I've been taking some pretty massive steps towards making this a more tangible circumstance. Fingers crossed.

I want to have a home that I own instead of renting, and I'd like to work with a Japanese architect to actually construct it. Again, these are big big plans, but I think a life goal is a thing worth thinking big about. And it's not like I'm trying to build a mansion, or even a family-sized house, I think I'd be content with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and common room. Of course, in keeping with the "dream big" spirit, in a world where I've got enough money to have a nicer, slightly bigger home, I can imagine as many as 5 bedrooms. It's nice to imagine in this "perfect" outcome that I've got a reason to have enough space for guests to sleep over. A local community, or an otherwise tangible, real-world web of relationships would be nice. Like, Real Adult Socializing Shit.

I want to have a significant emphasis on self-reliance on this home. As far solarpunk as I can reasonably go, without biting off more than I can chew as someone who's kinda limp-wristed. In a gay way and a feeble way. I figure this will come down to solar panels, water filtration, a well, and a garden (or at least the space to have gardening stuff like pots and soil). Some chickens would be nice too, but I don't know that I'd ever take on livestock proper.

I want to be properly submerged in trees without being more than a 5 minute bike ride from a train station. Somwhere like Yase-Hieizanguchi Station in north Kyoto is a good example of station that's on the edge of a metropolitan area and the forest. There was an apartment there I almost got, but backed out when covid hit cuz I decided moving across town would be a whack decision.

This is a BONUS goal, but I think it'd also be nice to not compromise on a single location, and instead have a home out in the inaka, while also having a small apartment rented in the city I can go between whenever I need to. In a world where I can afford a plot of land out in the country, but would still need to travel into town for business, that would be nice. Though in that scenario I'd likely need to also take on the arduous task of getting a Japanese drivers license. If I know far enough in advance that I want to take this specific route then I could bypass that last one by getting an international license before moving to Japan, but after moving to Japan you're barred from getting an international license.

I couldn't tell you in honesty that I'm a Salt of the Earth, Red Blooded American Farmer in my heart, and in fact I could not WAIT to move away from the farm. I hated that I didn't have a say in living on a farm, and was made to take care of animals. But what I DID enjoy about that life was the stillness. The opportunities of perfect silence. The stars unobstructed by light pollution. The ability to explore. Those things I was incredibly grateful for. And as such, in my perfect world, I would like to live on something like a farm again one day, just on my own terms.

[oh-shit-i-spilled-my-genderfluid]

Some Bo Sinclair hcs bcuz why not:

- massive fan of horror movies, particularly the really gory ones. Would absolutely love Saw.

- an alright cook, as mentioned in my Vincent post. Emphasis on alright. The stuff he makes isn’t as bland and depressing as Vincent’s, he uses more salt and spices than his brother, but it’s still not great. Still, someone has to stop Vincent from eating Kraft Mac n Cheese three meals a day seven days a week.

- this might sound weird but I feel like he used to have a habit of going around town counting all the wax sculptures before going to bed as a way of winding down. Then he started having nightmares about doing this and there being too few or too many sculptures and he had to stop.

- when there’s visitors around he keeps up the appearance of being a mechanic, but in his day to day life he mostly does repairs and maintenance around town. Sometimes he brings one of the victims’ cars to the garage and he messes around with it for fun (is it obvious I know fuck all about cars)

- feels pretty lonely, despite living with his twin and seeing him every day, and Lester dropping by pretty often.

- used to be interested in several different art mediums, but Trudy kinda killed all those interests. After her death he is slowly easing back into doing art for fun and not just to be good in his parents eyes.

- particularly likes photography and film. Has a genuinely good eye for that sort of thing.

- has filmed his day to day life in Ambrose. Someone get this man a YouTube channel

- has forbidden Lester’s roadkill food in the house (despite it being fresh and much tastier than his bland chicken and rice).

- has insomnia, and likes to pace around the house. If Vincent’s also up they just kinda pleasantly coexist, Vincent’s probably microwaving some leftovers at 3 am and Bo’s drinking orange juice. They don’t speak at all, just kinda vibe.

- has set up all the rigged stuff around town, the old lady and the lights and everything. He’s very good at stuff like that. He probably also fixed Vincent’s wax shower thingy.

- I like to think he genuinely worries for Vincent, who can get so absorbed in his art that he doesn’t eat or drink or sleep. He has on multiple occasions practically carried Vincent up the stairs to spend some time with the family and eat proper food.

[sadie-bug345]

the gang on a road trip :3

i love this request sm!! LETS GO👇

ponyboy:

i feel like he’d try to read but when they’re all in the stupid MINI VAN TOGETHER HE CANNOT GET PEACE

also like reading on a drive can kinda make you carsick

and pony seems the type to get carsick i’m sorry😭💀

BUT i myself get carsick so it’s not bullying🫶

anyways he’s probably chill until someone mentions playing some roadtrip game like I Spy or smth LMAO

he seems the type to get actually triggered and annoyed during that game cause people *cough* dally *cough* choose stupid stuff (more on this later🙏)

johnny:

probably sleep or smth low maintenance

i just feel like johnny doesn’t need constant attention to feel appreciated yk

anyways he’d also just seem the type to carry on a goofy convo throughout the drive

like just RANDOM and it lasts for like hours LMAOO

people probably voluntold him to sit in the middle seat 😔😭

sodapop:

he the type of kid to yell the most random stuff out of context in the back of the bus😭😭😭

so that kinda translates to this

his brain goes like a billion miles per hour so if you aren’t steve or two bit chances are you don’t even know what they’re doing at this point

finds ANY source of entertainment

usually bothers darry with steve LMAOO

darry:

darry drives cause no one else is trusted😔

maybe lets steve drive cause who else is gonna take over at night🧐

DALLY? AW HELL NAH

anyways he drives and definitely gives the annoyed dad

like

”if someone kicks my seat ONE MORE TIME IM TURNING THIS CAR RIGHT BACK AROUND”

and then everyone’s good til dal loses a game of travel uno and punches his seat out of anger

and everyone goes quiet like 😟

and darry’s tweaking but ITS OK THEY STILL MAKE IT

dally:

rides shotgun

just a menace honestly

i feel like he dislikes being cooped up and bc of that he just is even more of a jerk

like pony thought itd be fun to play i spy and dally’s like “what a stupid game 🙄”

and then says “i see something….blue”

and everyone’s like “uhh the sky”

and just guessing EVERYTHING and dals like

“nope😼”

eventually he says “it’s the blood in everyone’s veins rn😀because blood is actually blue before it hits the air and oxidizes and then it turns red🤷‍♂️🥰”

and everyone’s like 😐

and he is just like “well last week pony had a bio test and he wouldn’t SHUT UP ABOUT THAT FACT SO”

two-bit:

honestly just doesn’t stop. talking.

which is ok cause my guy is funny ASF

BUT for people on their last thread like darry he’s just like 😤

anyways two is just making fun of EVERYTHING

like isn’t it funny that pony’s seatbelt still has the child lock on it

and that dally is getting found out for actually caring about what people talk about (ie the random fact he remembers pony talking abt)

honestly a blast

he suggests a lot of games and lowk destroys

steve:

just goofs off w soda CONSTANTLY

which is really funny

i feel like we underestimate how funny they are together

probably talks abt cars the majority of the way there to no one in particular LMAO

it’s ok cause when the curtis car inevitably breaks down halfway there he goes into

MECHANIC MODE

and saves the day🫶🥰💞

TYSM FOR REQUESTING!! my requests are opennn🫶🫶

[janitorboy-writing]

My Jay, Nya, Pixal, Zane, Kai, and Lloyd Headcanons about their expertise in STEM

I was struck by inspiration and I just had to write it down. It doesn't help that I'm taking a programming class and have a bunch of STEM friends and family, so I was given plenty of ideas

Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes. I forgot to switch my keyboard from Portuguese to english

Jay

He is good with circuits and hardware

If he had the funds and motivstion, he would have been an electrical engineer, or at least become certified as an electrician

He practically already has the experience since he always tinkered with circuits and wires as a kid

His parents would always have him fixing the toaster, fridge, TV, basically any electrical appliance at home

He never had once touched a computer program until he came across his first computer at the junkyard

After tinkering with it and booting it up, he began to mess around and trid his best to understand the programs in it

He understood a little, but he wasn't a pro at it until Pixal came along (she taught him about different programming languages and the fundamentals, and he found out he's not into programming as much as he is with messing with circuits)

He does know mechanics and car stuff thanks to his dad, but he's more interested in wires and circuits

Nya

Mechanic

She definitely has a certification as a mechanic

Thanks to Kai, she had the time to study for a technical education

She also knows enough about electrical engineering to make all the cool cars and mechs

She didn't know very much about programming but she was very interested in it

She went to the library and read outdated books on programming (the local library near their village isn't the most well funded)

Hey, at last she grasped the fundamentals even though she learned an ancient language that most programmers don't use or learn anymore

When Pixal joined the team and started to teach her about programming, she was ecstatic

Now all her inventions could be more modern!

Pixal

She is just like her dad, so robotics and computer science are her thing

She does know a bit about everything since she has an entire database in her head to glean info from

Still, programming is her favorite thing and the thing she considers herself the best at

She leaves vehicle maintenance to Nya and any circuitry to Jay

When Jay, Nya, or Zane aren't around, she handles all the things they handle even if she doesn't enjoy it as much as programming. Someone has to be there to take care of all their tech

Whenever there's a bug she can't seem to fix, she explains her code to Zane to help herself think

Zane listens and i happy to be helping his gf <3

When Zane isn't there, she talks to Nya, her bestie, instead

When neither are there, she talks to Jay

Jay only listens since he's not very experienced with programming, but he does try to help from time to time

Zane

Zane doesn't consider himself to be an expert in any tech related field

Like yeah, he knows basically everything and can do it all, but he's not very interested in them

He will fix cars or fix a line of code, but only when it's necessary or if he's asked to

Unlike the others, he doesn't spend his free time inventing or tinkering with anything

He's mostly meditating or hanging out in nature

He likes plants, like, A LOT

Plants, cooking, and animals are his expertise

He also knows a lot about herbs and tea, so he's basically the team's medic

Pixal is his medical assistant just like he is her programming assistant <3

Zane and Cole go out on walks and hikes a lot, and they drag Kai along just for fun

Kai

He knows a bit about mechanic since he sometimes helped Nya with her homework and projects

Him and Nya know exactly what they're talking about when Jya asks him to bring her the thingamabob

Kai had to teach Jay what the hell a thingamabob and a doohickey is so Jay could actually help Nya

In return, Kai learned some of Jay's weird names for tools like the thing and thingamajig

If things are really dire (like none of the team's inventors and Zane are with them) then Kai will try to fix a vehicle

50% chance of failure, 49% chance of success

The 1%? Who knows

It explodes

Lloyd

Like Kai, he knows a bit about mechanics, if not more because he spent a lot of time with Nya when he was younger and when nobody knew he was the green ninja

He has more success fixing vehicles than Kai, so Kai is always the last resort

Lloyd also knows about plants and herbs since he read about them after Wu was gone

Someone had to take care of all the plants for Wu and Zane after the merge happened

Lloyd also knows a bit of programming and electrical engineering, though it's not very useful

He could tell you what a variable is but he cannot write a program to save his life

He can tell you what XOR does, but he can't build a circuit

Due to his interest in video games, he's been trying to learn programming, but due to everything that happened in his life, he hasn't learned much

He's still trying, and that's what matters

[bynux]

Why are so many trans women into traditionally masculine interests? I've never seen a trans woman in my knitting and crochet group even though we advertise as queer-friendly, but there's more trans women than cis women in software dev. I'm not asking this to be mean, I'm just a bit confused - I'd assume that at least a fair bit of trans women would be transitioning because they feel feminine? But that doesn't seem to ever extend to hobbies and interests.

That's because feminizing and masculinizing hobbies and interests is fucking stupid, and if anyone is going to acknowledge how pointless these gender roles are, it's gonna be people who have the "wrong one" (for lack of better phrasing) imposed on them.

Also, in many cases they're interests that we were encouraged into before we transitioned, at the same time that we were told cooking and sewing are "FoR gIrLs."

Like, I know the basics about car maintenance and upkeep (nothing intensive, just changing oil and headlamps, etc.) because I was heavily exposed to these things and encouraged to take them on. I started out learning computer programming when I was still "totally a cishet guy." At the time, I didn't have to worry about whether or not software development is "boy stuff." (Which, btw, it literally isn't. The earliest "computers" were people, most often women, using mechanical machines to run numbers. Some of the earliest programming languages were developed and pioneered by women.)

Many of us may also have avoided "feminine" interests as a form of denial. "I can't get into home decoration because that's for women and gay men and I'm not definitely not gay or a girl and I'm not going to expose myself to anything that might challenge that assertion."

In any case I genuinely hope this has been insightful! I'm open to any question in good faith. :)

[spiderfreedom]

women must learn about technology

one of the most common gender-limited roles across the world is the making of musical instruments. in the majority of cultures, men make musical instruments. flutes are almost exclusively made by men.

this may seem like a weird little curio - i certainly thought it was - until you read more. in many cultures, instruments are played by the people who make them. if women don't have the knowledge to make instruments, then they can't play the instrument, because instruments may not be made as gifts. instruments become gendered. men resent women entering on their space and refuse to share technical knowledge with them on how to play or make the instrument. women are limited to singing (if that) or simple instruments that they can make. there are very few instruments that "only" women are allowed to play/make.

in its extreme form, this results in taboo musical instruments (usually flutes for some reason) that women may not see or hear on pain of death.

"so what", i hear you say. "what do musical instruments have to do with anything?" well, it shows that one of the most common ways to limit women and raise up men is to prevent or discourage women from having technical knowledge.

even in our allegedly """superior""" western cultures, music production and engineering is almost entirely male-dominated. ask women in production and sound engineering, and you'll find that they face not just benign sexism/prejudice but downright hostility.

men become associated with technology. technology from tekhnos - art or craft. women become associated with spiritualism, the immaterial, the unprovable and ineffable ("we are reclaiming our feminine power through astrology!") or alternatively the body, the base, the mundane, the maintenance work, using machines and technology that they did not create.

knowledge is power. men have historically guarded certain kinds of knowledge/power from women. today, too many men continue this gatekeeping. "don't worry your pretty little head about how a car works, missy." too many women are happy to let them, afraid to challenge their learned helplessness. "I'm a passenger princess! i'm too dumb to know how a washing machine works!" (and i even see feminists say things like "thank god a butch woman was here to help me change my tires." why associate technological knowledge with a certain gender presentation?)

learning about technology can be scary. it's complicated and there's a large body of material to challenge. many of us have been conditioned into learned helplessness, and it's easier and more immediately rewarding to ask someone else to take care of our technological issues for us. there's the issue of stereotype threat where we're afraid to fail and confirm negative stereotypes of women. but if we're serious about empowerment, we must remember knowledge is power. women who know about carpentry don't need to rely on men. women who know how to fix their car can intelligently converse with male mechanics. knowledge is the thing they can't take away from you, you carry it with you where you go, and you can share it with other women. you don't need to learn about every field of technology - pick one that piques your interest (electronics? electricity? carpentry? HVAC? auto mechanics?) and begin reading about it. do beginner diy stuff. over time, you'll gain confidence and useful skills. then help fellow women.

[halfamask]

Adding on to my earlier post, how good the original yugioh cast would be at driving a car:

Yugi: 2/10. I’m sorry. The boy is 5 foot max. He needs a cushion to see over the windshield and slightly struggles to reach the break. He’s so so so good at the theoretical stuff and he always knows who has right of way and what all the signs mean. But he makes everyone nervous when he pulls that seat all the way up and is white knuckled with his tight grip on the wheel, stressed until he parks again.

Joey: 5.5/10. Solid driver, grew up with a beat old Camry with a tough steering wheel and can drive pretty much anything. Will go with you to the mechanic so you don’t get scammed. Absolutely drives at least 10 over the speed limit and is only urged on by his driving playlist full of super fast songs. King of the California stop.

Tristan: 8/10. Good driver. Passed his test on the first try, always comes to a complete stop. Needs the seat out almost all the way. Pleasant radio music and windows open, can have a conversation with you when he drives. But will get stressed in heavy traffic and mostly likely will snap at you. You probably have to ask him for permission to eat in his car.

Tea: 7/10. Also a solid driver, always stays within the speed limit and doesn’t get stressed too easily. The only exception is rich assholes in fancy cars who weave in and out of lanes really quick; she WILL race them in her 8 year old Honda thats due for maintenance soon while cussing them out the whole time, not caring who’s in the car with her. Can drive well but ideally is playing passenger to Tristan. She and Joey trade off the front seat and Yugi’s forever in the back.

Seto: -2/10. The rich asshole in a blue eyes white Tesla, weaving in and out of lanes and laughing as the plebs try to keep up. Mokuba is nauseous but egging him on. He treats all speed limits and most stoplights and yield and stop signs as vague suggestions at the very best and parks in fire lanes because the fine is pocket change to him. No food in his car. Only Mokuba is allowed to sit in the passenger seat and others are lucky if he lets them sit in the back. Every time he drives somewhere he expects valet parking because finding a spot is too mundane for him (again, he will just otherwise leave the car wherever even if it’s a fire lane). No one has better job security that his chauffeur because Mokuba pays to make sure Seto only drives rarely.

Mokuba: can’t drive yet, never wants to learn because he has a chauffeur, plus his only role model for driving who’s not a professional driver is Seto, so he’s kind of scared of it.

Bonus! Atem: 3/10. Better (and taller) than Yugi because he has a calmer and more authoritative presence that makes people feel like he knows what he’s doing, but only knows the rules of the road because Yugi drilled them into him. He’s a pharaoh, both the modern technology and being his own charioteer are fundamentally incompatible with his being and he always feels like something is wrong when he drives.

[seat-safety-switch]

You might not be all that surprised that I like pinball. It’s a pointless, fruitless contraption of annoying sounds and bright lights, with a bunch of half-broken metal inside. That’s more or less the crown prosecutor’s description of me from last spring. I heard they spent like a day in a whole-office brainstorming session just to come up with that one, but I digress.

The point of pinball is, like all great human endeavours, to rack up an arbitrary score by playing the game. To this extent, you pay money for a limited number of chances. A better writer than me could make this some sort of metaphor on life itself, but I’m not going to resort to that kind of trickery. No, I want to talk about actual pinball.

Here’s the thing about a game that mostly consists of bouncing a steel ball into stationary objects, which trigger sensors and relays. That stuff breaks down, and it breaks down all the time. Although you may imagine all mechanical objects as existing in a perfect state of repair and a zero-percent-humidity vacuum, the real world is completely filthy. Dirt and hair get into things. Grease reacts with the plastics and becomes some kind of nightmare tar that has to be removed with industrial paint-stripping equipment. Screws pop out. The playfield flakes off and warps. Complex electronics seize up somewhere deep inside and begin to act, in the words of Alan Turing, “fucking haunted.”

So that means that the operator of a pinball machine has to be constantly maintaining it. Keeping an eye on all the bumpers. Being good enough to play it and hit all the features, check to make sure the multi-ball bonus works. This is the kind of thing that I like to do, but unfortunately I was born a couple years too late to become full-time employed maintaining pinball machines across America, driving a $500 Plymouth Barracuda, seeding secret second and third families whenever I find a small town that I particularly liked. Instead, I get to look at my friends’ pinball machines and go: that looks bad. You should replace that part. And then they say: I can’t, because nobody makes that part anymore. And then I spend a year meticulously constructing an exact replica of that part, only for the next thing in line to break.

All this is to say that pinball is keeping me from doing even basic maintenance on my fleet of terrible cars, which I’m sure is appreciated by the citizenry at large. Stick that in your ass and smoke it, Your Worship.

[oneminutefiftysixseconds]

while fixing my flat tire this morning i pondered the question if and who of the cyclists know how to do it. like not only change a whole wheel, but get the tube out, find the hole, put the little sticker on it, get it back in (be so fucking frustrated bc now the brakes are making weird things and when they come back 20mins later the fucking tire is fucking flat again)? what do you think? which of them would feel me?

this is a SUPERB question and one that merits much consideration 🤔

i'm assuming/hoping they all at one point or other, did in fact know how to maintain their own bikes (hmmm. most of them at least.)

however, after many years of being handed a shiny new sponsor bike every January and spending almost all of their time riding a handful of minutes away from a team car/mechanic/NSV for spare bikes/wheels, it's entirely possible they've forgotten. having a crack team of mechanics servicing your bike's every need will undoubtedly lead to forgetting stuff

okay seriousness over let's get silly!

long gone are the days of pros carrying spare tubes over their shoulders (which is a shame because it's hot), but who, given the opportunity, would be capable of fixing a puncture?

direct evidence:

Wout van Aert ✔️

growing up as a teenager in cross without an eminent father and the connections that brings, bikepacker in the off season, wout can 100% fix it himself and wash the bike at the end of the ride

at the opposite end of of the spectrum, G ✖️

after eighteen years as a pro i'm not sure whether g remembers how to change rim brake pads let alone discs. the team give him a fresh pinarello and he rides it. simple. when it breaks a mechanic gives him another one. though once he retires the knowledge will come back to him

distantly justified gut feelings/completely unjustified Visions:

tadej ✔️ he can change tubes but always forgets the left pedal screws the opposite way

remco ✖️ owns at least one unnecessarily fancy multitool that he has never used. aero nerd but basic maintenance eludes him

mathieu ✔️ but it will take a fair while because he has not done it in soooo long and he doesn't remember to check the tyre for embedded sharps (this could be causing your repeated flat or the tube may be caught between tyre bead and rim)

jasper ✖️ forgets shoes and socks on training camp. has never bought his own inner tubes; begs one from someone else on the group ride and then struggles with a tyre lever for 20 minutes before someone takes pity

jonas ✔️ part time carpenter adept at handiwork, has been given the same unnecessarily fancy multitool as remco (BY remco? at the vuelta?) but it's unused in favour of an infinitely more practical one.

tom (pidcock) ✔️

joshy t ✖️ the lad vaguely knows what an innertube is and that you can pop them by putting the pressure too high but has never had to handle one himself

mads ✔️✔️ father (dads pedersen, if you will) runs a bike shop. not only can mads change a tube in under four minutes but he will show others how to look after their bikes and get irritated at poor maintence

matej ✔️✔️✔️ in another timeline it's moho instead of frank herzegh who invents tubeless tyres

[lestweforget5]

Oooh ok headcannons/questions/ideas?

- Millie knows more about mechanics and engines than John. Millie is the one that is asking all the questions/buys the car for the family/the kids when they are teens/adults. John is standing back with big ‘my wife is amazing’ eyes and glaring at anyone who is rude to her. Also Millie teaches her kids about maintenance. (Maybe with Kenny teaches them to make a car?) idk but Engineer!Millie is amazing.

- Millie already has her ‘behave!’ mom glare down

- Uncle Ham once told the Brady kids that his facial scar was from being bit by a shark or something similar. The Brady kids believe it for a long time? (Maybe would work better with Uncle Curt saying it about Uncle Dickie?)

- Doctors and hospitals are an ordeal for Millie for the rest of her life. Especially when it comes to pregnancy. They have to shop around for a doctor that will respect Millie’s boundaries and to have her support people with her (1940s societal rules and have John nearby/with her for labour wouldn’t exactly mix) Maybe home births? Even so it is John that takes the kids to most of not all of their doctors appointments.

- I don’t know how long John remained in the army after the war, but if he stayed into the 1950s I could definitely see Millie struggling with the conflicting roles of former service member and officers wife, especially with the 1950’s cookie cutter housewife stereotype.

- at some time post war, someone tries to tell a salacious version on Millie’s story, based on like stereotypes and shit. Some threats are made (I don’t think Millie would know?)(having a war hero/lawyer with many connections on your side is kinda great when you need it)(bombers are scary when they want to be) It doesn’t get made and pretty much anyone who wants to tell a story/book/media on the bloody hundredth knows to tell the truth if they want cooperation. Or something like this? Thoughts on the 50+ years difference between the end of the war and the book coming out, whether women serving would have changed the perception on women in society and media, and the fact that the 100th will protect each other from anything, including the media

- I haven’t got around to reading Crosby book yet but I feel like Cros would have feelings about M’lle Zig Zigs Crew being POWs and their condition back home? He thought he was going to be on Brady’s crew for the entire war, seeing what happened had to have messed him up at bit. Especially with Solly being the navigator? Knowing that if a few things had changed you would have been there with them? I saw that ask about M’lle Zig Zigs crew with the cold and PTSD and early January and just a weird outside looking in moment. Idk

- would Millie have been held up as an example for any women replacements? Like would Maggie and Winks or maybe an officer have talked about her? Especially if there was a female flight engineer, would Millie have been an example or a hero or something to them?

- if there is any kinda outside looking in moment on the 100th who were at Stalag Luft III especially when talking about PTSD and stuff, I think it would take a while for them (especially Brady’s crew) to not automatically put themselves between Solly & Millie and people. Especially if there is a loud noise or something, all of a sudden they are behind like 5 people.

- are Hambone and Millie the youngest of the group at the Stalag? The thought of them having a quiet kid/chaos gremlin kind of sibling relationship is very funny to me!

- Millie in my head either dies within a year or two of John in the 90’s or lives long enough (into her 90’s) that when they figure out they are going to base MOTA on the 100th (2012/2013 ish) the production team is told that she is still alive and manage to get her on video somehow before she dies. But when I thought of that, the thought of her living a decade plus without John is too sad so. Someone makes a documentary or video tapes her for a book about the woman’s cabin at Thorpe Abbotts. ? Either way there are tapes of her talking about her experience. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Anyway this is a lot I’ll leave it there! 🥰🥰

Hello, Nonnie! Thank you for the ask!

And apologies to my followers for clogging up your dashes a little bit with this, as lengthy as it is, but I won't do it often, and I didn't particularly want to do a lot of copy-pasting to divide it up.

(And, no, that's not a criticism of anyone sending me long asks. I love long asks!)

Everything else is beneath the cut.

On Millie knowing more about cars than John:

Yes, Engineer!Millie in her element is awesome, and it is already canon, though the work isn’t posted yet, that Millie is the one fixing the cars post-war, and I should add a reference, given your brilliant idea, that she’s the one buying them, too.

I would imagine that John knows a reasonable amount about cars just from the culture of the day for men, but even if I’m right, that’s still different than growing up on a farm like Millie and Kenny and being responsible for keeping machinery running.

On Millie having her mom face down pat:

Corralling grown boys (cough, cough, the other enlisted on her crews, if they don’t outrank her) is not the same thing as managing your own children, but I can definitely see how she would have developed her hands-on-hip behave/disappointed mom face at Thorpe Abbotts, especially with the local children running around too.

On Hambone telling the Brady kids whacky stories about how he got his scar:

Spinning yarns for kids definitely sounds like something Hambone would do, so definitely canon stamped. The man gives off gremlin vibes, and we’ve seen a bit of it already in Sunward I’ve Climbed.

After reading https://theveteransmuseum.org/howard-hamilton/ and https://theveteransmuseum.org/part-2-of-howard-hamilton-story/, I’ve already been thinking about a friendship between Gerry Hamilton and Millie, so this would definitely add a fun addition to any post-war story where the Hamiltons star.

On Millie's struggles with hospitals and doctors:

Definitely canon, though I haven’t gotten to it yet and am not sure yet how it will all play out. (I remember I had another ask/section of an ask along these lines, but I can’t find it right now in my archive.)

A big shame that there were not more female doctors then…

But yeah, John would be largely the one taking them to their doctors’ appointments, which might raise a few eyebrows, I don’t know yet. And Maggie might be a real support to Millie here, but I still have a lot of post-war details left to hash out.

On Millie and John post-war:

So Brady does not remain in the military long after the war. He’s out by at least 1948 from what I know, largely from https://www.voicesoflaurel.com/post/john-brady-from-wwii-hero-to-laurel-city-council, and probably earlier.

And yes, I could see some tension there. Thankfully, Brady is good about always backing her up and not expecting her to shape herself into someone she is most definitely not.

On "a salacious version of Millie's story" and other issues:

While the drama, angst, hurt/comfort, and good helping of Laywer!Rosie would be delicious, one immediate question I have would be whether the female officers of the 100th lost over Germany (or even Switzerland, maybe) or female officers from other Bomb Groups, for that matter, would be more at risk for such attacks than the enlisted women. I’m really not sure.

(And while thinking about this question, I learned that conditions in the internment camps in Switzerland, where Lilian and Florence the two surviving officers of the 100th’s original complement of women were imprisoned, wasn’t exactly great, and some were awful. https://prologue.blogs.archives.gov/2021/11/10/world-war-ii-internees-and-pows-in-switzerland/).

And since newspapers and journalists can be just absolutely awful sometimes, this could definitely happen. I believe @precious-little-scoundrel is having something similar happen to her genius POC engineer OFC (although I’ve gotten a bit lost in the sea of the brilliant asks she gets). Her Integrated MOTA AU is darker and much more graphic than mind, but if you can handle such topics, you might want to check her series, Those Who Can, out.

My other issue would be, except if they are constructing the story out of whole cloth, no one really has details to write a salacious story on. For several decades, the only people to whom Millie tells the full or almost full story of what happened to her in Germany are Brady, first, and Maggie, later.

I don’t think I would ever write a story like this, because I’m more interested in the internal and more personal struggles of Millie and John post-war, struggling with PTSD and that multi-faceted can of worms, but if this were to happen, there’s no direct line of connection between Brady and Rosie, so I could see Crosby hearing from Brady about what was happening and then subsequently giving Rosie a call and being like “are you seeing this ***?” and putting him and Brady in contact.

I think the gap between the end of the war and when books started coming out gave the writers time to process what happened to them and find some semblance of peace before they started having to talk about it to a wider audience. No getting a camera shoved in your face in the relatively immediate aftermath as could happened today in some cases.

And yeah, feminist movements in those intervening decades and the natural opening of military positions to women, which could potentially happen faster in the Integrated AU, definitely would have changed the perspective on women in WW2, which in the intermediate aftermath could always be tried to be spun as an anomaly because … the entire free world was at risk and you have to pull out all the stops to keep the Nazis from running roughshod over … everywhere.

On Crosby and his thoughts about M'lle Zig Zig's loss:

This is Crosby’s reaction to hearing that M’lle Zig Zig has gone down.

The weatherman breaks the code. “Egan’s gone. Your old crew is gone. The whole group is gone. The only one who came back was that new crew in the 418th. They call him Rosie.” I drop the phone. I can’t believe it. Brady, Ham, Davy and Hoerr, all gone. Cruikshank gone. Old southern-boy Murph, gone. All my friends. Every crew who went through training with me in the States is gone. I tell Blake and the crew. They say nothing. They just look at each other. “Okay,” says Old Beady Eyes. “R&R is over. Let’s go home.”

He was definitely impacted by the loss of almost the entirety of the original 100th and of all his friends, as shown in this quote.

If you want to read more about Crosby, his book, and the effect the war (including the loss of his friends) had on him, may I recommend @thatsrightice's blog? She's got a lot of great MOTA posts, including the following which your questions made me think about especially:

https://www.tumblr.com/thatsrightice/742523502387658752/harry-crosby-put-a-lot-of-time-and-care-into-his?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/thatsrightice/743481573136056320/theres-a-little-paragraph-in-a-wing-and-a-prayer

https://www.tumblr.com/thatsrightice/751909141652602880/hi-have-these-pages-from-harry-crosbys-memoir-a?source=share

On Millie as an example for the later female members of the 100th:

Maybe. Maggie or Winks talking about her would be more likely than an officer, since all the officers who really knew her are all dead or POWs.

On the flip side, I could see the ground crew judging other female flight engineers by Millie a bit. They liked her a lot and not just because of Kenny or because of her easy willingness to spend most of her spare time helping out down at the hardstands.

On the 100th looking out for Solly/Millie after the war:

Habits, especially ones that have potentially life/death or other extremely serious implications, are hard to break, and PTSD would especially complicate things there. I could definitely see this happening.

And maybe you would see this playing out in less overt/drastic ways: e.g., if they’re walking as a group on some occasion, then Millie and Solly would end up in the middle.

On Hambone and Millie:

As far as I know currently, yes, Hambone and Millie are the youngest, although I haven’t found birth month/years for everyone yet. In the main storyline, the only one I know of so far who could be potentially younger than them is McKay, but he was in a different compound at Stalag Luft III. Jefferson, once the Red Tails arrive, is the next closest in age for certain, but he was born in November 1921, which makes him a little over a year older than Millie. It’s possible that Dennis might be closer in age, but I’m not certain I’ve found the right John C. Dennis.

I’m not sure whether that dynamic would quite work in the camp, because of how traumatized she is, but after the war, especially with your idea about Hambone telling the Brady kids whacky stories about his scar, I could see it.

On Millie's death and MOTA Production:

So Millie dies in the spring of 2000; she outlives John but not by much. I couldn’t bare the thought of either one long outliving the other. After everything they went through together and a marriage of like 54.5 years, it’s not that they would literally give up after the other one died, but it’s that much harder to fight tooth and nail without your person there.

However, two of her and John’s three children are still alive when the production team is kicking into gear, AND Maggie is still alive, so they can get first and second hand knowledge that way.

Also, there are audio recordings of Millie telling her story (i.e., the italicized portions of Sunward I've Climbed). I don't know whether she would want to go on camera, though. And we will see some other ways that her experiences are recorded in “A Hometown Hero: Millie Brady.”

[drivinmeinsane]

Driver (Drive) x Ken (Barbie) ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: He twists his house key in the door and turns the knob to open it. Locked. Adjusting the basket resting against his hip, he frowns and tries his key again. The door unlocks this time. The knob is slippery in his grasp. When he pulls his hand away, it’s covered in more of that red stuff from the elevator. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Detailed description of injury, Stab Wound, Wound Fingering, Coming In Pants, Blood and Gore, Home Treatment of Severe Injury, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Aftercare, Non-sexual Nudity, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Some reference to James Sallis's Drive novel ※ Word count: 4,988 ※ Status: Oneshot ※ Author's note: I can't help but put Driver in situations. This is a wildly self-indulgent result of a thought that wouldn't stop plaguing me, please use caution. ※ Song inspiration: Kiss Me You Animal - Burn the Ballroom

Something must be loose in the dryer because the machine keeps rattling with a sinister clank as it spins the clothing inside. Ken will have to ask for Driver’s help in filling out a maintenance request form to slip into the little box outside of the apartment building’s office. His spelling has gotten better. He knows so many more words now, but he still wants a second pair of eyes to make sure he’s not making too many mistakes.

Ken flaps a hand at his face. The poor attempt at a fan barely stirs the strands of hair plastered to his forehead. It’s humid in the basement in a way that reminds Ken of the reptile building at the zoo Driver had taken him to. It had been the first time the other man had let him hold his hand around other people. That memory keeps him eagerly coming back down to this dimly lit room to do laundry during the hottest part of the day. In the solitude of the basement laundry facility, he can relive the memory time and time again.

It doesn’t hurt that doing the laundry is something that he enjoys. He’s good at it, even better at it than he was at beach. It’s one of the few things that he can do that make him feel like he’s contributing. The task allows him to feel important to Driver. The other man takes care of him so thoroughly that these little chores are the least he can do. They’re boyfriend-boyfriend after all.

He stands up from the little chair that had been left in the laundry room by some other resident as soon as the dryer buzzes to signal that the cycle is complete. The blond man hums to himself as he scoops the dry clothing into a basket. He’s looking forward to getting the clothes folded or hung up as needed and put away. He’s done a good job, a good enough of one that Driver will probably praise him in that quiet way of his. The promise of an eye crinkling smile and a pass of boyfriend’s hand over his head is enough to get Ken thinking about other ways he can please the wheelman.

Ken has started cooking some nights. If Driver doesn’t bring something home after he gets off work this evening, he might make dinner. The mechanic always seems surprised when he cooks, looks at him in a wary way that Ken doesn’t understand. He also never eats at the small, folding table, choosing to sit on the couch instead. Ken always joins him on the couch. If he sits just right, their knees brush.

As a result of another one of Driver’s quirks, they never have sandwiches. Ken made some for them one night and Driver had taken one look at the two plates and left their apartment unit without a word. He remembers waiting a bewildered half hour before he left to try to find his boyfriend. He’d found him sitting in his parked car, staring through the pitted windshield with the look of a haunted man. Driver had apologized to him, rubbed his knuckles over Ken’s thigh as soon as he joined him and sat in the passenger seat. He had quietly explained to him that that kind of food is as upsetting to him as beer is to Ken. He’d understood immediately. Bad memories can live on in the strangest of things. He doesn’t need to know the details before the other man is ready.

He might try making pasta tonight. They’d had some recently at a restaurant. He had liked the little corkscrew shapes with the cream sauce and even the mushrooms that had been mixed in. Perhaps he could check with his boyfriend to see if pecans are a suitable addition to that kind of thing.

After gathering up the detergent and dryer sheets and tossing them into the basket, he picks up the entire bundle. It’s an easy walk to the elevator. As Ken presses the button for their floor, his eyes catch on a small, red smear. He frowns. Someone must have not washed their hands. Is it jelly? Paint maybe?

The elevator doors open and Ken steps out into the sun-bathed hallway. He pulls his keys free from his pocket. A plastic scorpion dangles from the key ring. Ken had insisted on it because it reminds him of Driver’s white jacket. He’s taken to holding it and burying his face in Driver’s pillow when the mechanic has been gone for too long. When his boyfriend is on night jobs, he usually falls asleep that way. Ken always wakes up when the other man gently eases the keys out of his hand and slips into bed beside him to wrap an exhausted arm over his waist. Ken is not sure which of them needs physical contact more. Maybe they’re equal in that way.

Even when Driver is barely able to keep his eyes open, he still checks in with Ken and gives him what he needs. Be it listening to him talk about his day or working a calloused hand over his cock. He makes Ken feel loved, and he tries his best to make Driver feel the same affection in return. Ken knows all too well what it’s like to pour yourself into someone and not be met in the middle.

Ken doesn’t blame Barbie anymore, not really. They weren’t right for each other and he can see that after the gift of time and distance. She wasn’t what he needed and he wasn’t what she needed. Ken knows he has what he needs now, what’s good for him.

He twists his house key in the door and turns the knob to open it. Locked. Adjusting the basket resting against his hip, he frowns and tries his key again. The door unlocks this time. The knob is slippery in his grasp. When he pulls his hand away, it’s covered in more of that red stuff from the elevator.

The blond man pushes the door open and closes it behind him. There is more red smeared on the kitchen entryway wall. More startling, is the presence of a hand print that would nearly match his own hand if he were to put it on top of the mark.

A cursory look around leads to him spotting Driver’s keys laying on the kitchen counter. The horse charm on the key ring is resting on the rabbit’s foot like a pillow. His boyfriend is home.

“Driver?” he calls out, worry building up in his chest.

A low noise comes from the bathroom, almost like the whine of the wounded coyote Ken had watched Driver move off the side of the road a few months ago. Ken hastily sets the basket down in the narrow hall before taking hurried steps through the cramped kitchen to their equally small bathroom. He nearly clips himself on the fridge handle as he passes by.

The door is slightly ajar and he pushes it the rest of the way open to reveal Driver sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. His boyfriend is slumped back against the tank, legs spread wide. The jean jacket he’d been wearing when he left for work at the garage this morning is off and thrown carelessly in the tub. Ken’s eyes immediately go to the shock of red saturating the other man’s abdomen. It’s welling up between the fingers the mechanic has pressed tightly against himself. He’s bleeding.

The shine of the blood in the stark overhead lighting reminds Ken of the cherry filling from a pie at the diner Driver takes him to on special nights. His mouth reflexively waters at the sight. He tears his eyes away from the mess on his partner’s stomach up to his face. Driver looks tense, eyes tight, mouth set in a faint grimace.

“Are you alright?” Ken asks, “I don’t…” he trails off. He has a vague idea of what might be going on, from the movies and shows he’s seen over the months that he’s been in the real world, but injuries, big ones... they’re just pretend when it’s people, right?

Driver grunts and gives him a nod. There is a sheen of sweat across his face. Their extensive “first-aid kit”, as Driver calls the plastic toolbox crammed with supplies, sits precariously on the bathroom sink. It doesn’t look as though he has made much progress with it. The lid is still tightly closed.

“What happened?” Ken prompts, knowing that his boyfriend won’t be the one to start a conversation.

A small exhale, a sigh. “Guy didn’t like Shannon’s price ‘n pulled a knife. Changed his mind though.”

It’s easy to fill in the holes of what Driver doesn’t say, won’t say because he doesn’t want to worry him. He’s a good man. Ken knows couldn’t stand for his boss to be hurt so he got into the middle of it and managed to get the upset customer to pay up. The ex-doll has heard Driver make plenty of annoyed noises about Mr. Shannon, but he still cares. Driver always cares, no matter what it does to him. That’s why Ken is around. He helps him remember that he’s not disposable.

“Can I see it?” Ken asks, with a gesture at the seated man’s midsection.

Wordlessly, Driver lets his hand fall from his stomach. It rests on his thigh, relaxed but prepared to correct him if he goes too far. Sometimes Ken needs the correction, he knows he can get too enthusiastic, but that’s why he needs Driver. Driver looks out for him just as much as Ken looks out for him, maybe even more since Ken knows he can’t do much.

Mesmerized by the vibrant color, Ken lowers himself to his knees for a better look. He reaches out and pulls the hem of Driver’s soaked shirt up to his ribs. It sticks there when he lets got to trail his fingers down the warm skin to the slowly trickling tear in the other man’s abdomen. He feels Driver’s stomach hitch and tense beneath his touch. The wound is just to the upper right of his belly button. The edges of it are slightly jagged.

He traces the outline of the injury. His fingers go slick with blood. Driver shudders.

Impulsively, unable to resist the desire to be closer to the other man, to find a home nestled in the sturdy shelter of Driver’s body, he pushes his index finger into the wound. It slides in with no resistance, as though welcoming the intrusion with open arms.

There’s a choked off noise from the other man, almost a breathy groan. His bloody right hand rises to clamp down on Ken’s shoulder. He merely holds on, not pushing him away.

“Is this okay?” Ken asks. Part of him knows that it isn’t, that it can’t be.

Driver gives him a nod, eyes burning bright. His face is flushed, the color spreading down his neck and barely gracing the sliver of exposed chest Ken can see in the gap of his unbuttoned Henley. The visual of Driver wetting his lips with his tongue is enough to send Ken stretching up to kiss him. The other man readily accepts the attention, groaning and panting against his mouth with every slight jostle of Ken’s finger inside of him.

He pulls away to look at what he’s doing. Driver follows the motion, and they both look at where they’re joined. The tissue pulses hotly around his finger. It’s wet, a different kind of wet than Driver’s mouth. The liquid is thick, almost silky against his skin. Ken eases his finger out until just the tip remains and pushes it back in. The hand on his shoulder tightens as the wheelman lets out another low noise. Driver’s thumb rubs back and forth over Ken’s collarbone, encouraging.

Feeling bolder, Ken slides out enough to slot his middle finger in alongside his index before coaxing both inside. It’s a tight fit, causing his boyfriend to let out a small cry. It’s a noise that Ken has never heard from him before.

He writhes on his seat atop the toilet lid, boot clad feet scrabbling for purchase on the tile, but even now, the mechanic doesn’t use his hold on Ken’s shoulder to shove him away. Driver’s insides clench down hard around his exploratory fingers like a vice. He can easily feel his boyfriend’s pulse like this. It’s steady, reliable like the man himself. Experimentally, he flexes his fingers inside of him, wringing a hitched breath from the other man’s lungs.

“Driver,” he murmurs, awed. He’s never been inside of the other man in any capacity, much less like this.

The kneeling man thrusts his fingers shallowly in and out of the wound. Wet, sucking noises join their own ragged breathing. Ken crooks his fingers, causing Driver’s back to arc. He impales himself further, pressing so closely to him that there’s nowhere else to go. Ken’s metacarpals are digging into the flesh around the injury, he’s fully bottomed out. The edges of the wound are straining, gaping wide, to take him impossibly deeper.

Driver’s left hand tangles into Ken’s hair and grips into it tight enough to hurt. A whimper of his own slips out of his throat to join the noises he’s coaxing out of his boyfriend. Driver doesn’t often touch him this roughly, unless…

“Do you like this? Does it feel good?” he asks, savoring the way Driver is digging his fingers into his scalp and shoulder. He’s holding him he might tear him apart with his bare hands, bury himself in Ken’s insides just as he’s doing to him.

As an answer, Driver firmly guides his head down. His face smears across the blood-soaked denim to press against the erection straining at the material. Automatically, Ken mouths at the wet cloth. The metallic tang of blood coats his tongue and he jerks a little in Driver’s hold, surprised at the taste. He’d almost thought it would be sweet like the pie filling that it had initially reminded him of. It does nothing to deter him, it’s just one of the many flavors he can now associate with the other man.

Driver’s cock twitches against his lips. He reaches up with his left hand to undo the wheelman’s jeans so he can properly get his mouth on him. Just as his fingers make contact with the button, Driver gives him a little shake.

“Leave it.” His voice is rough, ragged around the edges. Ken gasps at the way the tissue clenches around his fingers when the other man speaks.

Despite the almost desperate need to take Driver into his mouth, to swallow him down, he obeys him and settles for putting his hand on the mechanic’s thigh. He starts nuzzling at him through the fabric, unable to resist. His eyes slip closed and he’s working his lips over the other man’s cock as best as he can despite the barrier. His face is becoming covered with Driver’s blood, looking as though he’s been feasting on the carcass of some larger animal, diving deep between the ribs and consuming until he is swollen with the bounty.

His boyfriend shifts to curl over him, supporting himself with both hands on Ken’s shoulders, thumbs digging into his collarbones. He’s relying solely on the kneeling man to keep himself upright. It makes Ken feel important, wanted. He realizes suddenly that he’s hard in his own pants.

Letting out a muffled whimper, he rocks on his knees. There’s no friction to be found, and Driver gives him a warning squeeze when he shifts too much. Stay still, it tells him, pay attention.

Ken forces his eyes open, angles his head so he can stare at where his fingers are still sheathed inside of the wound in Driver’s stomach. His entire hand is coated, crimson running down his arm and dripping off his elbow onto the floor. He’s never seen so much red. Should there be this much? Will his boyfriend run out? He reasons that since he’s not been stopped, that it’s fine despite his faint sense of unease. He trusts Driver, trusts him to believe that he’d let him know if this was not actually okay.

He’s mostly rubbing his cheek against the other man’s erection now, gaze focused on the movements of his hand. Ken is trying to remember how Driver’s fingers feel in him when he opens him up to take him. He mimics a half-recalled gesture, and he must do something right because he feels his strong thighs clamp down against his shoulders. The satisfaction of the response is enough to keep his mind off his aching knees. The bathmat under them doesn’t offer much padding. There hadn’t even been one before Ken. Driver had been tossing a towel on the floor in place of one.

Each thrust of his fingers in Driver’s wound causes the injured man’s hips to buck. He’s grinding against Ken’s face now, like Ken himself sometimes does to the other man’s thigh when straddling it. Some nights, his boyfriend is too tired for anything more and lets Ken chase his own orgasm with Driver’s work-rough hands guiding each rock of his pelvis. He encourages Ken with low sounds then, ignoring his own arousal and gently redirecting Ken’s hands when he reaches for it. Ken always falls asleep tucked against his side, sated, afterwards.

Ken makes his own encouraging noises now. They’re pitched differently than Driver’s, not as low, but the other man must get the idea if the increased fervor of his motions is anything to go by. Ken is sure that his face is going to be rubbed raw by the damp fabric, but it’s nothing in comparison to knowing he did a good job in pleasing the person that matters most to him. His eyes wander up further for just a flash and see that Driver’s are closed, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His mouth is open and set in a snarl. He’s close.

The kneeling blond spreads his fingers just slightly, scissoring them in the wound, half hoping to sink a third finger home. The hole doesn’t give. It merely cradles the intrusion like a lover, heart full up and unwilling to take another to bed. Ken rewards the loyalty by twisting his fingers inside and beckoning. Driver pins him in place, bucks up once, twice, and then he’s spilling over inside his jeans. The fabric becomes slicker, proof of Ken’s hunger. The heat of the release presses insistently at his cheek, hot in comparison to the chilled blood. Driver’s tissue clings tightly around Ken’s fingers. If it had been his own cock instead, it would have been milked dry. With some effort, he slips free. The wound flutters slightly as if mourning the loss, edges not wanting to meet.

Ken shifts under the other man’s hold, getting his head up enough to realize that Driver is pale. The frenzied flush from earlier has faded. He’s trembling a little, muscles in his abdomen seizing from more than aftershocks.

“Hey,” he says, giving the wheelman’s leg a shake. Driver’s glazed over eyes look back at him, disconcertingly blank. “Driver?”

The seated man slides his right hand off Ken’s shoulder and leans back with some difficulty. He clamps the hand over the wound in his side. He coughs a little and blood gushes with each expulsion of air. Ken hasn’t realized that the other man’s pant leg is soaked down to the ankle and that Ken himself is kneeling in a small puddle of blood on the tile. Part of it has been wicked up by the bathmat. The blue material is almost purple now.

“Driver?” Ken repeats, worried.

His boyfriend manages to focus on him with a little more clarity. Some of the sharpness returns to his eyes. Despite it, he looks exhausted.

“Gonna need you to patch me up now,” he says, voice sounding wet.

“Okay... okay, yeah.” Ken swallows down the worry that he’ll mess this up. His blood has rushed back to his brain and he’s almost shaky now with nerves. “What do I- What do you-”

“Wash your hands then get the sterile water. Metal can. Gonna have to flush this out.”

Eager to assist, Ken hastily gets to his feet, ignoring the pins and needles in his legs from kneeling for too long. He sets the repurposed toolbox on the floor and scrubs his hands more thoroughly than he ever has. He drops back to his knees, pressing in close between Driver’s spread legs. He locates the can, picks it up, and pops off the lid.

Driver hisses and grabs hold of Ken’s shoulder in an encore of their previous position when the jet of saline hits his wound. The injury is not bleeding as much as before. Ken’s not sure if that is good or bad.

“What next? Would a band-aid…?”

“Dry it with gauze. Use the glue when you’re done. Gotta seal it. Don’t want you to have to sew it.”

He recaps the can and pulls out a few individually wrapped packets of gauze. He moves slowly as to not dislodge Driver’s hand using him as a support. He dries him off, wiping away the fresh blood that has come to the surface. It’s hot under his touch, the only part of Driver that still feels warm. Driver always runs cold but not like this. He manages to get the glue open with one hand and squeezes a line of it on the edges of the hole. He holds the sides of the wound together, pinches the injury closed. It’s like that time Driver had coached him through gluing the handle back on Ken’s favorite mug. Spread adhesive along the break and hold it tight until the glue seals it.

He has never though of Driver as breakable until now. That worries him.

“Okay,” he says, letting his hold go. “What do I do?”

“Just like a scratch now.”

Good. Ken knows what to do with that. He’s always insisting on putting bandages on Driver’s arms and hands when he comes home with scratches from the garage. The other man accepts it with quiet bemusement each time, like he’s never had anyone care enough to bother with it.

With his tongue pinned between his teeth in concentration, he puts ointment over the glued line. He presses a gauze pad to it and secures it all with waterproof tape. He looks up at Driver and the other man passes his hand over his hair. Good job. Ken got his praise after all.

He pulls off Driver’s boots, his socks, shifts him around enough to pull off his pants. He’s glad he doesn’t have to worry about underwear. He stands up so that he can ease the shirt off over his head. Everything feels spongy in his hands, the material sodden. He throws a drying, already used towel on the floor at Driver’s feet so he doesn’t track blood through their small apartment when Ken helps him to his feet.

Ken gets one of the wash cloths off the shelf and wets it with warm water. He cautiously leans over the other man, and wipes him down as best as he can. His touch is tender, almost reverent. He has to step to the side to rinse the cloth out multiple times.

The sink basin is stained red and the entire room looks like that bathroom from the horror movie he had watched with the mechanic, about the two men that got chained in there. He knows that if it had been him and Driver in that room, neither of them would leave the other behind. No matter what.

“Come on. I want to get you in bed.” He tugs at the man, Driver barely moves. “Please, Driver. Get up. Please. I’m worried.”

At his pleading tone, the mechanic forces himself to his feet. He uses Ken for support all the way down the narrow kitchen and around the corner into the main room, their only room really. It was what Driver referred to as a “studio”. Ken likes it, likes that they’re forced to be close every second they’re home together.

He nearly trips over the laundry basket that he had abandoned earlier. All thoughts of housekeeping had fled from him the minute his boyfriend had needed him. Driver makes an amused noise when Ken almost puts them both through the wall when he stumbles.

Ken gets Driver to the side of the bed with no further mishaps. Making sure to pull down the blankets first, he helps his boyfriend into bed. He’s not worried about the smears of red on the burgundy fabric. He’s good at doing laundry. He can fix it tomorrow.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” He waits for the other man’s nod before he ducks back into the bathroom.

Hurriedly, not wanting to spend more time away than is absolutely necessary, he rinses Driver’s jacket and other clothing with cold water in the tub. He’s relieved that the other man had worn the denim today instead of the white jacket. The staining from the blood wouldn’t be nearly as reversible. The flecks of glitter liberally adorning the majority of Driver’s wardrobe have been much harder to erase than this will be. He’ll leave the items to soak overnight in the sink.

A look in the mirror reveals that he looks like the stereotypical dumb blond in a horror movie. His hair is streaked through with red where Driver’s hands had gripped into it. His face is smeared, saturated almost, with the other man’s blood. It looks as though Ken had been the one in an accident. No, he had just savored. He had partaken of what Driver had offered him. It’s almost a shame to wash himself clean, to remove the traces from his body of what had transpired between them.

He pushes aside the twinge of loss he feels and throws himself into their rundown shower to rinse himself off. Pink spirals down the drain. As he rubs his hands over his face, he thinks about the man he left laying in bed. He picks up the pace, ignoring the way his skin stings under the water and his own touch. He wants to sprawl out on the mattress beside his boyfriend.

Once he’s satisfied he’s cleaned himself as much as he can in the brief minutes he’s willing to spend on the endeavor, he shuts off the water and hastily throws the soiled bathmat and blood-soaked towel into the wet tub the minute he gets out. They will be another problem for tomorrow.

Pulling a clean towel off the rail, he pauses before leaving the bathroom. He’s suddenly remembered what Driver had said once about making hurt go away. He pulls a bottle of red pills from the toolbox that is still on the floor by the sink. Ibuprofen.

Barely toweled dry enough to not drip, he exits the room to fill a glass of water from the tap before taking both the liquid and the pills to his boyfriend. Ken watches as the other man rouses enough to take the bottle and shake out two pills. His throat bobs as he swallows them down and chases them with a mouthful of water.

A drop of moisture escapes the corner of Driver’s mouth, and Ken wants to chase it with his tongue as it carves a path along the underside of the mechanic’s jaw. He manages to control himself and takes both items from the other man to sit them on their dresser. The piece of furniture serves as a spot for their TV and also functions as the bedside table. Driver sleeps on the same side of the bed as it so that he’s closer to the door. Ken knows that the other man likes to be between him and any potential danger, even if he won’t elaborate on what that danger might be.

Ken turns off the lamp and crawls under the blankets next to the other man. He’s damp enough that the sheets cling to his bare skin. Driver immediately wraps an arm around him and coaxes him against his side. There’s a sharp exhale from the injured man when Ken rests his head on his shoulder like he does every night.

“Are you going to be okay?” he blurts out, unease creeping to the surface.

There’s a long pause, typical for Driver before he finally speaks. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Ken doesn’t normally question him like this, hasn’t felt the need to.

“’M not gonna leave you,” Driver responds, rough fingers rub at the side of Ken’s waist. He’d understood the silent question Ken was really asking.

“Was what we did wrong?”

“No.” The fingers squeeze down on his flesh, anchoring him.

“I hurt you,” he mumbles into the side of Driver’s neck.

“Not really. ‘Sides, I liked it.” He must be worried about Ken in return if he’s this chatty.

“Why?”

“Felt good.” The admittance is hushed, secretive.

“I made you feel good?”

Driver nods, slow. Warmth blossoms in Ken. His greed to consume, to make the most of what had been offered, hadn’t been too much.

They’re quiet for a long while, Ken listening to the even sound of Driver’s breathing. He feels warmer. Some of the color has returned to his face. The strained crease between his eyebrow is gone.

“Tell me ‘bout your day.” His chest rumbles under Ken’s palm, voice thick with the edge of sleep.

And so Ken does, just like Driver asks him to every night. He talks and talks about everything he can think of. He speaks until Driver goes lax underneath him and his breathing settles with the occasional rasping snore.