#for a dream it was surprisingly rational

[piracytheorist]

Days before the new trailer (I hope!), three and a half weeks away from the season 2 premiere, I had a dream of watching an sxf episode. This time it wasn't new manga stuff that I wasn't "supposed" to read, it was an actual new episode so I was watching it without any inhibitions.

And anyway what was going on was that Yor for some reason was doing some work (not assassin work) in a high school (yeah, my new job will start influencing me a lot lol) and Twilight was there hidden for Spy ReasonsTM unrelated to her and Yor heard some female students talk about the "Red String of Fate" thing (probably also because I'm kind of? writing a twiyor au with that) and how you have a string that leads you to your soulmate. So Yor listened to that and smiled because she knew she had no string, and thus no soulmate, but was happy to hear them happy about it. However, when she went to her locker (idk why she had a locker there, she wasn't a student), she found a piece of string attached to it that went on and on somewhere. She decided to follow it and it led her to an apartment. She knocked on the door and who other than Loid opened the door, holding the other end of the string and wearing an apron, saying he's cooked them dinner. So it was made obvious he gave her an innovative invitation to a date between them.

Sadly the scene changed there to something completely irrelevant but damn if that wasn't interesting for inspiration. I don't think I'll do anything with it but you're welcome to - just don't make Yor a student and Loid an adult, yeesh. Either they're both students or both adults.

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[osakanone]

Crew attire cosplay?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about "what would separate mecha crew equipment from that of a tank crew, or a fighter crew": A lot of military surplus stuff is already really close to what we're going for, and I realized "Motorcycle boots look a lot more like mech pilot stuff than military boots do", which got me thinking what other odd equivalences exist.

The one which really surprised me was how famous mecha live action SF Gunhed used a wetsuit as a stand-in for "generic scifi bodysuit", and that it worked weirdly well, actually?

"Why not latex?"

Latex rips too easily in contact with straps and hard elements, overheats far, far too easily despite having the looks. Thin neoprene works. really well.

So I kept exploring.

One thing I did seriously debate is other than rappelling equipment, would a pilot need something like a rigid knee-brace for hard landings to protect the ACL when they disembark from the robot which is common with high impact parachute equipment.

Some varieties also include counter-weighted springs which make it harder for you to close your knee, but make lifting heavy things on your back and climb much much easier during the ascent phase.

That led me towards Deck Crew helmets, which meet the hood requirement, and of all things, chin wraps which are really unobstructive and you can eat and drink while wearing one pretty comfortably (I say this as someone currently stuck wearing one)

So what we're looking at here is the HGU-24 and HGU-25, often worn by deck crews because it gets along just fine with the famous MCU-2/P AKA "Millenium" mask famous with drone communities as they're designed to be worn together.

Its literally the exact same mask with a minor paint adjustment.

"What's the difference between a drone and a pilot?" "One wears AXENT and latex, the other wears HGU-25 and neoprene." "Anything else?" "Drones have less sex and do as they're told"

Its got the bash-plates you want for an ejector-seat, but it also has the padded foam you want for an impact element, and if it latches properly and the jaw mechanism is well made enough, you could probably include a hans mechanism attached to the jacket which locks into a socket in the pilot's seat to stop a pilot from breaking their neck in a collision.

What do you guys think?

Any suggestions? What I'm really curious about is what you think pilots would remove, customize or alter for practical or decorative purposes.

This is basically the result of roughly a year of casual research into pilot attire, outfits and looks.

The helm and the hood seem to be where the most manual cosplay stitching and 3D printing work is likely going to be required, with the wrap and helmhood.

Addendum:

I've not gone into waste management systems (UCL/FCL human-factors engineering stuff with internal and external recovery systems), since I'm looking at this mainly as an attainable costume or ensemble.

Edit:

I am learning some of you use aquatic mecha and find this unsatisfactory.

And you won't shut up about how the coolant mass flow rate lets you do really wild shit with your weapons my "land-loving" platform even can't dream of

While I am jealous by your sheer tonnage and the output of your reactors, I've got you covered.

Behold: Immersion suits.

They also make surprisingly good sleeping bags, even if you're on water.

They're literally designed to keep you alive if you're forced to abandon an oil platform, and are known to include a radio and even rations and a water filter.

[simplepotatofarmer]

handmade warmth

for the @sixteenth-day-event

The cold made Dream’s leg hurt. He rubbed a hand over his residual limb, massaging the scarred flesh and the muscle remained. It was a phantom pain and it annoyed him, that unwanted reminder of what had happened in the prison. He had told Techno that if it was in his mind then he should be able to control it and Techno hadn’t laughed but had given him an oddly tight smile and said he wasn’t sure it worked like that. Leaning forward, Dream held his hands out to the fire. It was low now, as the evening had dragged into night, and that was letting in the chill that caused the aching in his joints.

He thought about calling for Techno, who had disappeared upstairs for something he promised was important, to add another log. He could do it himself on a good day but he was tired and the muscle spasm in his leg when he had moved still hadn’t faded. Some rational part of his mind said it had been barely over a month since he had escaped the prison and it made sense he wasn’t up to much yet. Dream had been studiously ignoring it.

The metal poker was just within reach if Dream tipped the chair over just a little.

“If you fall, I am gonna laugh at you,” came Techno’s voice from behind him.

The chair dropped back to floor with a thud and Dream turned around with the best scowl he could manage, cheeks red and hot.

“I’m not—Shut up, Techno, you’re—you’re the one who left me here for, like, three hours,” said Dream, eyes flicking to the window as he tried to judge how much time had passed. The snow outside, tinted purple by the beacons, made it difficult.

“Bruh, it was not three hours.”

Dream rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, sinking into the chair.

“It felt like three hours.” Dream glanced down. “What’s that?”

The ‘that’ in question was a large package that was tucked under Techno’s arm. It was wrapped in paper decorated with snowflakes and holly and it was lumpy. The bow that had been carefully tied around it was crushed a little. Techno held it out and patted one hand against it.

“It’s a present, Dream,” he said, crossing the room to stand in front of Dream. He set in his lap. “Merry Christmas, man.”

Blinking a couple times, Dream ran his hand over the package and then frowned.

“It’s not even Christmas.”

Techno glanced at the fireplace then reached for a log. He carefully placed it on top, the flames licking at his fingers, and if it burnt, he didn’t seem to notice. Pulling his rocking chair a little bit forward, he sat.

“Eh, it’s Christmas Eve. Close enough.” Techno shrugged. “Beside, that’s as much for me as it is for you. Go on, open it, man.”

In the fireplace, the flames licked up the new log. Dream’s frown deepened. There were half a dozen protests he could make – that Christmas Eve still wasn’t Christmas, that he hadn’t gotten anything for Techno – but he began to carefully tear open the paper.

“Whatever,” he muttered. The embarrassed blush was still on his face.

Once the paper was removed, it took Dream a moment to figure out what it was. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, a patchwork of different patterns and colors. Flowers and swirls and geometric shapes. Greens and blues and spots of reds. Dream unfolded the quilt partially. The back was three large blocks of fabric, all shades of dark navy that reminded Dream of the night sky in the arctic. He looked up. Techno was watching with a satisfied expression, mouth curved into a smile, tusks glinting in the firelight.

“What d’you think? Now you can finally stop hoggin’ my blanket,” said Techno.

Dream pulled the quilt further into his lap, letting it spill down across his legs. It was thicker than he had first realized. The weight on his lap was surprisingly comforting. It was warm. The mismatch of colors was pretty and Dream knew it’d be prettier once it was spread out. He loved it.

He said, “Heh. Hogging.”

In the chair across from him, Techno groaned and slapped a hand to his face in an over-exaggerated manner that was mostly to hide the grin. He got to his feet.

“Alright, that’s it. I’m takin’ it back, you’re outta here.”

Those words would’ve once caused a flutter of panic in Dream’s chest, would’ve birthed a snarky comment about wanting to leave, but Techno didn’t mean it. He knew that. Dream tugged the quilt up to his chest.

“No, fuck off, Techno. You made it for me, it’s mine.”

Laughing, Techno bent and tucked the blanket up around Dream’s shoulders.

“Yeah, you got me there, man,” he said. “I’m guessin’ you like it, then.”

The phantom pain had subsided. Dream shifted in the chair and rubbed his chin against the soft fabric of the quilt. A smile slowly worked its way across his face.

“Yeah.” A beat. “Thanks, Techno.”

[lavendertales]

SEÑORITA: Chapter 8**

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: your relationship with Javier gets more serious & heated after weeks of sneaking around.

word count: 5.9k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.

chapter warnings: cunnilingus, praise kink, Javi's thirsty af, mentions of piv.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

series masterlist | AO3

Chaos reigns Javier’s thoughts the moment he wakes up.

He faintly recalls last night’s events, the rush of adrenaline, the yearning nearly burning him alive, and now, as he turns to the side, the consequences of his actions that he knows he’ll have to face sooner or later.

What strikes him though is the warmth of the bed. He sees you snoozing peacefully to his left, and something flutters in his chest. His lips stretch, almost effortlessly, into a smile as he silently admires you. His bed has always been exclusively cold—minus the minutes spent in sheer ecstasy or neediness. Yet now, it is filled with warmth and peace, and Javier knows it’s because of you and you alone. You’re the one that’s surprisingly soft and filled with life and sarcasm and joy, all the things he left in Laredo as a young man starting life. And frankly, Javier is unsure what to do with such loveliness. He is not used to it. His hands are calloused and stained with blood and pain; how are they supposed to hold something so wonderful without breaking it?

“It’s too early for you to be this deep in thought.”

Javier turns so suddenly he almost pulls a muscle in his neck. He looks at you practically breathless, the crease between his brows disappearing and being replaced with a smile over his mouth.

“Hi,” he says, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Hi.”

You smile and lean in, kissing him slowly, a little reminder that now you can, in fact, do this, even if it is just in the privacy of these walls. Javier doesn’t care; he can be discreet if the situation asks for it. And in this case, Javier has the feeling the two of you will have to be sneakier than the secret services.

Because it finally hits him: he’s in bed with his best friend’s sister. He slept with his best friend’s sister. After he was told not to.

“Don’t go all guilty on me now, Peña,” you warn softly, nuzzling at the crook of his neck.

“No, I’m—I’m not.”

“Are you always such a bad liar?”

“Normally I’m good at it but for some reason I’m not doing so well when your leg’s sliding up mine.”

You chuckle, kissing his cheek and grazing it slowly afterwards.

“This is not about Steven,” you remind him. “This doesn’t concern him, no matter what crap pours out of his mouth. This is about us. He has very good intentions but I’m more than just his little sister. I’m a woman with goals and dreams and needs.”

“Hmm. And what about your needs right now?”

You smirk against Javier’s lips, rejoicing into the chaste kiss that slowly consumes you both.

“Well,” you try to stifle a chuckle, “I was thinking of taking a shower and then having some breakfast if you feel like joining me.”

“I don’t eat breakfast a lot of the time but I could eat you out in the shower and call it a great meal.”

You actually feel your cheeks reddening, so you chew on your lip in a feeble attempt to hide how flustered you are by one simple statement.

“That could be dangerous to do in such an environment, so I’ll take a raincheck on that,” you reply. “But I could go down on you instead. That’s more practical, don’t you think?”

There is virtually nothing Javier can say against that. There is no rationality left in his brain, not when his blood is redirected to the south region of his body. It’s actually mind-boggling how painfully hard Javier can get within seconds just by looking at you or listening to you. He’s not sure he’s ever had such reactions from any woman he’s seen in the past two decades, and it’s toying with his mind in unbelievable ways.

“Oh, there’s something I should probably tell you,” you say as you’re getting out of bed, “I have a date tonight. So I can’t see you anymore.”

Javier stills, a cheeky smile spread across his face. He finds himself absolutely enthralled by your candor and your sense of humor, and it feels more than refreshing.

It makes him feel glad to be alive.

“Really?” Javier retorts. “Anyone special?”

You shrug playfully. “It’s too soon to tell, but I think he has the potential to be, yes. More than he gives himself credit for.”

“He’s a lucky son of a bitch.”

“How do you figure that?”

“He’d be a fucking moron to not recognize what an opportunity he’s been given. A chance to… be a better man.”

You don’t hesitate in pulling him in gently, engaging in a languid, tentative kiss that soon turns heated and needy. Before you can fully process what’s going on, you find yourself writhing beneath Javier, legs spread with the same ache as last night lying in between them.

You keep your word though, and as the hot water pours down your bodies, you get on your knees and take Javier in your mouth till he’s exasperated and spent and somehow still begging for more.

Around six p.m., Javier quickly decides that this is the most nervous he’s ever been in his life.

It’s silly, ridiculous even; he’s gone on dates before, he’s been engaged, for crying out loud. Hell, he’s been in far more dangerous situations in Colombia, life-threatening and panic-inducing situations.

Yet somehow, getting ready for a date with his best friend’s sister is tearing up his nervous system.

It’s guilt. Javier knows the sensation damn well, no matter how hard and deep he tries to shove it down, no matter how much he knows you’re right and this isn’t about Steve. And it shouldn’t be, but for the first time since his childhood, Javier feels honorable.

Except right now, as the memory of this morning pops unexpectedly in his head and taunts him, he feels dirty. He feels even dirtier thinking of all the things he has yet to do with you and to you.

But when Steve calls him three times in a row and Javier finally answers the fourth time, he lies to him. He tells him that he hasn’t seen you and that he doesn’t have the slightest clue regarding your whereabouts. He tells him that he should respect your wish and give you time. Yet Javier doesn’t say anything about how much of you he’s seen between last night and this morning; if he would open his mouth to confess his sins, he’s certain guilt would swallow him whole.

And then Steve would most likely dig a hole and bury Javier alive.

The knot in his throat doesn’t leave him even as he gets ready for dinner. He’s tried about a dozen outfits before he finally settled on jeans, a white shirt and a blazer. He hasn’t been this nervous in… ever, really. He remembers getting ready for all the dates with Lorraine and feeling excited, yet strangely confident. Not to say he isn’t excited now, no, that would be an understatement—but he is scared. More scared than anything Colombia threw at him.

He’s terrified of screwing this up.

The implications of a potential downfall between the two of you are catastrophic to even think about: not only would his heart get shattered, but you’d most likely resent him, never want to see him again, Steve would also refuse to speak or see him again, and Javier would end up all alone. One might say the stakes have never been higher in his personal life. And try as he might, he cannot ignore the little voice at the back of his head that screams “you will fuck this up, you always fuck things up”.

But the moment you open the door and greet him with a bright, excited smile, Javier’s worries seem to melt away. Each breath he takes is slow and calculated, as if he’s afraid too much or too less might cause him a heart attack.

“You’re so beautiful,” Javier mutters, his eyes roaming all over your figure.

“Why, thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”

“Really? I just threw some things on me.”

“You changed your outfit more than once, didn’t you?”

Flabbergasted, Javier stares at you, his frown so deep it could cut right through his forehead.

“Okay, so I’m nervous, sue me.”

You chuckle, and Javier’s chest swells with something akin to—

No, it’s not that. It can’t be, it’s far too soon and too risky.

“Aww, is this your first date?” you tease as Javier opens the car door for you.

“Unless you count one night stands as dates, then… yeah, this would be my first date since I was like twenty something.”

The more you stare at him, the more you come to realize that he’s very serious.

“Honey, if I’d count one night stands as dates, I would’ve been so much more popular in college.”

There’s something oddly enticing about the way you called him honey just now, and it takes him a while to get ahold of himself to keep driving properly.

“But is it really your first date since your twenties?” you ask cautiously. “I mean, I can’t imagine your—previous job allowed you to date much.”

“Well, no, it didn’t. All I had time and place for was… sex, really.”

“Oh, which reminds me. I don’t tend to sleep with guys on a first date, so I won’t be putting out tonight.”

“That’s a shame. I think we’d be pretty good at that.”

You smirk at him. “I think so too, but we just met and I’m a bit shy.”

“Funny, you strike me as a very vocal person. Especially if you were to sit on someone’s face.”

The memory makes your cheek turn auburn red, the color of flattery and ecstasy alike.

“So about this dating thing,” you try to stir the conversation on the right path again.

“Yeah. Well. I guess technically I didn’t date while I was in Colombia. And not since…”

“Since?”

Javier takes a deep breath in, reminding himself that honesty and openness might just work this time around.

“Since my wedding fell apart.”

Javier doesn’t even sneak a glance in your direction, which tells you he’s nervous about the whole evening and the revelation.

“Oh,” you say after a while, hoping your tone doesn’t make him think you’re all too shocked. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“You sure you wanna talk about my—probably one and only real ex on our first date?”

“I don’t mind. I like honesty. And I feel like this is an important piece of the puzzle that is Javier Peña.”

At that, Javier cracks a smile.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Her name was Lorraine. We met after high school, started dating, the lot. I really liked her, she really liked me—“

“Aka the sex was great.”

Javier’s smile widens. “Yeah, it was. As great as it can be for a couple of 19 year olds. Before I knew it, I asked her to marry me and she said yes. We started planning the wedding, and the more we talked about our future together, the more I started to realize that maybe we were getting married for all the wrong reasons. I mean, she was great and fun… smart, beautiful… the whole package.”

“But you didn’t love her.”

This time Javier does sneak a glance at you, surprised to see the fond expression residing on your face.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” you smile.

“I just think I was getting married more for the sake of our families and for her. I mean, she even told me she was pregnant before the wedding and as it turned out, she wasn’t. Then I sort of… left before the ceremony began.”

“So you left her at the altar.”

“Found out from the former maid of honor that Lorraine was going to leave first actually. Before she could leave she confessed to me that she wasn’t pregnant in the first place, so then I left.”

“Boy, talk about complicated.”

Javier ponders for a little while as he parks the car.

“I did love her in a way. As much as I am capable of loving,” he says, finally able to stare at you properly. “But I don’t think I was in love with her. There’s a big difference. Or so I’m told.”

“There is,” you smile.

“I guess I was never in love with someone.”

Until now. Maybe. I don’t fucking know.

No, don’t say it. Don’t even think about it.

How could you, of all people, even know what it is?

“You sell yourself too short, Javier.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you are very much capable of loving. I mean, just look at how hard you’re trying to honor your promise to your best friend. Just the way you talk about him and Connie, I can tell you care about them, that you love them.”

“Don’t remind me of that promise, please.”

Smiling, you reach to take Javier’s hands into yours.

“This is not about Steven,” you remind him. “This is not about Steven and Connie, or anyone else. This is you and me. That’s it.”

You always fuck things up, Peña. That’s your heritage.

“He called four times today,” he mutters.

You don’t answer.

“I didn’t plan on answering him—“

“Good idea.”

“—but I did on the fourth call.”

“Well, that’s on you then.”

Javier chuckles against his wishes, and stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and consternation.

“Don’t worry, I told him I still haven’t got a hang of you and that you most likely wanna be left alone for a while. I just… I didn’t think I’d have such a tough time lying to him. I’ve done it before, it was much easier.”

“How come?”

“It didn’t involve me fooling around with his little sister.”

“Let’s just have dinner, okay?” you try to coax him.

“Okay.”

But then you pull him in for a languid, soft kiss, and Javier simply melts into it. How strange, he thinks; usually the woman in his arms is the one to melt under his kisses and touches, not the other way around. And yet he cannot seem to help but feel utterly intoxicated by your presence.

“How about instead of dinner we stay right here?” Javier cheekily suggests.

You peck his lips and open the passenger’s door. “Oh, Javi, why so eager to get to dessert before dinner?”

“I’ve been told numerous times I’m insatiable, maybe that’s why.”

You scoff, taking his hand as he guides you into the restaurant. You sneak the occasional glance at him and can’t help but remark how he keeps gulping and tilting his head as if to readjust the collar of his shirt without you noticing. You find it beyond endearing, but you don’t have it in yourself to ask him what that is all about—not yet, at least.

You partially know the reason for Javier’s nervousness, though you cannot bring yourself to share the sentiment. The last thing on your mind is Steven or how this will affect him. This really isn’t about him in the slightest.

But when Javier still seems tense even after he orders a whiskey and you order a glass of wine, you decide it’s time to lay all the cards on the table.

“Javier, what’s really going on?” you ask.

He takes a sip of his whiskey before responding nonchalantly, “What do you mean?”

“Something tells me you’re not nervous just because of the dating thing. Maybe not even about Steven himself.”

“You really wanna expose me completely tonight, don’t you?”

You shrug, glass in hand. “Not completely. There’s some things I’d like only my eyes to be able to see.”

“So do I.”

He’s not sure from where the hell that came from, but it’s only making him even more agitated and restless. Each stolen glance in your direction, each purposely directed gaze at your figure is setting him ablaze and causing him to feel flustered he would’ve never deemed humanly possible. He still can’t quite piece together what it is that you’re doing to him that has him so reckless and yet so fearful at the same time.

Except he does, he does know. Or at least he intuits it. Because saying it out loud… a whole different story.

He can’t say it. Not yet, maybe not ever. He’s not even sure this is what it feels like. He’s never felt it before, never felt anything remotely close to it, how would he know?

“Javi?”

He snaps his head back in your direction, visibly distraught.

“You okay?” you check. “You kinda spaced out there.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking.”

“About my brother?”

Javier stifles a chuckle in his glass, followed by a deep breath and finally looking at you properly.

“Truth is, I’m a bit scared,” he confesses, the words pressing heavily on his chest.

“Of what?”

“Of this, you and me. Of you.”

You make an amused yet surprised face. “Me?”

“I’m not good at relationship. I don’t think I am. The one experience I have isn’t very reliable cause look how that turned out. A whole fuckin’ mess. And I’m standing here with a… stunning, smart and fun woman and I’m… I’m lost. I’m overwhelmed, I… the one thing I’m really good at—well, you’ve experienced it. That’s the one thing I can bring in a relationship. I’d go as far as to say that you’ll always be satisfied with me, no exceptions.”

You raise your eyebrows. That seems to give Javier some of his confidence back.

“Good to know,” you smile.

“But all the other things that come in a relationship… I don’t know. I want to be able to do all of it, for you and with you. I don’t wanna waste your time or take advantage of you, in any way. I just…”

“Javier. What is it that you want?”

It doesn’t take Javier long to ponder over that.

“To be with you,” he replies sincerely.

You smile, reaching for his hand again. “So be with me. That’s all. The rest of those things that scare you, they’ll come along naturally. But for now… just be with me. However it feels right.”

“I want you to be happy and safe. That’s all.”

“I know you do.”

“I really—I care about you.”

Javier gulps, hoping and praying you don’t take notice of that. if you do, at the very least you’re courteous enough to not make a big deal out of it.

“I know that too,” you smile. “I like that you care about me. I do, too.”

You say it simply, dozily, like it’s something to be said right before you drift off into an exhausted sleep.

But for the rest of dinner, Javier remains painfully aware of his surroundings and you, the woman he’d let into his life so abruptly, the one he fears he might already be nurturing big, serious feelings for.

He remains awake long after dinner, long after the two of you fuck again, his brain spinning and reeling with the realization of this new thing he fears so much, this new potential love.

This new, potential love he’s terrified he won’t be able to keep.

For the next several weeks, Javier’s life becomes a blur of work and sex. Well, perhaps just sex might be too crude to describe how far you and he have come: the two of you go out to dinner or you offer to cook and subsequently teach him a thing or two in the kitchen; you go out for drinks or movies, for walks in the parks when it’s dark so you can enjoy silence and the comfort of knowing you won’t be spotted so easily. You enjoy each other in every way you can think of, and Javier finally sees that it’s not all about sex.

He wants not only you, but to be with you.

And slowly, that notion melts away his insecurities and fears regarding his friendship with Steve. As the weeks go by and his relationship with you deepens, Javier simply avoids talking about you at all when he sees Steve. The gnawing sentiment of guilt that used to eat him alive from inside out has steadily faded, and it’s no longer about the fact that he is hiding the first meaningful relationship he’s had in many years, or that it is with his best friend’s little sister.

It’s about the fact that he finally understands what you told him on the night of your first date.

This is not about Steven and Connie, or anyone else.

This is you and me. That’s it.

But Javier does encourage you to call Steve back, and so you do. You’re willing to fix things, only this time around there is far less patience for any type of bullshit on your part, and thankfully Steve can tell as much; whenever the two of you meet, whether Connie and Olivia are there as mediators or not, you can tell Steve is trying his absolute hardest to be kind, interested in everything you have to say and open-minded. It surprises you when he asks to read your Star Wars story, and it provides a fuzzy, comforting feeling that you haven’t felt from your brother in a long time.

You do nothing more and nothing less but embrace it, allow it in.

Just as Javier lets you in: fully, unabashedly and overwhelmingly.

He’s shaking, trembling at the mere thought of you. But actually getting to have you in his arms, to savor you and your body? Absolutely debilitating. Just like it is now, his eyes roaming over your figure lying still in bed, legs half-crossed and book in hands.

Then Javier’s brain finally registers what it is that you’re reading, and his breaths get hitched in his chest for a fleeting second. He forgets everything else. There’s nothing but you, only your utter lack of artifice and complete ignorance of seduction as you rub your legs against each other, still lost in the book.

“What you got there?” Javier asks, his heart pounding in his ears and his voice grumbly with curiosity and need alike.

“Pablo Neruda,” you smile and show off the book for a split second before your eyes roam over the page again. “Never actually read his work and since you like him, I figured I’d give it a try.”

“English version?”

“Sadly not all of us are sexy bilinguals, Javier.”

He chuckles, the sound of his name perfectly spilled from your tongue and resting on your lips something entirely maddening.

“I am a sad one-lingual,” you continue. “Well, I do know some French, but I’m out of practice on that one.”

“If memory serves me correctly, we practiced something French just yesterday.”

You snicker, staring at him with an eyebrow cocked and oh fucking hell. The way you’re looking at him now, stunned and rapacious, Javier remembers all too well how it felt the first time a girl ever looked at him. of course it’s not even remotely comparable, but the sensation lingers still, only a hundred times more intense.

He remembers the first time he’d ever felt the bolt of lust that came from being wanted, and he’s feeling it now like he did back then, all this electricity and awareness prickling his skin, which suddenly feels too tight to contain all the things he’s feeling. Too tight to contain his want for you, which right about now is as big as a storm. Big as anything, certainly bigger than what his body can hold.

“I meant the actual language, but two things can be right at once I suppose,” you smile.

And Javier smiles too, crawling onto the bed, his eyes now roaming over your legs.

“What do you think of Neruda so far?” he asks as he mindlessly starts to caress your calf.

“Powerful stuff. I can see why even you are into it.”

“I know right?”

Next, he bends to pepper kisses from your calf to your knee, his other hand parting your legs as he slowly begins to make space for himself between them.

“Uh, Javi?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Hungry.”

You scoff. He answers it so casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And maybe to him it is. He did tell you that sex is the thing he is great at in relationships and so far, his words have been proven to be true.

“Javier…” you huff, half in exasperation and half in embarrassing neediness from just the feeling of his hands over your inner thighs.

“Keep reading, don’t mind me,” Javier grumbles, now pulling down your—his—boxer shirts.

God, he goes feral whenever you wear anything of his, and this is no different. In many ways it might be even better, truth be told.

“Kind of difficult to focus on reading when you’re moving—dangerously upwards and—oh!”

You can’t help the moan that just escaped from your mouth when Javier hastily yanks the boxer shorts from your bottom half, exposing you to him.

“Just keep reading,” he encourages. “Out loud.”

You shift a little on the bed. “Wait. What?”

Javier’s eyes are back on your face, and he tries not to grin when he notices how flushed you are already, and all he did was remove a single item of clothing from your body.

“I want you to keep reading, out loud, while I go down on you,” he states. “Is that a problem?”

“Never said it was.”

“Cause if it is and you don’t like or want this, I can—“

You tug at his hair, an almost shocked expression residing on your face, as if to say How dare you assume I want you anywhere but between my legs right now?

He smirks, his fingers already massaging your clit and your mouth falling open at the contact. “Spread your legs for me baby, please.”

You do as he tells you and you can feel his hot breath over your exposed pussy. It sends shivers down your spine, even to your bones.

“Now eyes on the book and read it to me out loud.”

You don’t get the chance to say anything because in the next second, Javier’s mouth is on your clit, kissing it gently, whilst his fingers begin to open you up to him. You swear you lose consciousness for a few moments because you have no recollection of how you land on the current page of the book, to the poem titled Drunk as Drunk.

“Drunk as drunk—on turpentine,” you start, your breath already shaky and your body itching and burning with Javier’s presence. “From your open kisses, your wet b-body wedged between—my wet—mmm—wet body and the strake—“

“S’good,” Javier mutters, licking in hungry stripes on your pussy. “Keep going.”

“The strake—of our boat that is made of—of flowers… oh, fuck—“

Javier eats at you like a man starved, and as you well know by now, he is indeed starved when it comes to you. It’s quite incredible, really, just how insatiable he can be for you and because of you, and it blows your mind every single time you remember.

“Fuck, Javi, please…”

“Keep reading, baby.”

“I c-can’t—“

Your face is contorted in sheer ecstasy, your body begging to be released from its shackles, begging for release after less than five minutes.

“You can,” Javier mutters and his eyes meet with yours for a dangerous, soul-snatching moment. “And you will.”

“Javi…”

“If you don’t finish—well. You won’t finish.”

You open your mouth in protest just as Javier’s fingers slide right back home into you, stretching you deliciously, and suddenly you are acutely aware of how desperate you are for release; more importantly, how desperate you are for fullness.

“I’m serious,” he seems to answer your thoughts. “I’m not gonna let you finish. And I’m gonna start over and over.”

Like a dutiful student, your eyes return to the book, holding it with much difficulty when you could be grabbing handfuls of Javier’s soft locks. Alas, you continue reading whilst Javier keeps his promise and eats and stretches your pussy expertly. This isn’t entirely easy for him either: he unknowingly starts humping the bed, the feeling of your slickness around his mouth, your warmth surrounding him, all conspiring against his sanity.

By the time you get to the last few verses, you’re half holding the book, half grinding on his face to the best of your abilities. You’re a mumbling mess of moans and grunts, but you persevere; you want more than anything to come like this, with Javier’s face in between your legs.

“—and woke with the bitter taste of land—on our lips—eyelids all—all s-sticky—and we longed… fuuuck… we longed for lime—and the sound of a rope lower—lowering a bucket down it well…”

“Mhm, just like that. M-More, baby.”

“Then, we came by night—to the Fortunate Isles—and lay like fish—“

You feel the much needed buildup in your belly, that flame that threatens a much bigger fire, one that can only be put out by him, and you nearly throw the book to the floor.

“Finish it,” Javier grunts against your folds, yapping devotedly.

“Lay like fish under the net of—of our kisses… fuck, Javi!”

Book forgotten, you grab a handful of his hair and curl it into your fist as you finally come with a not-at-all-subtle-shriek. Javier’s mouth remains on your folds, a hot furnace against your wet folds. You feel him everywhere; he’s on your skin, in your bones, in your lungs and in your heart.

Painfully hard by this point, Javier lifs his eyes to meet your face. He notices the little beads of sweat accumulated at your temples and on your forehead, your hungry eyes and how beautiful your voice sounded reading that poem, breaking and moaning for him. He’s so captivated by the passion in your voice. That is the best word to describe you, really: passionate. You’re so passionate about the people in your life, about love and the world and music and books that Javier nearly feels jealous.

He can’t remember feeling this passionate about anything, about any cause or any vocation. Not since Colombia, at least, and that flame quickly died after arriving in Cali. Ever since then, Javier has struggled to find something that’s worth getting out of bed.

And here you are, so passionate and excited to talk about book and stories and reading, and the gap between you is both humbling and absorbing. Javier feels like he could spend the next years or even the rest of his life thinking about it and only just start to unravel the rift between the kind of woman you are and the kind of man he is.

When he looks at you again and he crawls to you, hungry for your kisses that taste like the arousal he causes from you, Javier feels nearly wild with need. When you press your lips on his, there’s both sweetness and lust; and enduring you kissing him like this, with such a mind-boggling duality is something close to madness.

It has to be.

“You’re shaking,” you whisper, pulling away from the kiss to search his face.

Your eyes are metallic, sparkling, and your mouth is as wet and red as your cunt.

Jesus fucking Christ.

And Javier is shaking because he needs to feel you; he’s shaking because the woman he needs to fuck is a woman he is feeling insane things for, things he’s only ever read about; he’s shaking because he’s going to fuck a woman he’s in love with for possible the first time in his life. He’s shaking because—wait.

Wait a fucking minute.

Am I in love with her?

As in… actually in love?

The idea stuns him even as the truth of it thrums down to his bones, settles deep into his flesh and floods every part of him as you kiss again, as you wrap your legs around his waist and pulls him close, impatient and needy.

I love her.

I love Steve Murphy’s little sister with an insanity that is soul-crushing, and I’m thinking maybe I loved her since the moment I saw her in that hallway for the first time, since she shamelessly tucked that folder into my pants and had the audacity to smile at me like it was the proudest moment of her life.

“Javier?”

He snaps back to reality, the realization still lingering heavily on his mind, but apparently not on his body because he’s so fucking hard he can hardly think straight.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice is so sweet, so rich with care that it disarms him completely. You’re lying beneath him, slick glistening from your pussy and waiting to be filled with something better, bigger, and all Javier can think about is how much he loves you.

And how terrified he is of confessing to you.

“Do you want to stop?” you ask.

You’re more than content stopping; after all, Javier was generous enough to go down on you for what felt like both an eternity and a split second.

“I—“

He’s looking down on you, admiring you like the finest painting he’d ever seen, like the most beautiful poem he’s ever read, and he’s still shaking. Words flee from his mind, other than three pesky ones, three little ones that carry a huge meaning.

I love you. I love you I love you I love you.

“Javi, seriously, you have to say something,” you try again. “You’re worrying me.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to worry you, ever.”

You smile with relief, cupping his cheeks. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The words are on his mind, right on the tip of his tongue, but he cannot muster up the courage to say them aloud.

Not tonight, he thinks.

“I got a bit in my head,” he excuses himself with a nervous chuckle, kissing your nose and cheek.

“We don’t have to do anything if you’re not up for it.”

He scoffs, taking one of your hands and guiding it to his cock, throbbing in his pants by now. You blush.

“I’m definitely up for it,” he smiles cheekily. “From now on always assume I am up for it.”

“Okay,” you laugh rather incredulously.”

“You don’t know… half the things you do to me. Just how fucking hard you get me, how much I think about you.”

“Then tell me those things.”

Javier promises to tell you all those things—in due time. For now, he resorts to the one thing he knows he’s great at: fucking. He slides into you, enjoying the tight warmth of your walls around him, the way your body seems to mold after his, and makes love to you. It’s a stark contrast with the way he ate you out before, but it carries no shortage of passion. He makes a mental note to sort out his feelings and tell you with the first occasion that arises.

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tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @fallenkitten @jenispunk

[jenchan-writingmultis]

Pavia x Human! Reader (Headcanon/s) Brainrot

A/n: My first Reverse 1999 Brainrot! I hope you like it! I've been thinking about who to make first and I decided to make my first main, Pavia! I love this feisty little man. The Navigation List for Reverse 1999 will come soon! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ─────❅───── Genre: Fluff/Suggestive Pairing: Pavia x Human! Reader Warning: SUGGESTIVE, cussing, Pavia (He gets his own warning) Scenting, Marking. Pet names (cucciolata means puppy) Credits: The design was made by me in Canva and the art that was used is all from the Official Reverse 1999 art. The line breakers are from Kaomoji dividers!

Masterlist ─────❅─────

Pavia who would often end up nuzzling your neck and pulling you closer after a rough day of doing his "mixed" works, either escorting a target, killing the target, or transporting goods with his wolves.

Pavia hates heavy workloads, if you were someone who's a workaholic, be ready cause if he saw you working ON weekends or working too hard on weekdays especially since Monday to Wednesdays are his chill days, he'd have a scowl on his face that you probably won't notice cause you're too focused on your task. Pavia is literally right there and you don't want to pay attention to him? fine. he'd drag you away from your pesky computer and flop you on his lap, opening the TV to watch some shitty show or whatever, all he knows is that if this gets you to spend time with him, he'd watch any stupid show you want. If you complained he'd shove a piece of gelato in your mouth, the good ones, and say "Shut up, you're working too hard," he caresses your arm his metal rings gliding on your skin before he places his hand on your waist, pulling you closer so that you rest your body on his. "Take a rest cucciolotta"

Pavia's wolves would also be a part of your lives, every day, Peter, Andrea, Maleficent, Tonika, and Leona would scent you; their scents are all part of Pavia's scent, so he never minded. They are all protective of you, after all, you're Pavia's mate, and they value everything their owner values. Usually, Pavia has them follow you under your shadows, and the ones volunteering would be Peter, Andrea, and Tonika, The other two, Maleficent and Leona, are responsible for updating Pavia if you're in danger, he trusts that his wolves could handle whatever his enemies can throw at you, but the audacity to even try it though? he finds it laughable that they had the balls. Expect to see their possessions in Pavia's cabinet once you're safe.

Every night, once you're in bed with Pavia, they will often go out in the shadows to cuddle you two, be prepared for fluffy voids!

Pavia is canonically a very light sleeper, while he finds it weird why you sleep so damn long, as long as you catch up on your rest, he guessed it's fine, you got a bodyguard for a boyfriend, for free too, you're lucky. He'd usually sleep for just 3 to 4 hours but never fully 8 hours, you wonder how he survives with that sleeping schedule, then again he's an arcanist and you're human.

Pavia has a soft spot for you, although that doesn't change his treatment of you, he will always be blunt and brash when you're being stupid and reckless. He'd be the type to ground you to reality (surprisingly) if he finds that whatever plan you thought of was a literal dream, and by dream, it's not possible to achieve. If you're irrational, he'd be rational with you, imagine if you tried to suggest a stupid plan that could get you hurt, he'd look at you with an incredulous face before saying "That's a shitty plan, let's not do that if you don't wanna lose a limb.", but if it's vice versa, he wouldn't usually listen to you, heck he'd argue with you sometimes; especially if the plan was smart, just reckless, However if you start using your waterworks, he'd stiffen up, cause you crying means he's been a bad boyfriend and he doesn't like that; he'd grumble a bit before letting you win. he won't do the thing he was planning to do.

Pavia as a boyfriend means your life will be in constant thrills, he likes to see you shiver when he threatens you, what I mean by that is if you tried to ask him a simple question, especially regarding his hairstyle, he'd say that it would look great if you were pulling it, he'd be so touchy on you that he'd nibble on your ear just to whisper naughty things. telling you how his hands would fit your neck and how you'd look great withering underneath him. Suffice to say he's a biter and someone who enjoys it rough. Speaking of hands, Pavia enjoys having his hands all around you, as I mentioned before, the reason why is because he loves his hands! they're good for killing and making you squirm under him, it's also slightly bigger than yours, and he loves that, he likes to overpower you with his strength, especially if you're the type to get easily overwhelmed by it. You're like a prey that he keeps around just because he got attached to you.

Pavia likes to steal stuff from you. He likes to use excuses such as "you don't use it" or "I find it pretty" The reason why he does this is because he has a cabinet filled with your stuff, either a broken ballpen, a handkerchief whatever, if it's yours he keeps it, he just likes to hoard, just like how he likes to steal your attention if he finds you focusing on something else (he's very much like a dog and cat mixed together, or maybe a wolf?)

Pavia is unfortunately a bit easy to scam, although who would scam him? He's intimidating, he's the type to stare into a seller's eyes as if he could see into their souls. But if someone like Tennant for example, a person who knows their way into killers like him, as long as they use their words right they could get his money an example of this are people who speak in half-truths and half-lies; since Pavia is someone that could easily detect lies, he usually cannot tell if that person is lying or not when they're using that method. If he found out though that he got scammed when you told him, he will hunt down that asshole and make sure they never see the light of day.

Pavia is the type that when you wear something sexy for him or for an event, he'd whistle and leave a mark either on your exposed shoulders or neck, he's the type of boyfriend that would support you with whatever clothing you'd like, cause if someone even dares to sexualize you, he can fight.

Pavia has a sad backstory if you manage to break down his walls, he's still the same old as he was before all of that jazz except with a little extra love for you since you took the time to get to know him. He'd allow himself to be vulnerable around you, sharing stories from his past. He's the type who may not even realize the extent of the abuse he endured till you point it out, in which, he'd laugh and dismiss it as "Tough love from my aunt"

[thebearme]

Got any re8 Heisenberg headcanons? (I definitely am so normal about him)

Don't worry, I'm completely normal about him too.

Ethan works with Karl to stop Miranda, but they aren't exactly friends after that, but they learn to like each other.

Chris was originally was going to put Karl into the military as a living bioweapon, but with enough convincing. Ethan got him to just let stay with him and Rose. They're roommates now.

Karl is thankful for Ethan to help him avoid that fate, but he is still frustrated on how his life is in someone's hand. Now he has to listen to Ethan or run the risk of being killed or weaponized. So the anger is the living arrangement is mutual.

Karl tends to be untrusting of everyone, like a feral stray dog. So Karl stays in the basement and minds his business.

Ethan and Mia had a mutual divorce, The relationship was built on rocky ground, and they understand that. But what Mia doesn't understand is why Ethan would have this moldy hobo live with him, and frankly- he doesn't know either.

Karl was a stinky man. His hands are rough and dry, chipped sharp nails that seem to always have something underneath them despite that fact of him wearing gloves most of the time. He covered in a layer of grease, sweat and car oil, smells like copper, gasoline, sweat, cigars, rain dew and a hint of mold and rot. LOVEY ISN'T IT! A sensory overload dream. His hair WILL make a crunchy noise if touched, and don't bother trying to comb through it.

Ethan made sure that his mf got a shower with some actual soap. He may look the same but trust in the fact if you were in a room with him, you'll actually be able to hug him without getting high from the gasoline.

Karl's hair gets so fluffy when conditioned.

It took months before Ethan trusted Karl in watching Rose or let alone hold her.

Karl LOVES sweets.

He originally didn't know about Home Depot because Ethan was worry that there will quickly be no Home Depot.

There's no longer a Home Depot.

Heisenberg will melt when he hears Rose's first words.

The day that Heisenberg finds out what a Samsung fridge is- IT'S OVER!

Heisenberg lived off of military ration meals till now, so he has to resort to the next best thing here: hungry man TV dinners. And kid cuisine when Rose goes into solid food.

HE CAN COOK! To be particular, grill. But he's kinda going through that depression that led you to not take care of himself.

Karl HATES the rain, It rusts all his metal, and he is in content risk of getting struck by lightning, He's a living lightning rod. Ethan tries to be nice and help him by giving him a rubber rain suit, leading him to wear three layers of protection: fishing overalls, rain boots, raincoat, rubber gloves, rain hat and a rubber poncho.

You can hear him from a mile away with all that rubber squeaking.

Heisenberg surprisingly was a virgin for a long time, and it makes sense. He was too busy in his factory to be with anyone romantically nor platonically, let alone get laid. He never really cared till he thought about it now, especially when Ethan has living proof that he fucked. *CUT TO FUNNY KARL SPEED DATING SEQUENCE* this is probably a very sharp contrast to others hc of karl but idc it's my hc

Heisenberg and Ethan have that opposite attract dynamic, Karl gets to teach him that life doesn't end or need to be tense just because they're mole zombies. While Ethan teaches Karl to unpack his years trauma, cuz that shit will come to haunt you.

Ethan found some room for Heisenberg to sleep upstairs instead.

Eventually Ethan gets so close with Heisenberg he actually starts calling him by his first name.

That was noticed by Mia and Chris, which made them nervous in where Ethan loyalty would lie when something were to happen.

Heisenberg never had clean water before, so just imagine him with the crisp 3am water.

Chris only allows Karl to experience the outside monthly. But Ethan sneaks Karl with him when he can. As long, he doesn't scare anyone in town.

Karl is like a caveman entering the present day, He's culture shock is out of this world.

He loves the phrase "metal as fuck."

When Karl has a nightmare he rearrange his room to push all the metal out or nap in the living room. When Karl and Ethan got closer he started sleeping in Ethan's room. Even though their hearts beat slow, the human warmth is still there.

Karl never wants to talk about what his nightmare was about or why he feels better sleeping in a room with less metal.

Here some songs that I always relate to Heisenberg:

Now I'm about to go into what my hc is for Heisenberg before re8.

tw body horror and child abuse

I have the headcanon that Karl wasn't from the village, but his family was. He was born in the states and unknowingly has the genes that make him very susceptible to the mold mutation. Eventually, after his grandfather died and passed the factory/mines to his parents, they all moved to Europe. Explaining the contrasting transatlantic accent.

But like all things, Miranda had to ruin. She noticed the newcomers of the village; she saw how they also have a child and decided to take action. Miranda killed Karl Heisenberg's parents and took him in to experiment on with the cadou parasite.

His gift was unknown till one check up later after all of his complaints of feeling of something tearing into him. Miranda realized that there seems to be scraps of metal like nuts and bolts dug and tear through into his body to his bones like a magnet.

When he's in is REM sleep, his electromagnet powers moves and attract scraps of metal to him. Leaving him to wake up with blood on his sheets, but the wound already healed like nothing happened. But Karl does know it feels harder to move every day.

Miranda made sure to test him on his gift. He looks completely human and is powerful, he was almost perfect… The one single flaw in him is the fact that even as a helpless child that had no one else to rely on but her. He still hated her.

Heisenberg was the youngest of the four lords and the favorite, and he hated it. Dude would just spend all his time by himself, leaving himself tape recorders. He eventually started to entertain himself as if he was a radio host. The theater kid possesses him.

Eventually when he got older he got into contact with The Duke and was able to purchase tapes and machinery scraps from him. The tapes turned out to be American documents of ww2, leading Heisenberg to his American freedom fighter rhetoric.

When he detransform from his big monster form, he has to go get a lil help. He has to get rid of the pieces of metal without just tearing off pieces of his flesh, That shit is hard to grow back you know!

[gaydr0id]

Am I Dreaming?

"Get some sleep, Detective Reed." Gavin doesn't have to look away from his desk terminal to know the voice belongs to his partner, RK900. "You underperform your duties when you are exhausted." 

Gavin snorts. "I just closed a case this morning. I'm performing my duties just fine. Get off my dick you plastic prick."

[Nines does not get off his dick, in fact he gets much more on it.]

Words: 1096

Rating: M (There's sex but it's not very graphic)

Gavin Reed can't remember the last time he got a good night's sleep. Between the nightmares and the ungodly amount of caffeine it takes to get him through a work day he's lucky to get 5 consecutive hours in one night. When he's unlucky he doesn't see his bed for days. 

This week, he's been unlucky. Gavin has gone home to his apartment for a few hours each night to feed himself and his cat but he hasn't bothered laying in bed for four days. Looking over case files until the words blur together feels better to him than staring at the ceiling waiting for something that's never going to happen. 

"Get some sleep, Detective Reed." Gavin doesn't have to look away from his desk terminal to know the voice belongs to his partner, RK900. "You underperform your duties when you are exhausted." 

Gavin snorts. "I just closed a case this morning. I'm performing my duties just fine. Get off my dick you plastic prick."

"Would you like me to accompany you back to your apartment?" offers Nines, ignoring the insult.

Gavin takes a few clumsy gulps of lukewarm coffee from the mug beside him. "Yeah, sure," he relents. Despite his defensiveness he really does need sleep. "This chair's starting to hurt my ass anyway."

"The chair, or your posture, Detective?"

"Shut up," replies Gavin, giving Nines a playful smack on the back of the head. 

The first few times Nines had offered to take care of Gavin he found it offensive. Then one night, about a year ago, after 8 days without seeing his bed, Gavin couldn't refuse anymore. He let the android feed him and clean his apartment while he slept. There was no use in declining after that. Whenever his sleep deprivation gets particularly bad Nines offers to come over and Gavin lets him. Though he's never admitted it, he really appreciates the company. Even if there is always a closed door between them. On many nights Gavin wishes that door would open and Nines would join him in bed. He frequently touches himself thinking about it, even when Nines isn't there.

Gavin tosses and turns for hours, wishing the door would open, wishing for sleep, wishing for anything other than unyielding silence. Even the nightmares seem more appealing than this. Out of pure frustration Gavin blindly grabs the closest object on his nightstand and chucks it across the room. Whatever it is hits the wall with a thud. It may have left a dent but he can't tell in the dark. That was pointless, childish, but he is far past a state of rationality. 

The drumming heartbeat in his ears masks the carpeted footsteps entering his room. Gavin nearly jumps out of his skin when a tall figure looms over his bed. 

"Gavin?" comes RK900's low voice. "Are you alright?"

"Just peachy," Gavin grumbles. 

"Would you like me to stay with you?" offers Nines.

Gavin wants to protest but he can't bring himself to. He has been waiting months for this and he's just so damn tired. All he can do is nod, knowing the android has perfect night vision to view his response. 

The mattress dips as Nines lays down behind Gavin. The android is surprisingly warm as he presses up against the detective. A slender arm snakes around Gavin's body to cup his groin. This time Gavin does jump out of his skin. "The fuck are you doing?!" he exclaims. 

Nines pulls away. "Sexual release can be a powerful sedative in many humans," he explains. "Isn't that why you masturbate before falling asleep?"

He noticed that, huh? 

"Shut up and touch me, asshole.”

The touch is warm and hazy and glorious. Rk900's grip is surprisingly gentle against Gavin's growing erection. He expected androids to be cold and firm but the smooth plastic combined with rubber grips at the fingertips actually creates a fairly pleasant sensation. Or maybe that's just how he wants it to feel. After all, whenever he imagines Nines coming into his bedroom this is what it feels like. Warm and soft like a human would be. Gavin's brain is so foggy he can't tell if this is actually happening. God, he hopes it is. 

Gavin has no self restraint left in his exhausted body. He groans and grinds against the hand fondling him through his boxers. 

Nines chuckles to himself. "With your atrocious work/life balance I suppose you don't get a lot of sexual attention, do you, Reed?" 

The android's obnoxious voice is right in his ear. Despite himself, it sends a shiver down Gavin's spine. 

"Shove it up your ass, Nines." The threat sounds so pathetic falling from quivering wanton lips. 

"I don't have an opening there," Nines returns. "Would you like me to use my mouth instead?"

Of course the prick took it literally. Normally that would frustrate Gavin but right now all he can think about is his cock in the android's mouth. 

"Fuck yes," he answers. 

RK900 repositions Gavin with ease, rolling him onto his back and placing himself between the man's legs. Nines doesn't bother removing the boxers, opting to pull Gavin's penis through the slit at the front. 

Nines takes Reed into his mouth but without spit to smooth the friction, it doesn't feel especially pleasant. 

"Hold on," grunts Gavin, shoving the android's head away. 

He fumbles in the drawer of his nightstand until his hand finally clutches onto a bottle of lube. Once he has applied an ample amount to his shaft he gropes in the dark for Nines to continue. The android does and this time the curves of his warm cavity feel sublime against Gavin's tender length.

"Fuck, baby," the pet name slips out without Gavin meaning it to but he is too tired and too enraptured by sensation to feel embarrassed. 

Gavin loses all sense of time. The blowjob feels like it lasts forever but is simultaneously over in an instant. He is barely aware of his orgasm as it quakes through his body. Nines is saying something to him but he can't make out the words. 

When did he fall asleep? 

When Detective Reed wakes the sun is hanging low in the sky. "shit," he hisses. He scrambles around for his phone only to realise that was what he had thrown across the room the night before. 

Upon retrieving it from a pile of dirty laundry he sees a message from Nines: I told Fowler you needed a day to rest. I have no idea how I'm going to make any progress on the Miller case without your coffee fuelled sardonic comments but I'll try my best.

Asshole. 

[ineffable-opinions]

GMMTV 2025

This year I had discussed two of my greatest peeves with GMMTV:

Lack of BL literacy and harrowing learning curve

Khujin paradox – it is their asset and liability

here & here

Having seen what GMMTV plans to offer in the year 2025, I have to admit that they might be on the right track.

Ticket To Heaven – I didn’t expect this. What percent of Thailand’s population is Christian? (Thailand has significant and influential Christian population.) Many frames and scenes in this one looks they were from the Japanese BL movie from 2007 Boys Love – School Boy Crush. Serendipitously, it is so similar to Jijo Kuriakose’s autobiographical queer film — Velipaadu (വെളിപ്പാട്) which also has seminarian main characters. But since the characters are Orthodox/Jacobite Christians but not Catholics there is additional compulsory heterosexuality.

Memoir of Rati – Most Beautiful Count colorism debacle has tarnished my love for Thai historical setting. This is one series where I really wish GMMTV did not stick to the nenja/wakashu style pairing. Yaoi revolution did not happen all those years ago for this to manifest in 2024-25. These aesthetic choices are something GMMTV and Change 2561 (among others) will learn to overcome. Eventually.

Me and Thee – I am not impressed by the choice of khujin for this role. The comedy is not working for me and I think that's probably because there is not enough gap moe between the actor playing the mafia boss and the mafia boss playing the actor. However, fans of this khujin might enjoy it immensely for the very reason. Love guru set up is underplayed, so I am expecting tonal shift half way through the series where the drama will play into the soap opera it is supposed be parodying. Some kidnapping and bloodshed maybe. Odo (royal road progression) is odo for a reason. Unintended consequence of the series was to remind me of my dearest wish to see unabridged version of Breath, the story of TulHin from Love By Chance 2) with shibari and all.

A Dog and a Plane - feels like a nice mix of Japanese BL Ossan’s Love: LOVE or DEAD and Ossan's Love: In the Sky and Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese. Since I thoroughly enjoyed both, I'm looking forward to this one. It also promises a lot of "wife-chasing" (My Stand-in's influence?) complete with a grand, lives-saving, heart-winning gesture. 

Magic of Prophecy - Fortune telling as a reason for forced proximity in provincial Thailand seems nice but I'm afraid the series is going to go where The Sign went with superstitious local folks (as opposed to rational main characters, except it was a fantasy show hinging on those very local people's faith and festival) and gun violence. BL being a vehicle for Thaification is kind of inevitable but I wish it wasn't so and we would get more provincial shows like Love Poison. For a country that dared to give us Tropical Malady (2004) directed by Apichatpong Weerasethakul and Malila: The Farewell Flower (2017) directed by Anucha Boonyawatana (director of Not Me), their BL needs to do better. 

Boys in Love - honor student x diliquent is a beloved pairing but this neurotypical honor student is not sitting well with me at the moment thanks to Iwashiro from Outsider Communication by Natsume Tsuno overwhelming my brain. But that is a me problem. The other pairs are cool and is in line with the saccharine sweetness GMMTV is known for.

Cat for Cash - this is for that khujin's fans as well as for cat lovers. Surrealist comedy with glittering, sputtering succulents in Love is Like A Poison has raised my tolerance for this brand of romantic dramedy. 

Mu-Te-Luv - I am intrigued because it gives me the kind of feeling that I got when I watched the trailer for Hello Mummy. I wonder how Thai audience will receive this series' take on the non-romantic themes it deals with. So, I'm equally apprehensive and excited. 

Love You Teacher - surprisingly it is Thailand that managed to get this show going. De-aging is a popular trope in BL and fan-fiction. Given the taboo nature of de-aging as a set up it is hard to pull off. But, if anyone can do that it is Thailand. This is resourceful side of khujin - they can't take the jado (evil road) narrative progression. No twisted moe. Yet, it leaves space for deception. Faking or automatic de-aging to cope with repressed stress and anxiety, like selective mutism and amnesia. It will be about character growth and unconditional love. Otherwise, the price GMMTV would have to pay would be too steep.

Melody of Secrets - wow, a dark take on amnesia trope! Seems like GMMTV finally figured out how to tease a jado progression within an odo plot - by employing a (faux)-look-alike so as not to upset khujin fans' worldview while offering them a thrilling experience. But it is clear that GMMTV won't be able top commit to a proper jado plot. That not their brand. It will not help with branding and advertising. There's no helping it. The violin scene reminded me of the Japanese BL with numerous adaptations Fujimi Orchestra. Also, the mind-forgot-but-body-remembers trope?! 

My Romance Scammer - gold digging, getting ONESELF trapped in the love trap that one laid and marry-first-regret-later tied with the friction of getting a divorce. I want it to have first ever remarriage of the same pair in a live action BL.

That Summer - how does Thailand keep getting casting net wrong? At least it is better than diving with the net we're got in love sea. Prince? Who was assaulted?  Found at a Thai beach? Reminds me of princess Latifa bint Mohammed Al Maktoum debacle.

Only Friends: Dream On - I like this set up more than the one for season 1. I wasn't happy about it and thought they could do better. I'm looking forward to this season. And for khujin fans, isn't it a good chance to enjoy netorare and stalking horse tropes since the Love Dodecahedron will anyway resolve into khujin pairings?

Burnout Syndrome - super pretty, shonen ai style art! Look at the nude he drew! Isn't it giving early BL vibes, from before the donkey dicks took over the BL manga scene thanks to Korea? Isn't it a beacon (please forgive the pun) of hope in the strange, new world of uncensored smut scenes in BL manhwa? Khujin's gonna khujin and stalking horse gonna stalking horse. I'm truly intrigued. 

Head 2 Head - fine old wine, new bottle. Let's see if the wine (rivalry to romance, unrequited to required, college campus setting) can be as intoxicating when drunk from the new bottle.

Dare You To Death - Channel V style drama with khujin boarding together for reasons.  Unfortunately, it did not moe for me. Maybe because I'm still trying to get over Zheng Bei x Jiang XiaoHai ship from The First Shot 雪迷宫 that paled in comparison to Zheng Bei x Gu YiRan ship. Honestly, I started watching just to listen to Huang Jingyu say heroin (hailouyin) and accidental got too invested in the cop x kingpin ship. 

I wonder who suggested GMMTV to add so much of occult and fortune-telling in their series. Also, I am a little worried after seeing this post by @guzhufuren and this post by @alwaysthepessimist - there is opposition to BL in East Asian countries led by certain groups of feminists based on the disproportionate benefit accruing to men (especially actors, voice actors, creators and production companies' executives), declining presence of women in entertainment and advertising as well as shifting purchasing power from women to men through consumption of BL.

In this video, BL scholar Kim Hyojin talks about Boys Love in an Era of Feminism: Online Discourse on “Leaving BL” in Late 2010s Korea.

[idrilearfalas]

In this last moment of innocence before episode 5 comes out I've decided to share with my future self my biggest fears and dreams for the series, so that I can look at them in a week or so and rationally decide the destiny of Marvel.

I will have to burn Marvel to the ground if one or more of these things happen:

Mobius sacrifices himself and does not come back (at least not as the Mobius we know)

Loki sacrifices himself so that all his friends can go back to their timelines

Loki sacrifices himself and Mobius keeps working for a (redeemed) TVA on his own

Sylvie ends up with Mobius as a love interest

Sylkie canon

Mobius is a Thor's Variant

Mobius is a variant of anything/anyone else

Loki is in any way related to Mobius (brother, son, cousin, whatever)

Mobius and Loki say goodbye, Loki leaving to manage the TVA with Sylvie and Mobius staying on his timeline

The original timeline Mobius is dead so Mobius stays behind to take his place without Loki

I'll have to thank Marvel and potentially build a monument to it if one or more of these things happen (not in order of importance):

Mobius sacrifices himself for Loki but comes back safe and happy to stay with him

Loki sacrifices himself for Mobius but comes back safe and happy to stay with him. Bonus: Loki uses the phrase "Glorious purpose" when Mobius tries to stop him and it's clear their friendship has become the real glorious purpose of Loki's life

Loki is Mobius' original nexus event

Mobius stays on his original timeline and Loki decides to remain by his side. Bonus: Mobius has kids and Loki adopts them too

Loki and Mobius save the day and they go off to save timelines together. Bonus: when bidding them goodbye, Sylvie makes a joke about their being starstruck lovers and we understand it's not so much of a joke

Lokius openly canon, with love declaration, actual kiss, forehead touching and/or hand holding (big big plus for the Marvel monument thing I mentioned)

The Loki who's traveling through time is responsible for many of the things we saw in the first two seasons and most of them were done to get Mobius' memories back (i.e. the jetsky magazine on Mobius' desk)

The moment Mobius' memories come back is a VERY emotionally-charged one and it's also a big hint to Lokius

Chris Hemsworth's Thor is back for a short scene, and watching Loki interact with Mobius he understands that his brother is happy and has finally found the love he deserves

"We're in a time loop of our own" means something MUCH bigger than we understood at first

"Love is..." and the answer hints at something Loki and Mobius share so we understand the writers are implying theirs IS a love story, after all

We understand that the relationship between Loki and Mobius has always, surprisingly been the whole point of the whole show

[sensgrave]

"How the hell did cupid get bullets?"

Prologue; potential to be a graves x reader, contains university stress and jobhunting, don't feed my shit to AI, yadda yadda yadda. SFW prologue, but MDNI. Any minors will be blocked. Long time lurker first time caller, etc. 1.1k words

Going through university wasn’t the easiest way to get through to your goals, but it certainly was a good opportunity that was luckily accessible to you. While finishing up a cybersecurity degree there were a few options for work placement – mandatory for graduation. Great way to gain some connections, and some field experience, getting you just a little bit further to that dream.

The dream? Being a person that keeps the world turning...in the background, preferably. There’s more focus than ever on technology, and you wanted to be ahead of the curve on the next advancements.

Opening your laptop, you decide to log on and look through the choices provided, since it’s a few weeks until you must lock in an option. No harm in putting some thought into the last thing you’ll do at university, before entering the workforce. Absolutely a decision with zero pressure whatsoever. There are a few options listed on the enrollment portal, but one catches your eye, surprisingly. ‘On site cybersecurity work’ – woefully generic. Generic to the point of being pretty much ignored by everyone, so it’s still open. You click on the full listing, thinking maybe there’s more detail inside? Yet the full page is easily summarised. Too easily, in fact. It doesn’t offer any more clarifying information and brings forward the thought of what ‘LinkedIn minimalism’ might entail.

‘On-site cybersecurity work. - Requires travel, organized by agency. - May involve intense workload, with unusual hours. - More details available at interview, attendee is required to sign an NDA upon applying. - Salary non-negotiable. - Minimum 12 month commitment, with potential to extend.’

There’s more red flags here than an incel’s twitter. No fucking thanks. Moving onto the next few options, standard cybersecurity intern positions – a lot of them listing low-to-midrange salaries, with a few ‘internship’ programs that offer prestige, in lieu of reimbursement. Absolutely no thanks. There’s too many options to go through and it’s super overwhelming. Besides, there’s still a while before the deadline, so you figure you’ll leave it for now – and probably apply to the one that has the least bad omens with an okay-ish salary. Sounds like a good rough plan for now. At least it would, if you hadn’t forgotten the requirement entirely.

Luckily an automatic reminder email from your university managed to remind you a day before the registration for placement closes. Considering how scatterbrained you’ve been, you’re thankful for the little robot that sends out these alerts – rather than the typical annoyance given. At this point, you’d take any position to avoid having to wait until the next semester to finish this final step. Logging on however, it seems there’s little choice in the matter anyway. The only spot left open is that weirdly cryptic, incredibly vanilla, and extremely vague listing. Fuck it, you think – confirming it as your placement choice.

Worst comes to worst, I can quit after. It’s just a first step, not the entire career.

A mildly comforting rationalization, at best. You’ve at least got some relief, knowing it’s been sorted. A few days later, you receive an email from the placement coordinators, putting you in touch with the agency and a representative to go over the finer details of your potential employment.

It’s great to be in touch with you about this opportunity. The biggest thing I suppose we would have to organise is travel. Travel is required for the job, but we will provide all preparations required – including transport and accommodation. Unfortunately, I can’t go over any further unless you wish to confirm an in-person interview. That will require travel, but we’re happy to organise it just the same way, and reimburse you for your time too.

Even though this email chain would objectively be an example of ‘avoid at all costs’ – that little voice isn’t there. That gut feeling of doom just… isn’t there. You know it’s weird, it’s got a huge amount of potential issues, but a bad gut feeling is not kicking in. You’ve got enough common sense to know this is a terrible idea on paper – but instinct tells you otherwise. There’s some wonderful places and experiences you’ve had thanks to trusting yourself, and a real good streak at gambling risk-to-reward in your life. It’s not like there’s any other choice though. I mean, there is waiting until next semester, but that option does give you that sense of dread. After a few more emails back and forth, you’ve been given your transport details. A car will be picking you up from your house as agreed roughly one month from now, to take you to a small passenger plane on a private runway. Super odd circumstances, but the mysterious email representative did let you know that it was a fairly rural and remote area, requiring specialised transport. Over the month, you celebrate with your family and friends about this last part of university, as you all prepare for the potential of this job keeping you for a whole year. After a lot of good times, tearful see-you-laters, and frantic packing – a doorbell cuts off your inner reminiscent monologue, letting you know that now’s the time to haul ass into that car. Outside there is an incredibly large car, with glossy black paint and heavily tinted windows. Knowing about cars is a whole different kettle of fish, but at least this fish says ‘escalade’ on the bumper. It’s a good sign the company’s got money, so maybe the omen of a ‘non-negotiable’ salary might not be too bad. You can confirm it’s the right car, as the representative let you know the plate of the vehicle beforehand. As you approach tentatively with your bag, the suited driver rolls down the window and confirms your name, asking to see your ID. Weird formalities and seriousness aside – you flash your ID and he helps you load your bag into the car’s boot. With a potentially final wave, you quickly say goodbye as the car pulls out from the street. Once you’re on the road, there’s still a weird atmosphere in the air as you struggle to make casual chitchat with the gruff driver – opting to be on your phone instead for the majority of the trip. Roughly two hours later, the driver pipes up, still as gruff as before. “You’re going to lose signal for a while, as we’ll be there in about 15. Finish up anything that requires mobile data, and put your phone on airplane mode. You’ll thank me when it’s still got battery halfway through the flight.” “Thanks for letting me know.” Lifting your head up, you take a look at your surroundings. Wait, where the fuck am I? Why is this window tint so dark? Surely, it’s not road legal right? I can’t see shit out of the windows. These were questions you probably should’ve asked yourself a lot earlier.

[terrence-silver]

I have a prompt for CK Terry (Season 5) with a younger woman (say her 30s?):

Daniel & co. manage to execute another infiltration plan, but unlike with Chozen (as "Joe"), this plan actually works, and now they've got a woman on the inside, working as a spy. Her main goal is to find something - anything - incriminating about Terry Silver, and to get out. After a few months, she finds some dirt on him, but he catches her alone in the dojo before she can make her escape with the evidence. I'm imagining him as having trusted her and been attracted to her, but feel free to change his feelings to suit your desires (I'm hoping they will be suitably diabolical, as mine are!).

Thank you as always for your wonderful words!

FATALITY, FIDELITY, FORMALITY

(Terry Silver x Reader)

---

-"Find what you were looking for?"-

Your heart leaps into your throat when you hear that voice and a flash of everything you diligently strived to achieve so far goes collapsing in front of your eyes like a waking fever dream; Terry Silver was right behind you, standing on the threshold and he’s caught you rummaging through a study desk drawer and of course he made no sound, not even the most meager announcement of his presence or any of his movements, footsteps, as always, catching you unaware while somewhere deep down you desperately hoped that he too was human, and that he too, as such, would make the simple mistake of being at least barely audible when sneaking up on you so that you could avoid him. Intercept him. Cease whatever you were doing and make yourself scarce. Rely on the faint hope the coast would be clear while you were incriminating yourself like this. Stop before you were spotted, outright, bending over the work surface, hand gripping a manilla file in a heated rush. Once he moves forward, with a smile, leisurely, like he wasn’t in a hurry, you forget to breathe.

-"It amazes me that you’re really here thinking someone’s gonna throw a fit over a copy of a document on depleted Uranium from 1979. Most people don’t even know what that is."-

He was laughing. He was laughing at you.

Your panicking eyes dart back and forth between him and the folder you were squeezing for dear life, a sudden flash of shame washing over you like a searing hot shower, causing the top of your scalp to sweat and your guts to start coiling deep inside of you belly; point was, you spent six months alone just building up the territory and the trust to even dream of recovering as much as you recovered, feeling, no, being convinced you were on the verge of something important only for him to show up and snicker in your face like you were an idiot. An idiot going through a flash of so much dread you swore you were frozen stiff and unable to move. Terry Silver was a tough nut to crack. There was always insinuation of some sort of maliciousness and malpractice behind the corner, somewhere, out of reach, but never any concrete evidence and like a string pulled away before you could grab onto its end, you were always further and further away from discovering any actual dirt on the man. Not even continuous and meticulous Google searches yielded anything on him. It's like everything was scrubbed and his name was perfectly pristine. He was someone who was frighteningly clean where his reputation was concerned. Larusso’s firm sent you in to scoop out the place, but you couldn’t even find something as stereotypical as mistreatment of staff which was the go-to scandal with these big, rich guys. Making inappropriate passes at the maid. Being prejudiced towards the racial background of his chauffeur, for example. Not even that much. Terry Silver treated his employees surprisingly well and even amicably. Better than anyone you’ve ever seen so far. You gulp hard once you catch him stepping even closer; the grace of a panther.

You needed a defense for yourself. A way out. A lie. Anything.

Somehow to rationalize why you were going through his stuff like this.

But, it was all blank. Blank. Blank.

You felt faint. Sick.

-"Not to mention, I singled that one out for you and I caught you red handed like I knew I would. Fingers deep in the jam. You really think someone’s stupid enough to keep damning things where anyone can just waltz in and take them and waltz back out like it’s an episode of Looney Tunes?"-

He shakes his head, snapping his fingers jokingly, chuckling into his own chin, but you could tell the smile never reached his eyes; something sharp and dangerous behind them, sticking out like needles. He was angry. Validly, he had every right to be. Except, you never planned on getting caught or having to face his ire. You hoped you’d be far away by now. Far from him. He wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. His dojo office should’ve been closed. The whole gym compound should’ve been. Classes dismissed until two days from now. The whole weekend ahead. The very fact he was here was unpredictable. Unexpected. You could’ve swore you came to understand his schedules by now. His comings and his goings. You could’ve swore there wasn’t any mistake in your observations. You could’ve! -"Terry, I —"- You stutter, unsure how to finish your own sentence, standing there in limbo, trying to catch his bluff around the fact that you recovered evidence he planted for you to find, feeling your knees shake with indignity. If you had a secret you wanted to hide real badly, you supposed…well, you supposed you’d hide it as well as possible too. Never somewhere where someone else could see it. Take it. But, you were desperate. So desperate. For anything. Any clue. Any bit of anything. Any straw to grasp at. That you were willing to take anything at this point and run with it, even risk being seen by the cameras riddled all over the dojo, because, to hell with it — you didn’t plan on returning to this place, this city or this side of the country ever again. You needed anything, if it meant it could make the slightest bit of difference. You never did this before. That’s why Daniel Larusso picked you. The less you had to hide, the more innocent and seemingly inexperienced of any wrongdoing, bad intentions or foul play you were, the more convincing your act would be. But, it was an act. All an act. And at this point, Terry’s face to face with you, only the desk’s surface separating you like a wall, his finger eagerly tapping its polished finish like a tickling time bomb. -"Make an excuse. Go ahead. I really wanna hear it."- His shark-like teeth on display, you decide to tell the truth. At least a fragment of it, certain he already knew what he knew.

-"I was sent here."-

-"I know you were."-

Terry chides with an almost impossible ease that nonetheless sends shivers down your spine.

-"How does it feel that your supposed friends pushed you into the lion’s den alone with no backup, huh?"-

He shrugs, visibly taunting and the pit in your stomach only deepens, hollow, entirely empty.

-"Some friends."-

He adds, tilting his head to the side once he caught your eyes scrutinizing the nearby windows.

Assessing whether you should jump out through them or not.

Life wasn’t a movie. You knew you’d end up scared, broken bones, bruised and all.

And he knew that much too, something knowing twinkling deep inside of his eyes, almost daring you.

You feel the hand grasping at the folder growing limp, suddenly hopeless.

-"Larusso’s shacked up with his family and his guest from Okinawa is enjoying his Californian vacation while you’re here risking your life for them, without anything to gain from it and everything to lose."-

Terry purses his lips, self-content and positively dripping venom and you look away from him.

The embarrassment weighing down on you like an anvil.

Suddenly, you felt a burning, overwhelming sensation you didn’t feel a moment ago.

You felt dirty. Somehow used. Disposable. A useful fool.

-"Did they at least pay you?"-

-"It’s not about money."-

You rush back in with a hasty retort, stumbling over your own words, vigorously shaking your head.

You needed to maintain at least the illusion of dignity.

Integrity.

Fact was, you never paid a dime and you never wanted to be paid a dime.

Terry snorts crudely. Like he's just about heard the funniest joke in the World.

-"What is it about then?"-

His thighs move slowly, doing a smooth turn, finger still maintained firmly planted on the center of the desk, like the needle of a compass, the bejeweled ring on it in the limelight of your vision. What was it about? Did you have a clear cut answer? Except peer pressure? Feeling talked into it? Both directly and indirectly guilted into doing all of this? Thinking you were doing a good deed? That this was as easy as getting in and getting out?

-"Playing vigilante?"-

He drawls with a voice challengingly laced and no — that wasn’t it.

-"Truth, justice and the American way?"-

No.

-"The honor of rummaging inside of someone’s desk drawers?"-

No, no. You wanted to sob out. Inching further into the side of the wall.

Hoping to disappear.

Hoping he’d stop advancing forward and cornering you in.

Your body reacting violently, overtaking by a sudden shiver of sheer terror.

-"The possibility of Danny-boy and his pretty wife inviting you to a country club cookout and giving you a car discount one day if you ingratiate yourself to them hard enough?"-

His tone was oozing venom and sarcasm and you understood what he was trying to do; he was trying to humiliate your efforts and cheapen their worth, and worst of all, it was working like a charm, an unexpected flash of jealousy jabbing at your heart at the notion Terry would call any other woman pretty, no matter how pretty she actually was. Were you envious? This wasn’t the time to be envious. This was the time to be scared shitless. Your fingers stiffen and the folder you thought would make such a vast difference slips out of your hand and onto the floor beside your quivering feet, landing somewhere underneath the desk. At that point, you felt your vision blur and tears unwittingly flood your eyesight, flowing down the edge of your cheeks. The look Terry gives you seems oddly tender then, through the haze. Somehow fatherly. Like he was genuinely trying to understand how you scraped your knee due to your own negligence. You felt like a lost child. Vulnerable. Jittery. Wordlessly pleading forgiveness. -"What?"- He asks again, words barely above a whisper and you shrug through shivering sobs, ineptly, having no response for him as his eyes searched your face even as you tried to look at everything but directly at him regardless of the fact he was inches away, bending forward, towards you, to catch your gaze by force. Ultimately, his finger props itself underneath your chin, hoisting your stare towards him. -"Betraying someone who wined you, dined you, let you inside of his home, fucked you in his own bed — is that it?"- A seductive sheen flashes over his face and his wrinkles and you try to scoot away, as far as the wall and the desk allowed you to go from the way he beamed at you, the statement making you feel lower than ever before. This was a relationship and you trampled over it. You shattered his trust. That was the point right from the get go. Didn’t make it feel any less difficult, though. Suddenly, what the dread in your gut has been anticipating all along happens and he reaches forward, grabbing your hair, fingers tangling in the strands and dragging you forward towards him with all the violence contained in his eyes.

You yelp.

You knew everything so far was merely the calm before the storm and you were partially paralyzed, too afraid to move lest you trigger it into motion prematurely.

-"You broke the basic rules of hospitality! The two F’s! Fidelity towards your host’s privacy and enough formality not to crap all over their belongings!"-

Terry’s jaw tightens dangerously and he practically spits his words as you squint your eyes shut, desperately — as more of a feeble, last-resort self-defense mechanism rather than anything else — not daring to look at his expression up close in that moment, your own arm reaching forward and digging its nails into his skin by instinct, trying to alleviate whatever pressure he was placing there, hopefully avoiding your scalp getting ripped out of its roots, your lids only bolting open by accident, once you felt the rough, course texture of a wet, hot something dragged along the surface of your cheek followed by a gush of searing breath and the scent of saliva only to realize Terry was licking away your tears, angry chuckles lining the rhythm of what he was saying. -"What you get is the third, decisive F; the fatality of thinking I should be screwed around with."- He hisses and you spot the edge of uncharacteristic desperation in him, eyes appearing bloodshot, cold, wild, enraged and there and then — you’re dragged by the hair, stumbling behind him in wide strides on the corridor outside of his study, groaning at the sudden onslaught of pain. You knew then, the only reason he was telling you all of this was so you’d understand how profoundly you fucked up. So he’d relish your fear. Your pain. Your terror. Your stare bolts up. The cameras were off. The red blinking dot on the side of the device nowhere to be seen anymore. That could’ve easily meant that the exists have long since been shut off. The entrances. The gates. The whole dojo estate under lockdown. Security undoubtedly on the gates. There was no way in. No way out. You were effectively trapped, hauled forward towards your own doom, hyperventilating, digging in your feet against the sleek black tiles, hoping it’ll slow him down, only for Terry to yank your hair forward even harder, until you cried out and your voice echoed across the empty hallway, going entirely unheard. Deep down, you knew what he said was correct; you were risking your life out here while everyone else was safe and sound. The Larusso’s were probably having a meal by now, judging by the hour, Chozen Toguchi in tow, gathered together in the family dinning room over some homemade Lasagna. You could see them all so clearly it made you ache. How none of them were here now to save you, but even if they were, could they really?

Would they?

-"You know what happened to John Kreese!?"-

Terry simmers, looking ahead, sauntering down the foyer, pulling you along.

You knew, of course you knew. You didn’t walk into this situation entirely ignorant.

The fact that topic was brought up now only served to push the fear of God into your very bones.

-"And I knew that man for half a century!"-

Terry yells, so suddenly, it practically makes you jump even while restrained like this.

-"Loved that man for half a century!"-

He continues, wrathful, burning eyes fixated straight ahead in determination as he marched.

-"Owed my life to him for half a century! Longer than you've been alive!"-

There’s a growl of finality when he finally reaches a large, dark door, enraged as he pulled the metal knob, practically shoving you inside and all you’re met with is darkness. Somehow, momentarily, it’s more welcoming than the artificial sharp halogen lights of the dojo or his twisted sneer; it’s a short lived mercy as the neon pipes overhead flicker up and you hear the thud of a door closing somewhere in the pitch blackness, all sound losing its echo. Once the sound padded abyss clears, Terry stands in front of a sealed entrance of an otherwise empty chamber, sauntering forward like an Eldritch horror, all long limbs clad in black and an an icy sneer. His index finger pointing at you. Accusing vigorously. A single strand of hair falling loose from his ponytail, settling disheveled on his forehead. -"If I did what I did to him, what do you think I’ll do to some six month long two-bit trick!?"- He growls, appearing genuinely disgusted and you fold your hands over your chest. That hurt. That really hurt. So much so you could feel it vibrating inside of you, even though you felt you shouldn’t have been surprised. Those words. You did this because…well…because you were judged, in actuality. The pressure of you being with someone so much older. The criticism. The looks. The fact you knew you were talked about and that you couldn’t help but be bothered everyone viewed your association with Silver as a negative; something to be commented upon. Amanda Larusso asking what you had to gain out of the arrangement like you were someone who’s company was paid for. Like you were no better than a rich man's whore. The guilt you felt over it. The anger at yourself that you were viewed this way even though your connection wasn’t monetary. That you weren’t seen as an equal and probably never would be. You rushed to prove yourself. To prove your substance to people who had no right to demand you prove a thing, only to end up being encouraged to do something you shouldn’t have done and make an enemy out of someone you knew very well was powerful enough to destroy you. You sink to your knees in desperation. You had no way to take any of it back and fuck knows what he was going to do to you now because of it. You cry out, utterly crestfallen. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, self-sabotaging, overly complicated, insecure idiot. That’s what you were. -"Please! No!" - Was there ever going to be any mercy given, though? He had no mercy. Not towards enemies. He had no mercy towards friends either according to his own story. Not when he was crossed. And you did more than just cross him, you knew. You shat over months spent together so you could get the approval of individuals you were certain didn’t even like you all that much.

Least of all, Terry himself.

-"Now, here’s the agenda; you’re never leaving this place."-

He approaches, towering over you and you scoot back, hugging your knees to your chest defensively.

The one feeble wall between you and him.

His eyes pink and red. Why did it look like he was on the verge of tears himself?

You’re too stunned to speak.

Did...did this whole thing hurt him too? Emotionally, that is?

The heartbreak type of hurt?

You wanted to cry out for him. Instead of him.

-"Of course they’ll come looking for you, your supposed friends, but not because they give a crap about you. They’ll try to use your disappearance as a proof against me, but it’ll only end up biting them in the ass."-

He chuckles coldly, his jaw shaking as he spoke, looking down at you, practically shivering with wrath. He somehow seemed just as upset as you were, if not more, yet simultaneously sharp and unyielding enough to split atoms. -"If they say it’s suspicious that you entered my property and never left, I’ll simply ask how they know the whereabouts of my estate and social circle in the first place."- He makes yet another step towards you, until his legs loom above you, like an archway, causing you scoot even further into the vast emptiness of what seemed like the entrance of a pristine, minimalist cellar. Clean. Antiseptic. Windowless. No way out but in front of you, barred by his body, undoubtedly automatically locked. Terry Silver, always a proponent of the state of the art high tech. -"If they keep pushing it, they’ll just give themselves away and eventually open their mouths about the fact they’ve sent you here deliberately to endanger my privacy, that’ll only serve as proof of illegal entry and the conspiracy to spy."- He gives you a sudden grin, self-content, smug, but still reeling with rage. You were certain that however this situation was twisted and turned, he’d come out on top and that you screwed up, royally, ironically, risking the most and paying the steepest price for it. You were lucky if he didn’t kill you here and now, and God, all things considered, it would’ve been piety in the vastly creative line-up all the things you knew he was capable of and yet had no direct proof of. He cocks his head to the side, his mouth appearing fleshier than ever, hungry, oddly snake like, curved upwards. -"And you know what we used to do to spies during the war?"- He inquires, practically purring and you want to beg. You want to beg so badly. Just kill me, you desired to plead. Just kill me and collect your moral payback and revenge that way, but please, please, please, don’t martyr me.

-"They were making fun of me, Terry, please, understand."-

The truth suddenly slips out, unbidden, ugly, raw, uncomfortable and vulnerable.

And those words are gone, set loose, escaping across the threshold of your mouth before you can push them back inside and swallow them whole.

You liked Terry, but didn’t feel comfortable being viewed as merely someone’s arm candy. As someone’s attractive sidepiece. As someone sponsored by a man decades your senior. Correction being; it never crossed your mind to be genuinely bothered by anything until someone else pointed it out and the seed they planted germinated until you found yourself revolting, ready to do something truly suicidal purely so you’d be seen as more than what you were assigned from the point of view of others. It was revolting, really; agreeing to spy on the man you were seeing just on the off chance you’d be considered more than an expensive kept woman. A sugar baby. Now, here you were, thrown down on the basement floor, hugging your own torso for comfort and digging your teeth into your lower lip, looking up at him with the most apologetic look you could muster. Forgive me, it was meant to say. The stare you get back from him is harrowing. His fingers reach forward, grasping at both sides of your cheeks, pressing down on the tender flesh there, mushing your face beneath his thumbs until your lips pop, forcibly puckered. -"And you wimped out and collapsed under the slightest bit of peer pressure from people who aren’t even your peers."- He squeezes your face, gloating, hindering your ability to speak properly without muttering, humiliation burning through you like a searing haze. He was right. He was so right about everything, albeit, a little too content compared to his ire from a moment ago. Like he actually rather relished the development of this situation now that impressions finally settled in. You weren’t certain if you preferred him angry in this context, or seemingly happy. You weren’t certain what daunted you more, even more so when his index and middle finger pushed past your lips, grabbing the tip of your tongue, pulling at it with a pillar of saliva trickling down your chin as you groaned in pain, your neck moving forward, following the route he was dragging you towards. This was pure sadism for sadism’ sake. Nothing more. You eyes dart down, catching his other free hand tinkering with the buckle of his belt, the metallic clamor of the sound ringing out like the bells of doom.

Somewhere in the back of your head, fear and desire clash.

-"Well, down here, nobody’s gonna see. Nobody’s gonna know. Nobody makes the rules of convention but me. And I can have you all to myself."-

Terry’s brow shoots up, seeming self content. Triumphant.

His fingers digging into the tent in his trousers and his fist squeezing around the hard cock he pulled out his pants, facing you, thighs spread and zipper down. What was he going to do? Was he just going to keep you down here? For how long!? Was it so he could just abuse your flesh in retaliation for what he caught you doing? Make you disappear that way? Ensure you’re never seen, never heard from again? Panic settles in slowly, way too slowly, torturously so, washing over you like an arctic breeze from afar. Your first instinct was to call for help, but you knew then, help wouldn’t come. There was nobody to help you. He beams down on you, gleefully, almost like he could read the train of your thoughts once your fingers hooked themselves into the antiseptic, minimalistic black wall-to-wall carpet beneath you, hooking your nails into the threads, bracing yourself.

-"You were afraid of being seen as a mindless whore, but if the shoe fits —"-

He coos, cocking his head, bringing his tip to the precipice of your mouth.

Pushing.

Not asking whether you wanted to receive it.

-"Then it’s best to wear it."-

He adds, almost purring, eyes burning into you as your lips part, causing you to groan, embarrassed.

Saliva, right there, on your tongue, hot, anguished, ready to trickle down your chin.

He was going to fuck you, and fuck you and fuck you, but you knew, even know —

Beforehand, there would be degradation. There would be humiliation.

Discipline.

-"Only lubrication you’ll get, so make it count. There will be pain."-

He warns, once he catches your hesitation in making his cock wet, kneeling on the rug, paralyzed.

And yes, the pain. How could you forget the pain.

Perhaps, if you bit down on his dick now it would make him so infuriated he’d just finish you off on the spot.

You consider it.

You’re not sure what stops you. Perhaps it’s what he uttered then.

-"But, you’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?"-

He taunts, tilting his face to the side and the deep abiding shame burns its way into your skull, settling down there, like a plague. -"Yes."- You muster. You felt you deserved this. Deserved it for getting caught so stupidly. Deserved it for not being confident enough. Faltering under other's people judgement. For being bothered with they thought and said about you. For betraying someone in the hopes you'd impress someone else. For thinking that if you backstab Terry Silver, you'd be respected more by some vague margin, when truthfully, could a traitor ever really be respected even if it's an objectively bad person they're doing it to? Did you really think Amanda and Daniel would pat you on the back and be your friends and sleep soundly with you around and never think that if you could do this to the man you were dating, you'd never do it to them in some other shape, way or form? A tear slides down your cheeks. You did this all for nothing. Terry grabs your jaw to get your attention. -"I can’t hear you! Louder! With conviction!"- He seethes, holding his length in his hand, practically slapping you with it, the precum leaking from his tip leaving a wet patch on your cheeks intermingled with your tears. -"Yes, I am!"- You huff, squeezing your eyes shut. It was too embarrassing. Too embarrassing. Too embarrassing. -"You’re a what!? Extended sentences!"- He demands, the subjective impression given that his nails were digging holes into the sides of your face with the ferocity of his grip on you. You were certain the bruises would show, in so many patterns. You shriek. -"I’m a glutton for punishment!"- The words come out, peddled forward by pain. -"And are you anything more than my robot!? Mind, body and soul!?"- He asks, verbally tenderizing the most hidden, sensitive part of you. The part of you that led you to do all of this in the first place. The want to be independent. Strong. Someone with agency. More than just eye candy. Someone's lover. Someone's company. You cared for him, you did, but you needed to be a little more than that. If you wanted to stay sane, it was a requirement. -"It’s too much. That’s too much. Don’t."- You plead, desperately shaking your head as far as his fingers holding you allowed you and then he gives you that stare. That unblinking, cold stare. Devoid of all light. All warmth. All understanding. You falter, like you always did.

-"I’m no more than your robot."-

You capitulate, wantonly, willingly and it was disgusting.

Disgusting how liberatingly it instantly felt.

To acknowledge you were his.

His lover, his whore, his hole, his heart, his everything.

You weren't cut out to be a spy. One for subterfuge. Double crossing. Relaying secrets to a third party. You were cut out to be the warm, soft someone he returns to and that was it. A boudoir kitten. Soft satin beds. His embrace. Made for his lips and his lips alone. You gulp as the realization settles in as hard and as heavy as a rock, both punishing with shame and freeing you of all bonds. You were fighting against the certainty of the incoming tide when there was no point so fiercely combating your own nature. -"Mind, body and soul, Terry."- You asses, gulping hard, practically hiccupping with an onslaught of raggedy breathing. Whore, whore, whore, your subconsciousness struggles. You're a whore, it calls out. -"The correct title’s sir."- Terry reminds casually, letting your jaw go, causing you to goddamn nearly tumble back, sprawled across the carpet. Your hand instantly takes to massaging the sore his grip left behind. He advances, cock in hand. Fear and desire clash. -"Sir. Please."- You drawl once he's close enough to smell; all salt and heavy musk. -"Say 'Aah'"- He teases and you do something on instinct, because every atom of willpower in you spasms at once from conflicting sides, hot and cold meeting, bidding you to obey; you open your mouth and your tongue unfurls, receiving his cock, your gut saying yes and every bit of logic and sense still present in your brain telling you no, tears streaming and dripping down your face unbidden, almost like they were mourning you and the fact how much you ached right now. How dubious and messed up this all was, yet how much you were here, on the floor, kneeling and sucking dick like everything you so fiercely avoided being seen as. Terry didn't seem to mind your reaction one bit, though. In fact, he encouraged it. God, if Amanda could see you now. If Daniel could. If Chozen could. How disappointed they'd be? They'd all nod in unison and probably think to themselves they were fools to ever believe you could amount to anything more. But, did you want to, though? That was the question? Did you want to be anything more than Terry's? Did you really? -"Go ahead. Cry."- He coos, patting your head with a sense of encouragement that has you longing, his voice emanating a deep rumble once he's inside of you and you moan on instinct, letting him settle around your lips. Funny that. How you were fighting this so hard just a moment ago.

Well, at least one part of you still was, soldiering on.

Holding unto sanity by a thin, loose thread.

Eyes still hazy with crying.

-"It’s all junk anyway. Weakness purged. The type of bullshit that led you to crap over me the way you did! Playing at independence like a kid plays with a toy castle."-

His voice hits your ears like velvet.

With a filled, muffled mouth, you nod, opening your eyes.

Looking up at him.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sweetie.

His hand caresses your wet cheek as your head bobbed back and forth.

You groan into the gentleness of the contact.

-"We’ll have all the time in the world to train those tear ducts down here. Get rid of excess junk."-

Terry firmly believed weakness manifests itself through emotional reactions sometimes; crying, screaming, bleeding, sweating, pain, even cumming after sex. That this was the body's way of getting rid of things, by effectively self-cleaning --- a process that very well should've been embraced, if not encouraged. He told you this once and explained it elaborately over a candle-lit dinner and it remained embedded in your memory ever since --- and told you again now, smiling at you, like he was pleased by something unfathomable; you shiver, your imagination momentarily not being developed enough to even conceive of what'll happen to you down here. What are all the ways he'll seek to purge you, as he so delightfully put it. But, you supposed you were both far past being coy, and that you were in deep enough shit as it was, so when he pulls back, his length plopping out of your mouth with a moist popping sound, leaving a trickling droplet of spit to leak down your chin, almost like he predicting you'd ask, catching your breath, in a rare flash of bravado, you do just that.

-"What are you going to do to me!?"-

-"Turn you into meat."-

He explains with a blissed out chuckle. You freeze up in primordial dread.

Your cunt itching for him.

His hands lift you then, almost in a loving gesture. Loving. Yes, loving.

Causing you to slump against him once he grabs hold of your face.

Forcing you to look at him. Really look at him.

-"And then? I'm going to perfect you because you're mine to do with as I like."-

[girlactionfigure]

When I was in Germany, I traveled outside of Berlin to meet some Palestinian friends who were part of the diaspora community in the country. I hung out with several individuals from Gaza or who have family in the Strip and are part of a network of individuals and organizations that are pro-Palestine. I had extremely intense conversations with these folks, some of whom listened and agreed, some of whom strongly disagreed, some of whom were confused by what I was saying, some who agreed but didn’t see a path forward, and some who literally threatened to beat me up if I didn’t stop talking. Here's what I got out of those conversations:

1. Hamas’s resistance narrative is widely accepted and embraced by large segments of the Palestinian diaspora community, particularly those who are less integrated into the nations in which they live, especially if their environment is mainly made up of other Palestinians, aka echo chambers.

2. Intense emotions and feelings dominate the discourse and how people view the war, Israel, Hamas, the conflict, and any discussions of responsibility and a path forward. Trauma, sadness, anger, and feelings of sheer injustice control the way people see what’s happening, October 7, claims and counterclaims, and competing narratives.

3. Opposition to Hamas, and my views and sentiments were instantly associated with treachery, weakness, cowardice, and embracing “Zionist lies and propaganda.” Undeterred, I argued that not only is opposition to Hamas necessary, courageous, critical, and inseparable from opposition to Israeli occupation and injustices, but that we are in this mess partly due to our complicit silence and acquiescence to Hamas’s Islamist propaganda and destructive narratives that harmed the Palestinians more than any Zionist could ever dream of doing.

4. Misinformation about so many incidents and occurrences is rampant. This is particularly the case when it comes to boycotting things like Starbucks, Coke products, McDonald’s, and hundreds of other goods. The list of “forbidden” things is so huge and contains the most ridiculous of items, such as KitKat, hot sauce, and innocuous consumer products, all because they are perceived as directly supporting Israel, the war, or the IDF. When challenged about the accuracy of their information, almost no one wanted to hear about the futility of these boycotts and their nonexistent impact on the war and broader Israel and Palestine discourse.

5. Some were incredibly furious at me for challenging the “martyrdom” narrative, and one person threatened me with physical violence if I didn’t stop maligning martyrdom. Of course, I didn’t back down and proceeded to rationally challenge this idea of Gazans killed in the war after October 7 being martyrs with a ticket straight to heaven and that this is Islamist propaganda and brainwashing that’s getting us nowhere. I said that my family was killed for nothing and that most Gazans who lost their lives would have chosen life over being killed so that Hamas could maintain its corrupt and despicable rule over the coastal enclave.

6. A pro-resistance man surprisingly agreed with me when I told him that Hamas prevented civilians from evacuating Gaza’s north early in the war and didn’t want people to leave, a ruthless decision that caused unnecessary loss of life. This is something that many Western fools refuse to acknowledge: Hamas wanted Gazans to stay put so that they could be used as human shields by the group and frustrate the Israeli military’s operations by causing maximum civilian casualties.

7. Several agreed with me that Hamas is only interested in maintaining power, but in the absence of alternatives, they didn’t see anything wrong with this. When I kept saying that Hamas’s continued rule in Gaza means endless wars and more death & destruction, none seemed to have any meaningful responses beyond some mumbles and incoherent rants.

8. The military occupation of the West Bank and settlement expansion kept coming up over and over. Whenever I pushed on Hamas, taking responsibility, having to accept Israel’s existence & continued existence, embracing and rebranding peace, rejecting violence, what’s happening in the West Bank kept coming up. Folks didn’t see Gaza in isolation, but as part of a broader issue/conflict/problem that can’t be compartmentalized. “If Gaza were peaceful, stable, and developed,” argued one man, “the West Bank will still be occupied,” which, in his mind, necessitates Hamas’s “resistance.”

9. This is my own assessment and inference, but I truly strongly felt that support for Hamas was primarily driven by the lack of alternatives and the binary nature of everything related to the conflict: Fatah VS. Hamas; Israel VS. Palestine; Armed resistance VS. diplomacy and nonviolence; us VS. them; kill VS. be killed; Palestinian narrative VS. Jewish narrative. In other words, there was almost little to no ability to hold multiple truths, approach the issue with nuance and rational balance, and an entrenched belief that one truth must inherently be mutually exclusive and must by default cancel out the other. When engaged, however, some were willing to think differently.

10. There was clearly a high degree of conformity when people were together versus when I engaged individuals one-on-one. In other words, group settings made for largely unproductive and hostile discussions, while individual conversations were much more likely to be productive and change people’s minds and thinking. This is consistent with the universal trend that individuals are smart, groups are dumb; people are afraid to say what they really believe and think in front of others but are much more likely to speak their minds when anonymous, alone, or away from the “community’s ears and eyes” as one gentleman put it.

In summary, my conversations were difficult and quite depressing in some regards. However, these same unpleasant and discouraging conversations actually gave me hope that with respectful, patient, persistent, rational, calm, evidence-based, and analytical/non-emotional engagements and outreach, meaningful seeds can be planted to change hearts and minds and begin the 1000-mile journey towards political transformation and the arduous effort to rebrand peace and coexistence as a necessary evolution to preserve the Palestinian people on their lands and forge a different path forward.

[zoeykallus]

Hey I really like your writing and wanted to ask you if you could write about the batch, Howzer and Rex when the reader learns for there finals and doesn’t have much time for there clone boyfriend but cooks them a romantic dinner

Aloha!

Let me see what I can do for you 😊

The Bad Batch/Howzer/Rex x Reader HCs - Make Up For Lost Time

Mostly Fluff/Slightly Suggestive

______________

The finals keep you in a tight grip for a long time, pure stress consisting of studying, writing exams and hours of preparation for those very finals. You hardly see your beloved clone anymore, you have neglected him very much, inevitably.

A romantic dinner, prepared with love, should be a small consolation.

______________

Howzer

"When you called me yesterday I almost didn't believe it, then when you invited me to dinner today I thought I was dreaming at first," Howzer says with a smile, standing in your doorway in his dress uniform.

You smile at him, he's looking gorgeous as ever.

"I know I haven't had much time for you lately, but that will change soon," you assure him.

You let him enter and, being quite the gentleman as always, he wipes his shoes on the mat in front of the door first. He enters, kisses the corner of your mouth gently, and pulls a bouquet of flowers in your favorite color from behind his back.

Howzer is observant, noting such things as favorite colors, songs, dishes, and so on.

He lets you lead him to the dining room table, sits down and watches you put the flowers in a vase, next to him on the windowsill.

The table is beautifully set, your best tablecloth, your best china, candlelight. The light in the room moodily dimmed.

"You're a little early, but dinner will be ready soon," you say, disappearing into the kitchen.

You're so busy tasting, setting the stove and oven to the right temperature, and re-seasoning that you don't hear him come into the kitchen behind you. You let out a startled cry as his hands gently, but surprisingly, come to rest on your hips.

Howzer laughs softly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you".

He kisses your neck, wraps his arms around you and looks over your shoulder.

"That looks good, and it smells amazing" he says softly.

You say with a soft sigh, "Now if it tastes like it smells, it should be perfect."

When you're done, Howzer insists on helping you apply it, not taking no for an answer. He scurries around you, taking things from you to bring to the dining table himself, stealing a little kiss as he passes.

On the one hand he steals your nerves with it, on the other hand he is so adorably affectionate and tender that you have to smile again and again and can't be angry with him.

Rex

He appears on time, as always, to the second. He has appeared in his dress uniform, he knows that you have a weakness for him in this outfit. Of course, he comes with flowers, chocolates and a bottle of wine. Rex never shows up at your door empty-handed.

The kiss he steals from you at the greeting is very tender, but also very sensual and, above all, long. You stand there in your open apartment door for a full five minutes before you finally make your way inside your apartment.

As always, your heart beats faster when he is near you. You are so in love with this man, his closeness and attention give you wings. Rex is quite a wonderful gentleman. Decent, but also sensual.

Again and again your eyes meet over the dinner table in the candlelight. The food is great, you've outdone yourself, and Rex lets you know it. He savors every bite as if it were a gift from the gods. For someone who subsists almost exclusively on protein bars and military rations, this meal is probably some sort of divine offering.

"The food is almost as good as you are beautiful, almost," he says with a smile.

You laugh softly, pleased with his reaction, and say, "Wait for dessert."

His smirk gets a little perkier, "Dessert? I thought that was you?"

You roll your eyes and grin.

"Maybe later, but I made dessert too," you say, affectionately reprimanding him.

He smiles back, but sighs softly as he says, "I can't wait for your finals to be over, you probably are too. I know this time has stressed you out a lot. I miss you. I mean, between my job alone, we don't see each other very often, now even less. It's almost unbearable."

You reach across the table for his hand, and he gently clasps it with his.

"I know, Rex, I feel the same way. But I can't let myself get distracted, that's important"

He nods.

"Of course, I know that. That's why I never complained"

You smile at him gratefully. Rex really never pressured you, quite the opposite. He supported you in your every decision and action as best he could.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it gently. With a little twinkle in his eye, he asks in a smoky voice, "Now what about dessert, my dear?"

Hunter

For him, you have thought of something special. A picnic outdoors. You rented the roof terrace of your apartment building for the whole evening. You've spread out a blanket on the lawn and set up garden torches. Everything should be atmospheric, romantic, relaxed.

Your picnic basket is full of delicious things that you have made yourself, hearty but also sweet, and of course drinks.

Hand in hand, you come to the roof terrace, and you see with satisfaction the bright smile on Hunter's face when he discovers what you have prepared.

"Sweetie, this is wonderful."

You lead him to the blanket and sit down with him. The torches cast romantic, flickering light on the scenery as you enjoy the meal you've prepared.

"You've outdone yourself," he says as he takes a bite with relish.

Your heart beats faster, you are so happy that he likes it. With pride, you wear the bracelet he gave you. A leather strap with filigree figurines made of Nabooian cedar, which he carved himself. You will proudly show it to your fellow students when you have to go back to university.

You have been envied many a time for having Hunter at your side. He's attentive, eye-catching, decent. He's so much more mature and decent than most of the guys your friends go out with.

Hunter makes you happy, very much so, and with this dinner you want to show it to him and also return the favor, for his patience, because you've been so busy and barely had time for him these past few weeks.

You end up feeding each other dessert. Of course, Hunter doesn't miss the chance to kiss you and gently lick the chocolate from the chocolate fruit at the corner of your mouth.

He smiles at you. Hunter knows exactly that you are under his spell.

Echo

He is very much looking forward to this meeting. It's been far too long since you've seen each other face to face. He shows up at your door with flowers and a little figurine, hand-blown from glass, your favorite animal. When he passed by a stall and saw the figurine, he couldn't resist, immediately thought of you. He tied a very small, delicate bow around the neck of the figurine.

"How pretty," you say dreamily, "That's very thoughtful of you."

Echo beams at you, "I immediately thought of you when I saw it. But what have you prepared?"

His eyes roam over the set dining table.

"This looks fantastic," he says, smiling at you.

"A little compensation for me having so little time for you," you say, lighting the candle on the table.

Echo beams.

"Surely that wasn't necessary"

"Yes, it is. I've been so busy these past few weeks, we've hardly seen each other. I was starting to feel guilty" you say apologetically.

Echo laughs softly and reaches for your hand.

"My dear, I know you have important things to do. I missed you very much, but I didn't feel neglected. You don't owe me anything. This was important, for your life, your future, I would never be offended by it".

Echo is so incredibly considerate and understanding, a real godsend to you.

You look at him gratefully and say, "You are absolutely wonderful, Echo. I've missed you so much."

He kisses your hand and says with a dreamy smile, "I missed you too. But now I'm curious, let me taste what you've conjured up there."

Wrecker

He stands in front of your door, with a bouquet of flowers and a bag of chocolate fruits in his hands. Wrecker beams at you as you open the door.

"Hi sweetie! I missed you!… Oh maker, what smells so good in here?"

You laugh and say, "The food I cooked for us, I told you I was making us a romantic dinner."

He grins at you.

"Perfect! I'm hungry as an animal"

He basically always is.

You grin back, let him in and accept the gifts he brought. The flowers are your favorite, in your favorite color, of course, Wrecker wouldn't just get any bouquet for you. He knows you, he knows what you like.

"How sweet of you"

Wrecker kisses your cheek, your forehead, your nose and your mouth.

"Missed you" he says, sighing in relief as if your absence has caused him real pain.

" I missed you too, big guy."

You put the flowers in a vase and place them near the nicely set dining table. Wrecker wants to help you dish up the food, but you insist that he sit down and be served.

"You spoil me, beautiful."

You say softly, laughing, "That's exactly the purpose of tonight."

Wrecker enjoys, holds back a little, he doesn't stuff as fast, but he still eats plenty. Pleased, you see the satisfied, enjoyable expression on his face.

"That was fantastic" he says as you finish "Exceptional".

You smile happily and say, "I hope you left room for dessert"

His eyes get big, dessert is his favorite part of the meal.

"Hit me!" he says happily, rubbing his hands together.

Of course, he still has room for dessert.

Tech

"Maybe you should unwrap the present after dinner, we don't want your lovingly prepared meal to get cold," he suggests.

You agree with him. Tech enjoys the meal so much that for once he doesn't talk and explain as much as usual. You can see how much he enjoys this special meal with you. Every bite is enjoyed with all senses. He smells it with relish every now and then. The sauce seems to have done it to him particularly, he takes again and again a small addition of it.

When you are finished he says, "My beloved, this is by far the best food I have ever eaten, and I have already dined in the royal house of Naboo."

You beam happily at him.

"You're not just saying that to please me, are you?"

Tech shifts his goggles, looks at you seriously and says, "You know me, I don't lie, even in cases like this"

You laugh softly, remembering that of course he's right, if he hadn't liked the food, he would have told you that rather bluntly. You breathe a sigh of relief, pleased with yourself and how the evening has gone so far.

He picks up the package again and presses it into your hands. He looks a little nervous, like he's on hot coals.

"Unwrap your present," he says softly but with gentle emphasis.

You do as you are told and finally have a small device in your hands, a cube with a projector lens and a few buttons. You have no idea what it's supposed to be.

Tech smirks.

"Let me show you and explain what this is," he says, gently taking the device from your hands and walking to the closest of one of your living room walls.

He sets the device down on the floor and says, "You keep saying you're missing decorations, like just this one big bare wall here."

You blink thoughtfully, but nod in agreement.

"I built this projector with the latest technology. It can project lifelike images on your wall, or on several walls if needed. You can, for example, create the illusion that you are in the Jungle, or in the old city of Naboo. I have already saved a few dozen projections on it, but there is still room for more, should you have any wishes.

He presses a button and projects a familiar place onto your walls. You are surrounded by wildflower bushes, trees in full bloom, and gently swaying grass.

"Tech, I know this place"

He smiles, and you see his cheeks blush a little.

You say with a certain undertone, "That's the grove on this moon where we first made love."

He nods and says quietly, "Yes. I went back there to take those pictures, so I could save them for you".

You smirk and look at him.

"This is a great gift Tech. Now we can make love in my living room as if we were back there on that moon"

Tech's cheeks get even more flushed.

"We could, indeed" he confirms.

Crosshair

He's five minutes late, and he's annoyed about it.

"Sorry, Kitten, traffic was terrible. Some idiot managed to block two lanes with his transporter, I had to take a detour"

"It's okay, dinner just got ready, you're just in time" you say, kissing his chin.

He smirks, holds out a long-stemmed single rose to you and a bottle of excellent Nabooian wine, then kisses your forehead.

"Missed you," you say softly.

"I missed you too," he hums into your hair as he kisses the top of your head.

Finally, he sniffs the air and says, "Smells good in here, did you exaggerate cooking again?"

You laugh and lead him into the apartment.

"Of course I did," you say amused, "You know me."

He smirks, "Good thing I came here hungry."

"I should hope so too"

You dish up the food, on the beautifully set table with your best china.

"Fancy" he says with a grin.

Crosshair is a very picky eater. But by now you know him and his preferences well enough, and he likes you enough to try something new now and then when you cook something new. Today, the two flow together beautifully. He likes the food, a lot, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Of course, he notices.

"Relax, the food is great," he says with a smirk.

The two of you enjoy the meal, swap stories a bit, tell each other what's new. Crosshair, as always, has a funny story or two about his brothers.

After the meal, you go out to your balcony with the good wine that Crosshair has brought with him, sit down on the big wooden swing between the thousands of potted plants that make your balcony a cozy little jungle.

Crosshair puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. You toast with your wine glasses.

"To us, and to having more time together soon," you say dreamily.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@starwarsnerd111

[theladycarpathia]

@hellcheeranniversaryweek Day Six - Stardust

He’d never have found her if their van hadn’t broken down on the way back from a gig. 

They were still several miles outside of Hawkins when the van started sputtering. By the time they’d pulled over to the side of the road, it was spewing black smoke. They’d all piled out and opened up the hood. An hour later, they’re still waiting there and not a single car has come by. The van keeps making choking noises every time they turn the ignition and as the hour ticks on later and later Eddie has to think of a plan B. 

“There was a garage about a mile back,” Eddie says, defeated. He’d thought that things had been looking up but there’s no way they can book any more gigs if they don’t have a van to transport their equipment. They can’t afford another one, not even if they pool their resources so they have to fix this one - or all of their dreams are dead in the water. 

“Give me a torch and I’ll walk it,” Eddie says. “You guys stay here, keep working.”

“You gonna be okay?” Jeff asks, his cheek smeared with grease. “You’re the best at this stuff.” Eddie just shrugs. 

“I’ve tried what i can,” he admits, because it’s been over an hour and the van still refuses to move. “If we can get it back to Hawkins, Wayne might be able to fix it.”

Grant tosses him a torch from the glove compartment and Eddie flicks it on and off. He’s not great at remembering to change the batteries. 

“If I’m not back in an hour, presume I’ve been eaten,” he quips, because it’s a dark empty road and he’s seen enough horror movies to know how this goes. 

But his bandmates merely salute him and Eddie sets off down the road. 

It’s dark and along these solitary back roads late at night, the only light comes from Eddie’s torch and the pale glow of the moon overhead. It’s a surprisingly clear night and Eddie takes a moment to appreciate the stars scattered across the dark sky. He so rarely gets to see them like this. 

“Star light, star bright,” Eddie mumbles to himself, suddenly struck by a rhyme his mother used to say to him when she was alive. When she’d died he’d stopped wishing on stars. There didn’t seem to be any point when wishing didn’t save her. 

“I wish I may,” Eddie continues, trying to remember the rest of it. It’s been over a decade but it comes back to him in a strange haze - the smell of patchouli and lemon soap, watching her fingers trace out stars in the sky. 

He misses her. Some days he doesn’t let himself feel it and he feels guilty about that. But if he let it all in, he’d drown under it. She was meant to be here, meant to see him make it big.

If they ever fix the van and actually get famous, that is. 

The light streaking across the sky catches him off guard. For a second it’s so bright, he thinks that there’s a car coming down the road but then he twists and finds the sky lit up. 

He flinches, because whatever it is is arching low over the ground, far lower than it should be. He can almost feel the heat as it passes by and he ducks to the floor, heart pounding. But it keeps soaring overhead, passing by the line of trees to the right of the road. 

Eddie feels the impact when it lands, the force of it throwing him off balance. The torch flies from his hand and he hears it roll away over the tarmac. He lands heavily on one knee and just about manages to stop himself from going all of the way down. He still catches his wrist at a funny angle and the pain makes him wince. 

And then the night is quiet again and Eddie holds himself very still, heart pounding. He has no idea what just happened but the smaller trees are all flattened, branches broken and splintered by the force of the impact. It could have been anything that suddenly came down like that and while the rational part of him knows that it must be something completely logical - a plane making a crash landing - in the dark and the quiet, his mind immediately finds some terrifying and strange possibilities. 

He’s seen films like this. Aliens falling from the sky. Radioactive material from UFOs. Something about to come out from the trees to eat him. 

But time ticks on, and nothing moves, and nothing glows from between the trees. 

Eddie pushes himself up hesitantly, groaning a little when his knee and wrist twinge in complaint. He finds the torch in the verge, surprisingly still functioning and he shines it towards the devastation. 

“I cannot seriously be thinking about doing this,” Eddie mutters, because the band are waiting for him to get help and this is a surefire way to get killed in any horror movie. 

But for some reason he steps off the road and slides down the grass. 

It’s slow going, crossing all of the fallen trees and debris. It’s also further away than he thought and he keeps thinking that he’s made a mistake. That he should give up and go back, and actually get to the gas station like he promised. 

But something in his chest keeps him moving forward, one foot in front of the other. 

He’s exhausted by the time he gets to the crater, with several scratches down his arms and face. He’d pushed through several bushes to reach the mouth of the crater and he had to flinch, because that same light was coming from the center of it, startling and painfully bright. 

But then the light begins to fade and Eddie lowers the arm he’d hastily thrown up to shield his face. 

The next second, he’s skidding down the crater, nearly falling over head first. 

“Miss!” he calls, because the girl lying on the ground looks unconscious. “Miss, can you hear me?”

But she doesn’t answer and finally he’s on even ground and racing across to her. She’s curled up in a small ball on her side and Eddie can’t see her face - just mounds of red-blonde hair falling down her shoulders. 

“Miss?” Eddie asks hesitantly, because she’s lying there in a shimmery blue gown, nothing on her feet, no purse, no sign of anything. He shines the torch around but there’s nothing - no footprints, no trail, no sign at all that she’s climbed down here like he has. 

Suddenly she groans and twists over, hair spilling across the ground. 

“Miss?” Eddie says anxiously and then doesn’t think of anything else because she’s opening impossibly blue eyes at him. 

For a moment they stare at each other, Eddie half crouched over this strange girl in a crater, and Eddie could almost swear that the light is getting brighter. But it can’t be - not from his shitty torch, or from the moon hanging overhead. He remembers that odd light from before and wonders where it came from.

But then the light is gone again and there’s just a faint shimmer across her cheeks, as she tries to push herself up. 

“Careful,” Eddie says when she collapses back with a squeal of pain. He takes another quick look around, because there’s still something ringing in the back of his mind. It doesn’t look like she climbed down here, and yet her ankle is twisted and swollen underneath her glittery dress. 

And when Eddie looks up into the sky, still filled impossibly with stars, he can’t help but wonder - did she fall? 

Not quite a Stardust AU but definitely a modern AU where Eddie finds fallen star Chrissy and has to figure out what to do with her, especially when certain government officials come looking.

[karkkidoeswriting]

OC Deep Dive Tag

Thank you for tagging me @writingamongther0ses ! (like several months ago sorry) I'll tag @oh-no-another-idea @author-a-holmes @talesofsorrowandofruin @kainablue, but as always absolutely no pressure!!

I'm doing this for Valeri from BCC.

Phobias and Other Fears: Valeri has a intense fear of fire, but specifically something catching flame. When there's already burning confined fire at no risk of spreading, like fire place or an oil lamp, it's no issue, but he cannot light up even just a candle himself because sudden catching of flame is terrifying to him. Might have something to do with him almost burning alive.

Pet Peeves: People not understanding how to handle horses or dogs. For example when someone birches a horse for refusing to move because it's afraid of something instead of easing it's fear or someone gets mad at a dog for biting them after they try to take it's food. Also (rich) people who think of themselves very rational and above superstition and magical thinking.

3 Items You Can Find in Their Bedroom:

1. A pistol and a short sword (I'm grouping these), because he's the type of person who sleeps better when holding a hilt of a weapon. 2. Poppy tea for his back pain. 3. His childhood clothing hidden under a floor board.

First Thing They Notice in a Person: Probably their physique or the general way they hold themselves.

On a Scale of 1-10, How High is Their Pain Tolerance?: 10. He has chronic pain so high pain tolerance is kinda a given.

Do They Go Into Fight or Flight Mode When Under Pressure?: Fight. He is a cavalry man so fighting under pressure is pretty much his job, but he's also just generally a very hot-headed violence-is-the-answer kind of person.

Do They Come From a Big Family/are They a Family Person?: He comes from a big family, which included extended family too. He had four siblings and his grandma, one uncle, couple of cousins and second cousins lived with them too. Other extended family also spend much time in their castle. The clan as a whole was very much family. He is very much a family person. He has only his younger sibling left, but he is his whole world. There's couple of other family members still alive but he either doesn't know or they are in exile or as hostage. His only real dream for future is to get married and have several children. He likes kids a lot. But currently he's too deep in survival mode to try to actually live a life and also he is too socially anxious anyway to like try to have romantic relationships.

What Animal Represents Them Best?: Obviously a dog. He is even called a dog several times in the story and he's not even mad because he thinks dogs are better than people. He is a loyal pack animal, a feral attack dog, overprotective watch dog and obedient good boy who wants to have a master to please and tell him what to do. He is also very petable and craves physical affection (the man is touch starved), but also he might bite (metaphorically, maybe?) if he's touched in a wrong way, so like most times. I have an internal running joke that he would absolutely be a furry if he knew the concept (but like he would keep it as a shameful secret, the repression is strong). His fursona is Karelian Bear Dog.

What is a Smell That They Dislike?: Smell of burning hair triggers instant trauma reaction. But when it comes to more dislike and less PTSD, he hates the smell of fish, because he worked as a child in the docs and had to smell fish from morning to evening (I didn't say no PTSD), and general smoky and stuffy city air.

Have They Broken Any Bones?: Plenty, but surprisingly not super badly broken bones. His ribs have been broken several times, his arm has been broken, and most embarrassingly he broke his hand by hitting a wall in anger.

How Would a Stranger Likely Describe Them?: A tall imposing man with permanent scowl.

Are They a Night Owl or Morning Bird?: Morning bird. Not because he's super good with mornings but because he's slow to wake up and very grumpy couple of hours after he wakes regardless of when he wakes up, so he rather wakes early to have time before other people wake. He takes his dogs for an hour walk every morning when the sun is rising.

What is a Flavor They Hate and a Flavor They Love?: Hates fish, loves tea and sweet almond cake of the temples.

Do They Have Any Hobbies?: Plays piano and violin.

Boom, Surprise Birthday Party! How Do They React to Surprises?: With panic and anxiety. Might accidentally punch someone as a panicked reaction. He's not at all fan of surprises and he would be pretty pissed afterwards. He likes to know how things go before hand. Sudden jump-scare surprises are his own personal horror movie.

Do They Like to Wear Jewelry?: Generally speaking he doesn't like to wear jewelry, it's usually an uncomfortable sensory experience, so he usually wears just a very simple band as a fillet, and no earrings or rings. One exception is that he wears his mother's ring in his neck hidden under clothes at all times, their family heirloom he took from his mother's dead finger before escaping enemy soldiers.

Do They Have Neat or Messy Handwriting?: Pretty neat. He's a slow writer because he's very precise about it.

What Are the Two Emotions They Feel the Most?: Anxiety and rage.

Do They Have a Favourite Fabric?: Linen. Temperature changes worsens his chronic pain and hot is usually the issue so light linen is the most comfortable fabric for him. Also he sweats easily and linen helps with that too. He also really likes the sensory experience of soft linen that has texture but is still very soft and comfortable.

What Kind of Accent Do They Have? His accent is not very strong, but his distinct working class Amarian accent he picked up growing up comes through. He code switches when talking to his superiors, and the accent is much more subdued then. There's also a hint of Cerfi accent still left in his round Rs.