#bespoke gym

[homegymsolutions]

Bespoke Fitness Solutions, Home gym equipment Leeds, Harrogate, UK

Home Gym Solutions offers a selection of different home gym equipment, consulting services to create the ideal bespoke gym design to suit your training area. If you are not sure which type of fitness hire would best suit your needs you can call us FREE on 01134334455 for expert advice.

[seoladyuk]

Installing a made-to-order garden room is one of the quickest ways to add valuable living space to your Hertfordshire or Essex property. Our workshop is based near Hertford, we hand build extended living modular garden rooms for work and leisure.

If you’re considering moving and want to add significant value to your property, our garden rooms can be built in under 3 weeks with no requirement for planning permission on your private property as a homeowner. Garden Rooms Installed and Made to Order

For those considering a move or seeking to enhance their current living situation, bespoke garden rooms offer a quick and stylish solution. Our workshop not only prides itself on bespoke design but also on rapid installation, often completing the transformation in under three weeks. The best part? No need for the bureaucracy of planning permissions. According to a 2022 Rightmove report, the demand for ‘office,’ ‘workspace,’ or ‘working from home’ spaces has soared by a staggering 326%, making our garden rooms a timely and sought-after addition during lockdown. Designed by you, installed by Outdoor Modular Spaces.

Beyond the speed, our commitment to efficiency ensures minimal disruption to your household, with your new space fully ready within six weeks. Crafted for all-season comfort, our bespoke garden rooms boast full insulation, making them a haven no matter the weather. Imagine basking in the luxury of year-round usability, turning your garden room into a retreat for work or leisure. Enquire now on 020 3978 1200.

Are you a homeowner in Hertfordshire or Essex with an eye for the extraordinary? Consider a bespoke garden room as the unique touch that sets your property apart. These versatile spaces serve a myriad of purposes, each limited only by your imagination.

Transform your garden room into a personal fitness haven. Equip it with exercise gear and take advantage of the private space for uninterrupted workouts.

[ericclaussen]

Transform Your Gym: Hassle-Free Equipment Removal

Transforming your gym into a modern and dynamic space involves more than just bringing in new equipment—it requires a hassle-free approach to the removal of outdated gear. "Transform Your Gym: Hassle-Free Equipment Removal" underscores the importance of engaging professionals from a specialized "gym equipment removal company" to ensure a seamless and efficient transformation. In this article, we explore the significance of hassle-free equipment removal in breathing new life into your fitness environment.

The Hassle-Free Approach with a Gym Equipment Removal Company

Transforming your gym begins with the hassle-free approach that comes with a specialized gym equipment removal company. It's not just about clearing space; it's a meticulous process that considers the unique needs and preferences of each gym owner. Specialists in this field provide a level of expertise that goes beyond standard removal practices, ensuring a hassle-free transition to a refreshed and modern workout space.

Efficiency Through a Gym Equipment Removal Company

The term "gym equipment removal company" encapsulates the efficiency required for successful equipment removal. Professionals in this field understand the intricacies of handling various types of fitness equipment, from weight machines to cardio gear. Their mastery ensures that the removal is not only efficient but also conducted with care and precision, minimizing the risk of damage to your gym during the hassle-free transformation.

Minimizing Disruption to Your Fitness Routine

Engaging in hassle-free equipment removal minimizes disruption to your regular fitness routine. Specialists understand the importance of working discreetly and swiftly, allowing your gym to remain accessible to members during the removal process. This commitment to minimizing downtime ensures that your fitness routine remains uninterrupted, providing a seamless transition to a revitalized and optimized workout area.

Customized Solutions for a Tailored Gym Transformation

Hassle-free equipment removal goes beyond a one-size-fits-all approach. Specialists from a gym equipment removal company provide customized solutions that cater to the unique layout, size, and requirements of your gym. This personalized approach ensures that the removal process aligns seamlessly with your vision for a hassle-free, refreshed, and efficient gym, creating an environment that enhances the overall fitness experience for your members.

Creating Room for Innovation and Progress

Transforming your gym is not just about removing old equipment; it's about creating room for innovation and progress. A gym equipment removal company paves the way for the introduction of new and advanced fitness technology. Removal experts ensure that the process is not only efficient but also well-executed, contributing to an environment that fosters innovation and progress in your fitness space.

Conclusion: Breathe New Life into Your Gym with Hassle-Free Removal

In conclusion, "Transform Your Gym: Hassle-Free Equipment Removal" is a call to action for gym owners seeking a comprehensive and transformative upgrade. By engaging professionals from a specialized gym equipment removal company, you ensure a level of expertise that exceeds expectations. This approach sets the stage for a hassle-free gym transformation that reflects the care and precision required to meet the evolving needs of health enthusiasts and create a modern and dynamic workout space.

[duthiers]

Headphone Philips bluetooth on-ear com microfone e energia para 15 horas na cor preto

[streamzoo]

Multiuse in Surrey Multiuse home gym - mid-sized contemporary multiuse home gym idea with black walls

[thenatezone]

After almost a year of going to the gym regularly I am still waiting for it to become a fun habit that I don't have to force myself to do with icy dread in the pit of my stomach every time. Any day now I'm sure.

[sultaul20]

Discover the newest sports T-shirt designs with beautiful logos. Stay up-to-date with the latest trends by shopping now!

Custommized T-shirts all colour avalible

[giftmiya8]

IG: simangaliso.ww

[whatbigotspost]

That baby naming job post has got me remembering…the answer to “how can you make a living doing THAT??” is almost always:

“… there’s this whole subculture of people who are obsessed with things that would be considered ‘luxury brands.’ They believe prestige is purchased. They actually have the belief fully throughout their worldview so strongly, that if something is more expensive, it must be worth it. It must be better. This is most often true because they are (if not ultra wealthy) at least the landlord class and/or the kind of people who have money to burn and are trying to figure out ways to spend it. It is an unshakable principle to them if something has a giant price tag on it, it is something that you should want because it is better and ‘for you’ because it’s special because it’s for the people who have money.”

They love a “boutique” or “bespoke” illusion. Anything to feel like The Normies can’t also have this. And the saddest thing is that there is a whole other subculture of people under the “I am a Luxury Brand Person” umbrella who don’t even have the money who just go into debt trying to keep up the appearances of this kind of lifestyle because they want to be luxury people that badly. And luxury brands and niche services like life coaching or naming your kid or getting your kid into The Best School DEPEND on exploiting these people for profit by dangling the tantalizing concept of “it’s special and expensiveeeeee” to said socio-economic social climbers who think spending money they don’t have will ultimately result in having said money.

And it doesn’t, actually.

Anyway, happy labor day and as always: solidarity forever. The landlord class and the ultra wealthy don’t give a fuck about us and the best we can do is take full big “that’s so goddamn stupid” shits on anything they tell us special. Liiike….

Your cyber truck is a hideous abomination.

Your gentrifier white gray and beige house is exchangeable with any other and it made me puke anyway.

That Burberry is just plaid you idiots.

The local gym or a casual walk is just as effective for getting adequate exercise as your personal trainer.

Your life coach is a snake oil salesman.

A target tote is cuter than your birkin bag.

That lululemons gonna be see through as hell on your ass when your bend over at your thin white lady only yoga class.

$400 Prada sunglasses still break if you sit on them just like the free pair from your eye doctor.

You never needed a smart fridge, you colossal fool.

You look like a fucking clown in those balenciaga shoes.

The emperor has no goddamn clothes.

[konigbabe]

LUCKY PICK

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader Word count: 3.1k Tags/warnings: no y/n; gambling; smut; public sex; pure filth; getting caught; p-in-v; unprotected sex; Toji's a little bit of a meanie; blowjob; pussy slapping (like once) Summary: Toji's frequent presence at the boat races doesn’t go unnoticed by your observant gaze. Every time you see him, however, luck seems to elude him, leaving him on the losing end; until you offer the man assistance in selecting a boat–lucky you, he wins. So he finds a way to thank you properly.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

Amidst the kaleidoscope of social strata, one thing that sticks out for you: his shoes.

While some attendees adorn themselves in lavish, bespoke suits, busy with their own affairs while the events before them serve as a mere backdrop, others, those less fortunate, come in more casual in hopes to earn some quick money.

He, on the other hand, is rather glaring with his choice of clothing. Too casual. Insouciant. Black tracksuit, something more fitting for a morning jog or a workout at the gym. The fabric seems slightly worn, a faint stain on the sleeve. His shoes, however, are the most intriguing part of his ensemble. They stand out. Like a flash of lightning on a stormy night.

In a sea of polished leather and high-end dress shoes, he wears a pair of scuffed, worn flip-flops. It's not just the stark contrast between his flip-flops and the elegant footwear of others that piques your interest. Rather the aura of confidence and a nonchalant demeanor that could easily be mistaken for arrogance.

Even for the outfit, he’s rather handsome. Raven hair tumbling down just to his ears, framing the chiseled planes of his face. The faint scar on the corner of his right lip only adds to the air of mystery surrounding him.

In contrast to the meticulously groomed individuals around him, his appearance carries an air of authenticity. As if he doesn't conform to societal norms but carves his own path instead.

He’s here often. Twice a week. A clockwork of unwavering routine. A regular fixture. Each time, he places his bet on the same number. It’s always three. No regard for any other possibilities. He’s staying the whole day, watches all the races and loses his money. Each and every time.

You stand on the stairs leading to the ticket vending machines, overlooking the racers warm up around the buoy. People passing by until he’s here again. In the same outfit, with the same aura of disregard, detachment.

He passes you as well. A solid wall, going straight, no disregard whether you move out of the way or not. Makes you take a step aside. You know he’s here to lose again. Letting out a grunt, an annoyed huff of air, your voice carries through the loud environment when his bicep brushes your shoulder.

"Here to lose again?"

It makes him stop. Look you dead in the eyes. You can feel the steel behind his eyes as he studies you. Tries to understand why someone like him – a man who’d been losing every race for months – is being confronted by someone like you, someone with nothing more than a passing interest in the track and its races.

For a moment, time seems to slow down as his gaze locks with yours. His eyes, like storm-touched steel, easily likened to polished basalt, peer out from under strong, dark eyebrows. Hooded. Locked onto yours. A thunderous downpour.

He stays silent for solid few seconds. Possibly aiming to intimidate you into leaving him alone. Yet, he fails as you stand tall next to him; not backing down or wilting away under his scrutiny.

"Who says I’m here to lose," he retorts, a touch of defiance in his voice. The hint of a smirk plays on his lips as he studies you, perhaps trying to gauge your intentions.

As you arch an eyebrow, you remark, "I haven’t seen you win yet. You've been betting on the same number, sir, every time I've seen you here. And from what I've observed, you haven't had much luck."

His brows furrow momentarily before he responds with a knowing smirk, matching your aura with his own brand of dry wit.

"Luck has nothing to do with it. Besides, one day, that number will hit."

His confidence is almost infectious, and despite the peculiar choice of his attire and betting strategy, there's an air of genuineness in his words.

"Then why don’t you bet for other numbers," your body pivots to face him, arms crossed over your chest, "try it," you hold your chin high, " buy a place-show, numbers four and six."

To your suggestion of trying other numbers, the man chuckles softly, seemingly amused by the idea, "and why would I do that?"

"You have better odds with the place-show ticket rather than the win ticket," you explain with a shrug, "and if you lose, you’ll have someone else to aim your anger at."

He smirks, nodding thoughtfully as if considering your proposition. "Ah, you're one of those logical types, ain’t ya? Always calculating the odds an’ playing it safe."

You chuckle at the characterization, appreciating his keen observation. "I haven’t lost in a long time. Plus," you blatantly look him up and down, "I have a feeling you could use some luck, and maybe a touch of charm wouldn't hurt either."

He raises an eyebrow, the faint scar on his lip accentuating the mischievous glint in his eye. "Charm, huh? What's in it for you?"

Flashing a grin at his question (it's a valid one, after all), you meet the playful spark in his laden eyes.

"Oh, nothing much," you reply, feigning nonchalance, a familiar mask that you wear to try to stifle the faint tremor of fear, "let’s just say if you win, you’ll owe me a favor."

One moment, you were sitting a few seats next to the man, a winning ticket grasped between your fingers; both watching the race unfold before your eyes.

Next, a subtle, self-assured grin spreads over his face as the winning numbers are announced.

("Would ya’ look a’that.."

"Who would’ve thought…")

And then, flicker in time. You find yourself in an alleyway, still at the stadium and next to a dumpster. Away from the fanfare of the racetrack. A putrid stench of decaying food still in the air overpowered by the potent, heady musk of Toji’s body as the concrete scrapes against your naked knees. Uncomfortable and rough.

Pants lowered down only enough for his cock to spring free; the tip glistening with pearls, a byproduct of his pleasure. Lifting your head slightly, you dip down to kiss the dew away as your hand, wet with precum and spit, moves over his length, pads tracing every curve and ridge.

Lips swollen. Jaw hurting from the tight fit, Toji’s fingers grip the top of your head; urging you to take him in deeper, feel him heave in your mouth. Careless to the fact you should need air. But at this moment, looking up and seeing his eyes already boring into yours, oxygen’s the last thing on your mind.

"That’s it," his husky froan reverberates in your ears as his thumb traces the arch of your eyebrow before his hand cups your cheek, cradles your face, "atta girl."

His words cause heat flooding into your core. A warmth to blossom from deep within. Feeling your heart thudding between your legs, you press your thighs together more. Fingers moving along the exposed, wet slit before pushing one in—

It’s barely a stretch. Disappointing.

—then two.

Letting his cock from your mouth, the sweetness lingering on your tongue as you move the top of your tongue along the underside of his head. Glistening, painfully swollen and painfully red. Hand gliding over the length, thumb pressing onto the sensitive slit, causing a stream of Fuck, Goddamn and your name stream from his bruised lips.

Spit-covered lips trace the underside of his cock, leaving a glossy trail behind. With a trembling breath, he taps your temple.

"Up."

You don’t even register his command before a hand encloses your arm, effortlessly lifting you on your feet.

"Wait," you squeal, a mixture of surprise and trepidation when he crunches down. Putting a hand instinctively on his shoulder to steady yourself, you feel the taut muscle, finely sculpted and responsive to his movements. Fingers gripping your ankle with determined strength; in one deft motion, he liberates your leg from the confines of the pant leg (and carelessly leaves the other be).

For a moment, you feel like a child again – pushed around, a small puppet, being dressed and undressed by another's hands.

It’s all happening too fast yet not swiftly enough.

His lips brush over your dripping core. Gives it a lick. A taste of your sweetness, humming in appreciation when your juices coat his tongue, lips, chin. And when you push your hips into his face, shamelessly chasing the feeling of his tongue – he stands back up. Palm making a benign impact with your swollen core, leaving you gasping from the sudden jolt of pain.

"Maybe ‘nother time," he speaks up. Hand grasping your ankle, resting it against his shoulder, heel digging into his collarbone, foot beside his face. Teeth grace your ankle, the wet tip of his tongue darting to lick a stripe over the fibula. All while his fingers spread the wetness leaking out of you, fingertips tracing your opening, teasing the entrance with his pads.

"Someone’s a lil’ eager."

You feel the blunt press. Too thick for his fingers.

The head of his cock spreads you open. You fight the urge to close your eyes, lean onto the brick wall barely touching your back. Instead, you force your gaze to remain on Toji’s face; his eyes hooded, barely open but piercing through you as he pushes forward. Slowly.

His hips push forward, fighting the resistance as you welcome the feeling. Heart racing, a groan leaves your lips when Toji grips your waist and pulls you onto him. Cock grazing your sensitive walls, you watch his eyes close in a blissful moment momentarily.

A feeling of triumph washes over you – you managed to capture the beast itself in its most vulnerable state.

Then he snaps. Gets impatient. And if it wasn’t for the hand on your waist, you’d certainly lose balance with the raw, almost inhuman strength with which he thrusts into you.

"Ugh—fuck, oh God," eyes closed, you succumb to the feeling; shallow, deep thrusts slowly speeding up, turning into something more resembling a pounding. Savage.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, fingers digging into the fat of your hips before moving upwards, cupping your clothed breast, thumb flicking your erect nipple, "told ya it’s Toji."

It goes like this. You try to steady yourself on one foot, clinging onto Toji’s arms as if he’s your beacon. Mouth agape, you rest your forehead on his collarbone. The hamstring in your leg feels close to ripping apart when his hand slides onto your thigh, providing a reassurance that makes the ache between your legs flare up with ardent fervor.

Toji pulls and pushes — forcing your body to twist, spinning you around to the point where your hands can rest on the wall. One leg’s still on the ground while the other is held against his broad chest. All while his thrusts remain merciless.

He fills you up, the fat head of his cock pressing against your depths, stretching you wider and deeper than before. Shameless squelching filling your ears whenever he bottoms out. Pulls out only halfway, his cock glistening with your juices and his precum when it almost slips free. Coaxing moan after moan from you.

"Damn," he stops, cock buried to the hilt and you feel the pads of his fingers swipe over your clit. Moving down, to the place you two are connected, "feel that?"

Wetness; his fingers dip between your folds, trace your core.

"Look at that."

And you look — wishing that maybe you didn’t. He scissors his fingers before your face, showing off the sticky substance connecting his fingers, glistening in the daylight. Heat shoots up your whole body when his smug face watches your reaction, a sly grin spreading on his lips when a moan comes out of you.

His thrusts come back without warning. Deep. He pulls you back into his cock.

It’s blissful. Euphoric. But painful.

"Can’t," you breath out, feeling close to cramping, "m’not that flexible."

"Oh really," he remarks. Yet, his grasp loosens on your body.

It feels like hours have passed with the way Toji ruts into you. Truly living up to the expectations one would’ve expected from a man his build and reputation.

Bend over, palms flat against the rough surface of the brick wall, Toji relentlessly pounds into you. The spongy head of his cock feels as if it’s breaching the opening of your cervix, mingling pain and pleasure in a confusing mix.

"Hey," a high-pitched voice startles you, Toji’s pelvis kissing the flesh of your ass as he buries himself to the brim, "What you doin’ there?!"

His hand moves from the arch of your back, fingers burning as they trace onto your hip. Squeezing, locking you against him.

"Takin’ a piss," Toji remains unfazed. Voice laced with a subtle hint of boredom while his cock pulsates inside you.

Taking a hand off the wall, you slap it across your mouth. Gentle fear of even your breaths being heard (and it doesn’t matter that you are good ten meters from the passerby).

"The toilets are right over there," the man shouts, making you question whether he’ll take a step toward you.

You’re aware that for a passerby, your figure is hidden behind the dumpster and unless Toji thrusts into you, it would look as if the man is simply relieving himself in the alley. Still fully clothed, only the front of his pants down enough for his cock to be free, one might think he’s telling the truth.

Silence falls onto you, forcing your head to turn to the side. Neck straining, you look over your shoulder – Toji’s unphased, nonchalant demeanor combined with the overly muscular physique visible even with loose clothes on radiates authority. Brutality. His demeanor serene; a tranquil lake at dawn. It would frighten you as well if you weren’t impaled on his cock.

His head lurches to the left, eyes locking onto the poor man's soul with an intense and penetrating gaze. It might be enough to scare the man away. To leave you alone.

That’s when he pulls back. Only an inch, mere centimeters but still enough to thrust back with rough intent. Body jolting forward, a surprised yelp gets muffled by your hand. Heat ripples through you.

He’s shameful, you realize. Salacious with his indecency.

The corners of his lips turn upward. Not enough for the passersby to see but from your point of view, it only fuels the sadistic image of the man behind you. The man whose cock keeps massaging your walls with shallow, almost non-existent thrusts.

How dare he.

"Whatever."

Loud footsteps echo through the alley before Toji’s fingers curl around your nape and he yanks. Hand pushing against the lower of your back, the other moving to the side of your neck as he twists your body into his own, pliant toy. Into a position he desires.

"Damn–," he breaths against the hairs on the back of your neck, chill breath washing over the shivering area, "does that turn ya’ on? Being watched?"

He pulls back at a leisurely pace. Unhurried. In and out.

"Fucked dumb on my dick–"

In and out.

"–while some loser watches your drippin’ cunt soak me."

Hitting that sweet, sensitive but delicate spot deep inside you; that even your fingers cannot reach. The one that makes you see stars, feel the heat in your core spread.

"Shut up," you basically snarl, pushing your ass into his crotch with fervor, forcing him deeper, causing his breath to hitch with his lips brushing over your burning skin, "shut up."

He chuckles at that. Licks a stripe over your shoulder. Moves to the side of your neck before his teeth sink into the earlobe, tugging.

"Could feel you squeezin’ me back then," the hand on the side of your neck inches forward; now resting firmly against the front of your neck, a silent reminder of the power it wields. The pressure is gentle but firm, a subtle yet unmistakable display of control. All while Toji matches your rhythm, thrusting at a pace that gets you closer to the sweet abyss.

Your hand moves from the wall, slides over the curve of your belly and find its place between your legs.

"Close ‘em," Toji’s thrusts grow in intensity. Forcing your body forward – to prevent falling, his hand on your back moves to rest against the wall, trapping your delicate hand underneath the roughness of his palm, the other holding you close by the neck.

"Ugh–wh–what," you barely breathe out, legs straining to keep the pace as the heat spreads.

"Your legs. Close ‘em."

And you do. Pushing your thighs together, a whole new sensation surges through your body as his cock fills you up. And it seems Toji feels the same by the way your name leaves his lips in a heavy groan, forehead resting against the crown of your head.

"Fuck yeah," he sighs, palm kneading the flesh of your ass. He’s pushing his hips against yours. Pulls you back into him with fingers itching to your aching nub. Finger flicking over it, making you shudder and moans to grow louder.

The coil in your abdomen grows tighter with each flick of his finger, kiss of his cock. Breath catching in your throat, you push back against Toji when the searing bliss washes over you.

He fucks you through it all.

"Gonna cum," you feel him thicken, pulse inside you. Hips stuttering, speeding and growing in intensity as he chases his own high.

"Not inside," you don’t struggle. Let him absolutely destroy you.

And he listens. Gives you few more fucks before he pulls out. Fists his cock, eyes watching your dripping, swollen pussy before you feel the sticky globes land on your core, slide down your clenching thighs.

He groans behind you. Hand resting on top of your ass, thumb caressing the skin there as you try to catch your breath. All while the man seems only slightly fazed by all the fucking. Makes you feel weak, pathetic — looking like you’d done a full workout while he’s standing behind you.

You stand back up. Wipe the cum off with a tissue you dig from your bag before pulling your pants back up, breath still slightly labored.

"Was this what I owed you?"

He fixes his pants, adjusting the waistband to hug the defined muscles of his lower abdomen, fleshing you his happy trail.

You shake your head to which his eyes narrow softly, "I want to hire you, Mr Fushiguro," hands fixing the mess on top of your head, you turn your back to The Sorcerer Killer, "take the win as your upfront payment."

[homegymsolutions]

Bespoke Fitness Solutions, Home gym equipment Leeds, Harrogate, UK

Home Gym Solutions offers a selection of different home gym equipment, consulting services to create the ideal bespoke gym design to suit your training area. If you are not sure which type of fitness hire would best suit your needs you can call us FREE on 01134334455 for expert advice.

[ineffectualdemon]

Mobei Jun is the demon equivalent of a person with a ridiculous skin care/hair routine and the time and money to go to the gym daily and afford bespoke couture clothes

He is going to be the most beautiful boy in any room until Shang Qinghua finally notices and takes him in a manly fashion

He is big, he is beefy, his teeth and claws are so sharp and shiny, he is a fashionista in furs and silk and bones. A svsss demon version of a privileged trust fund baby with a limitless credit card and up to the date fashion sense

All to win the attention of a guy who is really unimpressed and angered by the wealthy showing off and would rather just loaf about in his most comfy clothes and eat noodles

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part eleven.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

-

Well, at least Sephiroth knows better than to run around the Shinra building in a t-shirt and pyjama pants - which, while no doubt amusing, would've caused far too much chaos to be worth it.

While Angeal is putting away the remains of Sephiroth's fast food, Genesis gives the man himself an assessing eye.

The shirt he'd picked up, dark green turtleneck, works well enough with the usual coat. The outfit would need some more matching accents to really work - there's too much black and grey, they overpower the slight splash of colour - but at least it doesn't clash with anything. However… It's obvious there's simply not enough space in the sleeves of Sephiroth's coat for a full-sleeved shirt.

The leather creaks in agony when Sephiroth moves his arm, and his bicep bulges accordingly.

"Couldn't find a new coat, then?" Genesis asks, resting a hand at his hip.

Sephiroth tugs at his cuffs unhappily and bows his head, saying nothing. That's a no then.

Well. As weird as it is that memory loss gave Sephiroth the kick he needed to exercise some self-care, Genesis isn't about to look a gift chocobo in the talons. "I'll mail you the details of the shop where I got mine. They don't do mail order, everything is bespoke, but well worth the effort."

"Mn. My thanks," Sephiroth says, considers his gloves, and pushes them into a pocket. He then picks up his sword, and holds it by its sheath at his side. "Shall we?"

"You know Lazard isn't going to be happy about this," Angeall comments idly, putting the trash in the garbage. "I'm pretty sure he banned us from using the training room, permanently."

"What he doesn't know can't come to bite us in the ass," Genesis says dismissively. "And besides, we're supposed to be evaluating Sephiroth! Surely we must be thorough about it."

Angeal shakes his head, amused, and looks at Sephiroth, now fully dressed, with a shirt. He looks relieved. "Let's go."

They head out, Sephiroth trailing after them and clearly trying to cover up the fact that he has no idea where they're going.

"Floors 49 to 51 are dedicated to the SOLDIER program," Genesis says, once they're safely in the elevator. "49 is training and equipment, 50 has a gym and gear storage, and 51 is SOLDIER offices - Lazard office is up there too. We're heading to 49, where the training room is."

Catching his meaning, Angeal adds, "Floor 49 also has a briefing room, it's where we acquire most of our missions."

Sephiroth looks at them sideways through his bangs silently for a moment before nodding ever so slightly. "I see."

He really doesn't remember any of it? Damn. "You don't usually hang around on the SOLDIER floors, outside receiving missions," Genesis says, looking at Angeal and arching his brows. "You're not usually around much."

"Mn."

"I think you go to the Record's sometimes in your down time," Abgeal offers, clearing his throat and arching his brows to Genesis. "Floor 58. It houses the Shinra public archives."

"Well, public," Genesis says, shrugging. "You need a keycard to access it and a high enough security level to actually take anything out, and of course none of the really classified files are accessible. And their drama section is abysmal."

Sephiroth hums, looking between them suspiciously. "A library, then?"

"If you want to call it that. Midgar Public Library has better variety - and a little less propaganda - but I imagine you've never been," Genesis sniffs and looks at him.

"Ah," Sephiroth says, wary.

"You'd be swarmed there," Genesis clarifies. "By the grateful and adoring public."

Sephiroth shifts his weight at that and says nothing, looking uncomfortable.

Angeal hides how troubled he is well as he faces Sephiroth, but Genesis can hear it in his voice. "The cafeteria, by the way, is on floor 61," he says. "It's not usually too bad, and people tend to leave members from other departments alone."

"Or you can pay the cafeteria staff under the table to deliver," Genesis muses and looks up as the elevator comes to a stall. "Right, I'll go see that the coast is clear. Angeal -"

"We'll just wait here," Angeal says, knowing, and looks at Sephiroth - who is very much not ready to be jumped on by an excited baby SOLDIER asking for pointers.

"Then off I go, to face the beasts," Genesis says and sets forth.

It's a well-practised routine at this point, to subtly chase away any wayward SOLDIER Second Class members from the training room. Mostly it just involves him walking in and making his presence known - Seconds tend to know to make way.

Thirds are trickier, because they're often too new to know better - but SOLDIER Third Classes don't have access to the training room anyway.

"Genesis, sir," a Second Class he's sometimes trained with, Kunsel, sidles up to him. "It's it true? About Sephiroth?"

Well, at least he knows to keep his voice down. "Is what true about Sephiroth?" Genesis asks, narrowing his eyes.

"I heard he was hanging around in Injections," Kunsel says carefully and adds, "In The Restroom?"

It really took them only a day, huh.

"Sephiroth? In The Restroom? Really," Genesis says as though excited and leans in. "When? Did someone see him?"

"Um, yesterday?" the Second Class says, also leaning in a little. "It was one of the Third Classes."

"... Oh," Genesis answers, affecting disappointment. "I see. Well, I'm pretty sure Sephiroth was at home yesterday."

"... Really?"

"Saw him myself," Genesis assures him with a shake of his head and rests a hand at his hip. "You said it was a Third Class who spotted him? Well. I wouldn't want to call them a liar, but… they were probably coming out of the procedure themselves. And you know how it is with Mako injections."

Kunsel hums in thought, looking a little troubled. "I do, sir," he says and shakes his head. "It did seem a bit weird."

"You should talk to the Third," Genesis says. "They're probably really convinced they saw something, and maybe they did - but it still wouldn't do to spread stories like that. That's only good for ruining someone's reputation."

"No sir, you're right. I'll talk to him," the Second Class says seriously and nods. "I'll take care of it."

"Good man - maybe take them out on some easy mission, get their mind off it," and get them out of the building for a bit. "It's not their fault. Mako plays tricks on us all."

With Kunsel and hopefully the rumours thus fended off, the coast to the training room is clear. Genesis heads to the elevators, where Angeal is casually poking at the floor button 

"Showtime," Genesis says and looks at Sephiroth. "Time to see if you're still worthy of being a Hero."

Sephiroth clenches his hand around Masamune's sheath and gives him a weird look. "A hero?" he asks incredulously. "Me?"

… Oh. That's…

"Don't worry," Angeal says quickly, clapping Sephiroth on the shoulder. "We'll help you remember." But he looks worried too.

"Or else, take your place," Genesis says, but the taunt lacks its usual sting as he shares a look with Angeal.

This… might be even worse than they thought.

-

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss; Genesis.

[gentrychild]

He had a family? Good to know that some evil deity hadn't touched the ground with its scepter and proclaimed ''There shall be a terrifying force of nature,'' with All for One springing into existence, fully formed, wearing a bespoke suit, and already stealing quirks and ruining lives.

You have to make an anyone AU where this is actually how AFo and Yoichi were born. Imagine Izuku not even realizing he's half demon. "what do you mean water that comes out of the sink isn't made of fire? At least try to come up with a convincing lie"

“Even though I have learn to live with being plain quirkless Deku, I intend to steal All Might’s power because I believe I can be a better villain if I have a quirk and unfortunately for All Might, he is the only one with a potentially transferable one. Thoughts?”

“… Midoriya, what do you need a quirk for? The last time your favorite All Might-themed-cartoon episode was cancelled, you spoke in tongues and the TV exploded.”

“That was a faulty wire.”

“All three times?”

“Faulty wires.”

“Bibles catch on fire when you swear upon them.”

“That was static electricity.”

“When you sing, all kind of hellhounds and other beasts run out of the forest.”

“Aldera simply has an important population of quirked strays and I will not tolerate any slander against such good puppies.”

“You can rotate your head at a 90 degrees angle.”

“I took a gym class once when I was eight.”

“Wasn’t there a time when you made a classmate sign a contract in blood in exchange for borrowing your All Might figurine and when he broke it, he fell down some stairs and broke his legs?”

“First, I am an All Might fanboy! You should know how protective we get of our merch! Second, I had nothing to do with that fall, it was just the universe punishing him.”

“You are fireproof.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You german supplexed my brother while he was on fire. The lamp post next to the both of you had melted but you didn’t have a scratch.”

“I was wearing a really good Thirteen sweatshirt. The quality was simply amazing. I left them an excellent review.”

[mistergreatbones]

pov you're at a gala trying to work up the courage to tell Bruce Wayne that when his young ward decided to jump on him without warning and use his shoulders as a jungle gym before running off again the kid left behind little shoe prints on his bespoke $3,000 light grey suit jacket