#mens leather end braces

[bodyhopper-files]

The Imposter Jason

"Fuck yes, I've finally done it! I've stolen your body, Jason," the former nerd muttered under the hot and steamy water of the shower, "Your perfect body is now mine."

Jason was built like a modern Adonis – a perfect and smooth sculpture of gym-built toxic masculinity in all its rawest forms. The former nerd felt the hot water cascade over his rock-solid shoulders and thick chest and chiseled abs. He flexed his biceps and glanced down to his stiffening cock with pride.

"And this cock!" he continued to admire the fruits of his labor, "With this body and this cock, I can have anyone I want. Every inch of me is flawless now, absolutely fucking perfect!"

His smooth, gently curved penis got even harder at the naughty words coming from the imposter Jason’s mouth.

"Let's not forget this face. I'm so handsome now that I'd even fuck myself."

He could no longer contain himself and let his hands grasp his hardening manhood as he caressed it like a hard-won prize. Soon he found himself bracing against the wall of the shower as his hips were thrusting back and forth. His abs clenched, and with a gasp, he ejaculated onto the tiles of the shower.

"Oh, damn!" he exhaled, "Is this what it's like to be hot? I turn myself on every time I see myself and I'm so fucking horny all the time!"

He finished his shower and stepped out, drying himself off with the softest of towels. He then proceeded to choose one of Jason's sexiest outfits for going out to a bar. He put on a tight-fitting black T-shirt that accentuated his broad chest and muscular arms. He slipped into some slim-fit jeans that hugged his thighs and butt perfectly. On top of it all, he put on a leather jacket that gave him an air of dangerous mystery. His hair was styled in a messy bedhead look that made him look even more attractive than before.

Finally ready to go, the former nerd checked himself in the mirror one last time, feeling primal, full of arrogant confidence, and ready to fuck.

"Now, let's see what this body can do," the imposter said with a cocky grin.

At the bar, the former nerd introduced himself freely as "Jason." He'd become settled into his new personality and was now wearing it like a skin-tight glove as he gained the lustful attention of men and women alike. He'd never felt so alive, so free and so powerful. Every person he talked to was captivated by his new body and his powerful charm. His confidence was unparalleled as he made one conquest after another.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he could do anything. He was living a dream and it was all thanks to his new, perfect body. By the end of the night, the imposter Jason had become a master of seduction, a god with a mission of masculinity.

As the night progressed, Jason found himself in the company of a stunning woman named Sophia. With her long dark hair and piercing blue eyes, she exuded confidence and sexuality in a way that made Jason's heart race. He couldn't help but feel drawn to her, even as he reveled in the attention of others. The two of them talked and laughed, their conversation flowing easily as they sipped on drinks and leaned in closer to one another. As the night wore on, the air between them grew thick with tension. Finally, Sophia leaned in and whispered in Jason's ear.

"I want you, Jason. Come back to my place with me."

Unable to resist her seductive nature, Jason followed her out of the bar and into the cool night air. The woman led him to a nearby apartment, where she wasted no time in ripping off his shirt and pressing her lips against his chest. He moaned softly as her hands roamed down his stomach, worshiping his every naked inch.

Jason found himself forgetting about his past as Sophia pleasured him and he aggressively returned the pleasure. Together, the two of them explored each other's bodies, giving in to their primal desires until sunrise.

By the time they said their goodbyes, the former nerd no longer felt like an imposter. He was a new man. One who knew that he could conquer anything – and anyone – he set his mind to.

[rottenpumpkin13]

I like to make myself depressed by imagining "what if" scenarios, like what if Genesis's degradation was impossibly delayed. Maybe they never decided to break into the training room that day, and the start of the downhill spiral wouldn't start for months—maybe years—to come.

And what if Angeal started to bring Zack around more, not as a student but as a friend. He fits right in with them. He's bright and a breath of fresh air. Sephiroth immediately likes him. They get along great. Genesis is a bit more difficult to crack in the beginning, but once they hit it off, there's no stopping them. Genesis likes Zack because he's interesting, he always listens to everything he has to say and is completely interested in it.

Fate weaves inevitable paths, which is how Cloud and Zack ended up friends. They meet each other on a completely different mission that brings them together either way. Neither of them had ever had a true best friend before each other, which makes their bond all the more unbreakable.

Over time, Zack introduces his friends to Cloud.

Cloud is terribly nervous at first. After all, these are the most famous men in Midgar—on the planet, even. And Sephiroth, his hero who he's looked up to his whole life, is amongst them. And now Cloud is standing in front of his apartment door, critically adjusting his infantry uniform over and over while Zack knocks on the door.

He flashes a bright smile at Cloud, his blue eyes crinkling as he winks at him as if to say, "they'll love you, don't worry."

Cloud has the oxygen pumped out of his lungs once the door opens, and standing there is Sephiroth himself. 'He's even bigger up close,' Cloud thinks to himself as Sephiroth surveys him, taking in the sight of his unruly blond hair and wrinkled uniform.

Cloud fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut as he braces for a rejection. But instead, Sephiroth smiles—he actually smiles. Warm and welcoming.

"You must be Cloud," his smooth voice brings Cloud down from his high of self scrutiny. Opening the door wider, Sephiroth beckons them both inside. "Zack has told us so much about you. Come in."

Cloud nearly trips over himself. He feels like he's floating as Zack pushes him inside. Immediately the scent of roasted meat and potatoes reaches him. He looks around, unsure of what he expected from Sephiroth's living quarters. Nonetheless, it wasn't this. He definitely would not have expected the strewn boots by the door, a familiar red leather thrown on the coat rack, and the sight of Genesis Rhapsodos stumbling around with a wine glass in hand.

He grins as soon as he sees Zack.

"Hey, Zack" His face breaks into a surprised pout once he notices Cloud behind him. "Oh? Is this your mysterious Infantry friend who we finally get to meet?"

Cloud gulps, feeling his face flush. "Cloud Strife, sir."

Another person stumbles out of the kitchen, laughing. "You can relax. We're off duty and all friends here, so there's no need for that." Angeal wipes his hand on a dish towel before throwing it over his shoulder and extending a hand toward Cloud.

"Angeal." He smiles, shaking Cloud's hand eagerly.

Cloud, in turn, blushes even more. "Uh—I know, sir. I mean," he winces, "Angeal."

Angeal laughs, then ushers him into the kitchen. The rest of them shuffle behind them. Cloud feels simultaneously out of place and comforted at the same time. There's something about sitting at the counter while he watches Angeal slap Zack with a dish towel for sticking his finger in the sauce and Sephiroth and Genesis arguing over which plate set to use as they set the table. The chaos and imperfection brings him comfort.

They have dinner later that night. The boys bombard him with questions about Nibelheim, life in the barracks, and question him about his life goals. Zack eagerly tells them that Cloud wants to become a SOLDIER one day, like them. Their reactions overwhelm him. Sephiroth freely asserts his opinion; he thinks Cloud should go to university after his enlistment and forget about Shinra. Genesis wants to start giving him materia lessons already, prodding him about training regiments and how great the SOLDIER life is. Angeal thinks his dream is very noble, and encourages Cloud to work hard for whatever he wants.

Afterwards, Zack walks him back to the barracks. The cold air whips through the hallways and tinges Zack's cheeks a rosy hue. He's chewing a strawberry lollipop and is wearing one of Angeal's hoodies, an attestment to the bond they've cultivated.

"Do you think they liked me?" Cloud asks nervously, a ridiculous question to Zack, who laughs and slaps his friend's shoulder in response.

"Are you kidding me? You're practically one of us already."

One of us.

That us didn't make sense to Cloud in that moment, and wouldn't until a few weeks later, when he found himself on the rooftop of the building. The last afternoon sun tinged Sephiroth's hair golden. Zack could be heard grumbling about his rapidly melting popsicle beside him. He was wedged between the two, who in turn were in between Genesis and Angeal. Cloud swing his feet over the edge, looking at the drop into the skyline below. He hadn't been aware people could access this part of the rooftop. But he figured if you were Sephiroth, and had spent your entire life trying to find places where you could be alone, loopholes like these became saved in the back of your mind.

Cloud understood. He told Sephiroth about the water tower back home. Sephiroth had ruffled his hair and promised to visit someday. Angeal's laugh as Zack accidentally let his popsicle fall over the edge reached his ears, blending with Genesis's soft voice as he read Loveless for them.

Cloud felt at peace in that moment. He had never had a best friend before Zack, much less a group of them.

He understands the us perfectly well now, finding solace in being part of the we, entrapped in the "guys, look at this" and "what are we doing this weekend?"

But the thing about delays is that you can only outrun them so long. By finding a home earlier than fate had planned for him, Cloud sooner learns that the happier you are, the more you have to lose, and the harder it hurts when the people you love betray you.

He ends up on that road to Nibelheim either way.

Laughing at Zack's snoring as he sleeps on Cloud's shoulder is enough to quell his motion sickness, if only for a moment. Sephiroth sits on Clouds other side, talking more than he had ever heard him talk. Cloud suspects he's living vicariously through him, holding his excitement for him while he collects his thoughts.

He asks about Claudia Strife, the mountains, the culture, and everything Cloud had mentioned since they had become friends. Sephiroth asks Cloud wether he thinks his mother will be proud of him, referring to the Third Class uniform Cloud now wears. His voice shakes when he talks about Angeal and how he always wanted to visit Mt. Nibel. He never mentions Genesis.

The change of the gravel on the road tells Cloud they've reached the outskirts of the village.

Things will never be the same again. Maybe that's the way they were always meant to be.

[ltwilliammowett]

Naval Slang

Here is a small collection of slang that is just too short for its own posts.

Anchor or to get one's ass to an- to sit down.

Ant' bollock on the beach - something is extremely hard to locate.

At loose ends - there is little to do. The ends of ropes at sea were easily untangled and formed loose ends. So if there was little to do, the captain could instruct the crew to check the ropes for loose ends and repair them.

Beam ends - When the ship is almost at the beam ends, it means that it is capsizing and in danger of sinking, with the deck beams almost perpendicular to the sea surface. Today it means - to be in a hopeless situation.

Bite the bullet - Men who were flogged with the lovely cat were often given a piece of leather and later a bullet to bite on so they would stop screaming in pain. If he did, he was scornfully called a nightingale.

Boom and Mizzen- Cockney rhyming slang for prison.

Brace of Shakes - I'll be with you in a brace of shakes, literally means I'll be with you before the sail has time to shake twice, in other words I'll be with you almost immediately.

Bread hook - finger

Colours tied to the mast - Give up ? Forget it, this one will be fought to the bitter end.

Cranky- She's hard to sail and unstable. The modern version means awkward, eccentric or hard to understand - often used in connection with women.

Deck Cargo - Breasts

(I'm going to) deck (you) - I'll punch you so hard in the face that you'll see the deck up close. But since such acts were forbidden at sea, they waited until the opponents were in port and could settle it there.

Donkey Wallopers - Royal Navy slang for members of mounted cavalry regiments.

Don't spoil the Ship for a ha'porth of tar - To half-finish a job by not filling the planks properly with hot tar when lapping. Ships will leak if too little tar is applied, so a little extra effort is well worth it.

Goose without gravy - a flogging without blood.

Grass combers - seamen with an agricultural background.

Hit the deck - When a swivel gun or cannon was to be fired at close range, sailors would dive onto the deck to avoid being hit.

[aemysbabyofficial]

Sweet Sixteen; Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC

Daemon Targaryen has eyes. He can see things. He can count. The times he catches his daughter's stray gaze find that of his brother's second son are one too many.

Warnings: Daemon being observant; doubt; parental worries/anxiety

Note: This is my very first House of the Dragon work, so please read and accept it with a grain of salt. I'm working this to be part one of series involving different characters and my main girl, Saela Targaryen. If you wish for the fic to be longer or more detailed, PLEASE comment (or heart...) because I love to hear feedback. Heehee:)

Sixteen times.

Daemon was sure of himself. He knew how to count. Hells, he was in charge of the mightiest battalions of men there was. Of course he needed to be sure of himself and know how to count beyond his fingers. But he was a soldier, a warrior to the bone, who could not show emotion. He could not allow his enemies the smallest chance to see him break.

A pure sixteen just now.

His eyes flitted across the table. His tongue glistened over his teeth as he leaned his body back. The wooden and metal armrests melded the leather of his top to his skin. The heat his body radiated burned in the cool evening, but any release of heat was stopped by the stone walls around him. His eyes, gleaming in the candles flame, could shoot out fire if he wished. To be uncomfortable here was an insult. Daemon fought and slayed thousands of men on countless battlefields, and he wasn’t the slightest uncomfortable there. Why now here did he feel trapped under the Red Keep’s stone walls?

Between the start of the Driftmark hearings and the dreadful dinner he was forced to sit at, Daemon counted sixteen times he caught his brother's second son staring at his youngest daughter. Bile from breaking his fast earlier sat pretty in his throat.

How coincidental! Daemon could have laughed at the epiphany he received. His third child, his sweet Saela, had just passed her sixteenth nameday not long ago and from word her sworn protector shared with him, Ser Jorys swore the young lady was celebrated around the Keep in the Greens tight arms and packed feasts.

From where Saela sat at the opposite end of the table, across the vast wood and candles sat the lilac trance the One-Eyed Prince. Daemon's shrugged his shoulders when he glanced back at his daughter. Among the chatter and movement of servants, her round eyes found the one eye. The corner of her lip trembled into a hesitant smile. Even if she tried to break eye-contact and laugh with Baela or Lucerys, Saela's attention always travelled back to the prince. Aemond had not said a word to either of them that day yet felt it in his childish stupor to throw manners aside and gouge the young lady right in front of her father. If Rhaenyra wasn't bracing his thigh under the table, Daemon would have picked the boy's remaining eye with his fork.

"Please just be cordial. For your brother, please."

His wife had begged him before the dinner. Yes, Rhaenyra understood the adrenaline of emotions were high after blood was spilled in the throne room. But if she wanted her father to dine in peace with his entire family, she had to tame her husband's lashes of fire first.

"I have not seen her in months. How I act is out of the question when it comes to her."

Rhaenyra only blew out her woes in a sigh before pacing around their room. “If you cause a mess, what do you think will happen to her?” She could only say and do so much for Daemon to understand. But as a mother herself, she could not imagine loosing any of her children to their enemy.

All Daemon did was scoff an answer. Of course I'll be cordial, the expression translated. He was cordial when he was finally reunited with his youngest daughter. He was cordial when Baela and Rhaena sung their wishes and roared their stories to their baby sister in the Red Keep's halls. He was cordial when the Princess Helaena lingered in the background, waiting for a clear moment to pounce on his child, steal and hide her under Green tapestries and shadows.

"Father."

Saela couldn't hold back her smile in front of him. The corners of Daemon's lips trembled when they held each other's hands. Before he could say a word, Saela flung her arms around his neck and clung to him. The train of her gold dress looked magical when he spun her around. But even in the Green's clothes, Saela was still his fiery daughter. No matter dress she wore, the flames of the dragon roared in her eyes, burning through all the manners the queen could shove on his daughter. She was pure, confident, and graced the empathetic heart no one in their family had the strength to hold.

Not once had he forgotten his sweet daughter's face when they had to part for Dragonstone. When he held her for the first time in years, his brows creased. Her cheeks had slimmed down. The neckline of her dress was higher than usual, scooping from her shoulders and across her collarbones. The mix of silver and gold hair she loved to wear open was braided like that of his brother's wife.

"Saela." Daemon kissed the crown of her head. He held her to his chest as if she would disappear in a second. In these cold walls, she could vanish before his very eyes. "I hope they've treated you well."

If it wasn't for the sister-wife of the drunken excuse called Aegon, Saela would have travelled back with her family and been  reunited with her Grandsire she missed so much. Daemon loved that part of his daughter—the big heart she carried for everyone in their wretched family. Viserys’ nickname for her was an example of that. Hope of the House.

"But you know Helaena is different, father." Saela lamented the night before her family's departure. For the past days the lolly-minded Helaena had begged Saela to stay with her. "She is closer to me than Baela or Rhaena. And I like her, father. She is sweet, hilarious, and needs a friend. Would you want me to feel guilty for leaving her alone with her nagging overlo--I mean, with the Queen?"

O, Daemon hugged his Saela that night so hard. And though years have past the young lady has remained the same kind heart. Her eyes never casted doubt and her lips never told a lie. The woman she became would make her mother proud.

But something about her lilac stare, hooded by her curly eyelashes, and the smile tugging at the corner of her lips brushed Daemon the wrong way. And it all had to do with that wretched second-son. He was the real reason Saela remained in King's Landing; Daemon told himself. Viserys was too kind to hurt a poor child's heart. Aemond took his injury with a dramatic performance and begged his father for his cousin to stay trapped in the Red Keep. Added with Helaena's dalliances and urgent need for someone to watch her, Viserys probably gave in without second thought.

And now her eyes shine for the boy, not her father.

Her heart beats for another man. A man Daemon would never approve of.

"Father?"

Two voices melted into one snapped Daemon from his thoughts. When he looked up from the burning candle, Rhaena and Saela exchanged looks before glancing to their father.

"Do you want more wine, father?"

Daemon stiffly nodded before a servant refilled his cup. The drink was gone in a flash, coating the prince's already burned throat. The wine ceased to numb his mind and the clasp of Rhaenyra's nails in his thighs was more of a comfort than a reminder. Don't be rash.

How can a father stand by and watch his daughter fall into the pits of doom and not be rash?

The will to lunge his knife into the chest of his brother’s son was a dream Daemon would encounter nights upon nights. Aemond had fallen into the shadows the moment Daemon stepped foot into the keep. The boy hadn’t said a word to the prince and the prince hasn’t questioned where the boy was. It was like the moment they entered the Keep, both men knew of the dangerous game they were about to play—they danced to avoid each other while keeping their sights on the ultimate piece. Saela. The young lady had fallen into a game she never asked to play.

Daemon swore to save his daughter from doom and heartbreak. If he had to bare Dark Sister, Daemon would lay his life if it meant getting rid of the One-Eyed prince. Nothing in this world was to precious when compared to his daughter Saela, not even his own life. The world would have to bend its knee and shed its ocean-wide tears for mercy before Daemon would give her hand to any man--even if it included Aemond Targaryen himself.

[blackbird-brewster]

For the CM Kink Bingo: Breeding Kink with Jemily? (Bottom JJ)

Deeper

JJ/Emily || Rated: Explicit || WC: 1208 Fills: Held down (for @cmkinkbingo2024), Breeding Kink (for @storiesofsvu bingo) Additional Tags: First time, Strap-on, semi-rough sex, Top Emily, Bottom JJ

[Read on AO3] || [Kink Bingo Masterlist]

JJ had barely caught her breath from their last round, before Emily was on top of her again, kissing down her neck, her tongue tracing over the sheen of sweat. "Em."

"Yeah?" Emily answered between leaving kisses across JJ's collarbones.

JJ moaned as her partner's teeth grazed her nipple. She grabbed Emily by her hair to get her attention, "I'm ready now."

A grin slowly spread across Emily's face. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I want it."

Emily moved to kiss her lips, slowly, deeply. She tugged her bottom lip with her teeth when she pulled away. "Okay, I'll go get it."

Emily disappeared into her closet as JJ laid on the bed, heart pounding in her chest. It was the first time all night they'd slowed down enough for her to let it all sink in. How many times had she imagined this? How many years had she closed her eyes and wished her hand was Emily's instead?

They didn't go to the bar tonight expecting their evening to end in Emily's bed, but here they were and JJ had absolutely no regrets about it.

Emily was even more incredible with her mouth and hands than JJ could have ever imagined, but when Emily first asked about using the strap, JJ turned timid. She'd slept with men before, but she wasn't the biggest fan of penetration past fingers, so the idea of a strap was intimidating. Yet, after spending the past two hours at Emily's mercy, JJ knew, without a doubt, that even if she changed her mind again, Emily wouldn't make her feel bad about it.

Emily returned wearing a black leather harness with a matching black dildo fastened in place. She instantly noticed how JJ's eyes widened as she took in the size of the toy. "We can go slow, okay?"

JJ nodded and reached her hand out to invite Emily back to bed. She pulled her on top of her, kissing her again as the strap pressed between their bodies. The silicone was cool compared to their flushed skin and JJ tried not to psyche herself out before Emily even began.

As they made out, Emily began rocking her hips into JJ, the strap slid against her already sensitive clit and JJ gasped loudly. Her fingers dug into Emily's back as she instinctively rolled her hips upwards to meet Emily's. The motion caused the head of Emily's dick to dip into JJ's pussy and that one small motion cleared any lingering hesitation from her mind.

"Fuck me, Em."

Emily grabbed the lube and slicked the strap and lined it up with JJ's opening. She took it slowly, to let JJ adjust to the size. "If it hurts or anything, just tell me. We'll stop."

JJ gave her a vague nod of understanding between short breaths as she grabbed Emily's ass and pushed her down to take all of her in one swift motion. They both groaned at the feeling, but it was nothing compared to how it felt when Emily began moving. She opted for slow and steady cautious movements to ensure JJ was comfortable, but JJ had other plans.

She'd turned feral as soon as Emily was inside her, stretching her out, filling her up. It made her body feel alive, her mind already fuzzy before Emily even picked up her pace. JJ craned her neck upwards to nip the tip of Emily's nose, "I said fuck me, Em. I'm not going to break, I promise."

Emily chuckled and braced her elbows to either side of JJ's head to get the leverage she needed to thrust into her. JJ's legs locked behind Emily's back, just trying to pull her as close as possible so she could feel all of her.

With barely a handful of thrusts, Emily had her in a frenzy, JJ wanted more. "Harder, please, I want you to fuck me harder, baby."

JJ had never called her 'baby' before and it sounded so perfect falling from her lips as she laid on her back, getting fucked, the term of endearment flipped a switch in Emily's mind. She grabbed JJ's legs and repositioned them over her shoulders so she could thrust harder. JJ groaned at the new angle, her hands moved to Emily's waist to guide her.

"Holy..." JJ couldn't even finish the sentiment as she lost all ability to form actual words, instead communicating through nothing but loud moans and whimpers as Emily fucked her. She fought the urge to close her eyes, she didn't want to miss a single moment of this. She tried to commit it all to memory, the sweat at Emily's brow, her mess of hair clinging to her face, the determination in her deep brown eyes.

Based on the sounds Emily was making in return, JJ could tell she was getting close to climax. Just the concept that Emily might orgasm without any physical stimulation, from nothing but fucking JJ with the strap was both endearing and mind-blowingly sexy.

Before she could register the absurdity of the notion, JJ was panting into Emily's ear, "Come inside me."

It was so unexpected, Emily actually stopped all together to stare at her in confusion. She was breathing heavily, in a daze from being so close only a moment ago. "I mean --"

"Ohmygod," JJ muttered as she turned bright red in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. I just momentarily forgot that..."

"No, no, it's fine," Emily reassured with a smirk. "I didn't know you were into that."

"I'm not," JJ replied honestly. "Not usually, anyway. But god, you feel so good and it just slipped out. I didn't mean to make it weird."

Emily teasingly pushed the head of her dick into her, "It's not weird. I think it's hot."

"You do?"

Emily began sliding in and out again, smiling as JJ's pupils dilated when she pushed into her fully. "Definitely hot."

With that she started a steady rhythm as she pushed JJ's legs down against her body to fuck her as deeply as possible. The momentary pause was forgotten as Emily fucked her hard and fast, the weight of her body pressing JJ into the mattress with every thrust. It didn't take long to rebuild the tension, Emily was panting, almost growling with every movement. Yet her noises were barely audible under JJ's loud moans and screams of enjoyment.

JJ wedged her hand between their bodies so she could rub her clit, knowing she was about to fall apart. This time her request was purposeful, she locked eyes with Emily as she whimpered, "Fuck yes, yes, yes. Come in me, come in me, baby!"

Emily thrust into her sharply, groaning as she closed her eyes and envisioned it. "Oh, fuck, I'm going to..." One more primal groan and her body stilled, her fingers gripped JJ's waist firmly enough that if she had any length of fingernails she'd probably have left little crescents of blood where they dug in.

JJ fell apart simultaneously, screaming Emily's name as her back arched, her chest heaving. She trembled from the intensity, eyes rolling back in her head as she transcended.

The room fell silent save for their heavy breaths and Emily finally pulled out and let JJ readjust so her legs weren't pinned to her shoulders anymore. They laid on their backs, dizzy from the high, both in their own worlds as they recovered. JJ instinctively laced her fingers in Emily's, holding her hand to anchor her consciousness back into her body.

The night may have started like any other Friday, but it certainly didn't end like one and JJ could already tell this was the only way she wanted to start her weekends from here on out.

[nerdraging4point0]

Blood of Eden // Chapter Fourteen // Bad Omens Urban Fantasy Romance

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @mysticdoodlez @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @cookiesupplier @meliferafaerie @concreteemo @itsafullmoon @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @spicywhenspeaking @somewhere-diamond @iknownothingpeople @darling-millicent-aubrey @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @darkmxgician

As soon as Noah picked himself up from the floor he crawled into the passenger seat of the Denali, wiping the tears from his cheeks and desperately trying to scrape the blood off his knuckles. His fingers cracked each time he opened and closed his fist, his accelerated healing making quick work of the mangled hand. The denali cruised easily out of the compound trying their best not to draw suspicion, as soon as they were clear and onto the freeway Jolly pressed the accelerator to the floor. 

Noah had tried repeatedly to dial Maria or Oli, there was no answer, the phones immediately going to voicemail. He tried Nick whose phone only rang and rang with no answer. 

“I don’t like this,” he growled.

“Nothing for Maria or Oli?” Jolly’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Not even Nick.” Noah confirmed. The pair drove in silence, Noah still trying his best to reach out to Rosa, he watched billboards pass and his body swerved as Jolly weaved through traffic. Noah grew frustrated more and more by the minute, trying to reach out to an empty void. 

As Noah and Jolly approached the city exit, they were immediately struck by the eerie emptiness of the streets on what should have been a typical bustling Thursday afternoon. A palpable sense of unease crept up the back of Noah's neck, causing the fine hairs there to stand on end. Jolly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, began to gradually slow the car's pace, his eyes scanning the deserted roads for any sign of activity or explanation for the unsettling silence.

With growing trepidation, Noah peered out the windows, his gaze darting from one abandoned sidewalk to the next, spotting only the occasional solitary pedestrian or idle vehicle - far fewer than the usual throngs of people and congestion that normally clogged the city's arteries at this time of day. "Something's off, master," Noah murmured, his words barely escaping his lips before the car lurched forward as he slammed on the brakes, causing Noah to brace himself against the dashboard.

There, standing brazenly in the middle of the street, was a figure they both recognized - Oli, his trademark leather jacket collar popped up to obscure his features, a twisted grin plastered across his face as his long, unkempt hair fell haphazardly over his eyes. 

Noah's heart raced as he scrambled out of the car, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Steading himself on his own two feet, Noah wasted no time pulling Oli into a tight embrace, relief washing over him. Jolly had quickly pulled off the side of the road, as Oli clung to Noah, his own panic evident in the way he gripped his friend's shoulders. "What are you doing? I've been calling you all day!" Noah sneered, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and frustration.

Oli's response was hurried and apologetic. "I'm sorry, my friend," he said, ushering them both off the road and towards a waiting car just down the block. "But we need to move fast. We've found a tracker in your car, and we're worried they might be closing in on you." Oli's words spurred them into action, and Noah quickly gathered their belongings, his mind racing as the trio made their way to the car, their only priority now being to get as far away from this place as possible before their pursuers caught up to them.

As they made their way slowly through the vacant streets, the group navigated their way down multiple city blocks, the homes in this part of town packed tightly together and visibly run-down. Oli led them through a creaky old chain link gate and up some dilapidated wooden stairs, finally arriving at the entrance to a weathered, aging house. "It's the safest place we could find," he said quietly, closing the door behind them as they stepped inside.

In the front room, several familiar faces were seated, all seemingly engrossed in the various tasks at hand. Jethro sat hunched over an old dining room table, a scattered array of computers, screens, and other technical equipment spread out before him. His fingers flew across the keyboards as he seamlessly shifted his attention from one monitor to the next, his salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses giving him an aged, experienced appearance that contrasted with his relatively youthful frame. Despite the casual nature of his slacks and button-down periwinkle blue shirt, Jethro's green eyes remained locked with laser-like focus on the screens, occasionally pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose as he worked tirelessly, undoubtedly carrying out some critical function in this hidden refuge they had found.

Skylar sat perched on the arm of the couch, her leather boots tapping an anxious rhythm against the hardwood floor as she circled her eyes around the dimly lit room, her gaze periodically drifting to the window where she kept a watchful eye on the activity outside. Her appearance was a striking contrast - part badass and part ethereal beauty, with her black roots cropped short at the base of her skull and teal locks flowing in soft waves over one shoulder. The tense set of her jaw and the restless energy thrumming through her body betrayed the worry and uncertainty she felt in this moment.

Meanwhile, Noah caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures moving about at the back of the house, and soon Folio and Amber came into view, exchanging a slight nod with him before resuming their hushed, hurried work. Across the open kitchen, Maria and Mark stood in tense conference, papers and files scattered between them as they pored over the results. Suddenly, Maria's eyes flashed up, locking onto the trio by the door, and with a muttered curse, she hastily shoved the documents into Mark's hands and padded across the room, bare feet slapping against the tile. Without a word, she pulled both Jolly and Noah into a desperate embrace, her body wracked with sobs. "I'm so sorry, boys," she choked out, her voice thick with anguish. "I thought she'd be safe with him. I didn't realize..." Her words trailed off, the weight of her unspoken fears and regrets hanging heavy in the air.

“Maria, don’t worry yourself, we’ll get her back.” Jolly said, stroking his friend's hair. 

“What is all this?” Noah's eyes darted around the makeshift living quarters, taking in the hastily assembled yet functional space that served as a safe haven for his companions. "A safe house," Oli explained, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and concern. “Jethro and Mark got out a few days ago, setting up shop here before the meltdown. I barely made it out of Skytower with Maria before the Magistrate moved in. We meant to take Rosa but it was too late.”

Maria's expression grew somber as she cleared her throat, wiping away tears. "Mark and I have been pouring over every historical and scientific clue we could find, but there's been frustratingly little to go on." She paused, her gaze hardening with determination. "The best lead we have is sending Skylar on a hunting mission." Noah turned to the woman, who now stood at attention, silently awaiting his response.

Noah's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his lips pursing in a mix of worry and frustration. "How does this help me get Rosa back? What did they do to her?" he demanded, his voice rising in anguish. 

“The magistrate found the test results for the Nightshade concoction Jolly sent for analysis,” Jethro’s eyes still focused intently on his screen, gravely explained. "My guess is they're using it to harness Rosa's powers while they prepare her for trial," he said.

"Trial?" Jolly exclaimed, the shock evident in his voice. Maria nodded solemnly, revealing that Jethro had been hacking and monitoring the Magistrate's private communications. "There's been a lot of chatter about a trial at the compound in two days," she said, her words laced with a sense of dread and urgency.

Noah's heart raced as he considered the bold plan to break their friend out of custody. "So we break her out!" he shouted, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. But Oli quickly placed a calming hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. 

"Not a good idea, my friend," he cautioned, his voice low and measured. "You'd be arrested on sight if you tried something so reckless." Skylar's brow furrowed as she contemplated their predicament. 

"He's right, you know," she said, her tone level and pragmatic. "The authorities have eyes everywhere and would pounce the moment you made a move." Noah's shoulders slumped, the wind taken out of his sails, as the reality of their situation set in. But then Skylar's expression shifted, a flicker of hope kindling in her eyes.

 "But," she continued, "there may be a way - a more subtle approach that could work." 

It had been the longest, most agonizing night Noah and Jolly had ever spent away from the comfort and familiarity of their own home. As Jolly watched his beloved pet pace restlessly through the unfamiliar rooms, whimpering and scratching at the doors, his heart broke to see the animal's desperate attempts to reach their missing girl. Tears streamed down Jolly's cheeks as he witnessed the dog's futile efforts, his loyal companion clearly distressed and confused by their sudden displacement. That morning, as the first golden rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, Jolly joined Maria, Oli, Noah, and Skylar in quietly slipping out of the nondescript safe house where they had taken shelter. Blending seamlessly into the steady flow of early commuter traffic, the group made their way further south, leaving the city limits behind as they headed into the more suburban outskirts. Though the change of scenery provided a sense of increased distance and safety, the ache of separation from their home and loved ones weighed heavily on them all.

As Skylar and Jolly strolled down the quiet, tree-lined street, they couldn't help but notice the warm, neighborly atmosphere surrounding them. Friendly strangers waved cheerfully as they passed by, their faces alight with genuine friendliness. The scene painted a picture-perfect portrait of small-town community - neighbors out and about, tending to their daily tasks like taking out the trash or walking their beloved pets. It was the quintessential image of the ideal, close-knit neighborhood.

Skylar gestured ahead, guiding Jolly's gaze towards a picturesque modern ranch-style home nestled at the street corner. The neatly manicured green lawn and meticulously maintained front porch, which wrapped nearly all the way around the house, gave the residence an inviting, well-cared-for appearance. Out front, a young girl darted about, her laughter ringing out as she chased what Jolly assumed were her older twin brothers, the siblings playfully splitting off in different directions as she tried to decide which one to pursue. The joyful, carefree scene perfectly encapsulated the charming, family-friendly vibe of the neighborhood - a place where children could safely roam and neighbors looked out for one another, fostering a warm, close-knit community atmosphere.

Jolly took a deep breath as he pulled the car over to the side of the street, parking directly across from the modest two-story house. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he knew he was taking a risk by even being here. One by one, the rest of the group followed Jolly's lead, exiting the vehicle and gathering on the sidewalk. Jolly led the way, carefully crossing the street, hyper-aware of the three children playing in the small front yard. As soon as the group set foot on the sidewalk, the children's playtime came to an abrupt halt, all three young faces turning to regard the newcomers with curious expressions. 

"Guardians," the little girl giggled, her eyes sparkling with wonder as she pointed towards Oli and Noah, the tallest members of the group.

"Father is inside," one of the boys said, his gaze fixed intently on Jolly. Jolly gave the boy a small nod, forcing himself to continue forward up the walkway to the front door. Before he could even lift his hand to knock, the white door swung open, revealing a man just a few years older than Jolly himself. The man's brown hair was slightly receded, a small scar running between his furrowed brows, his blue eyes tired yet twinkling with a hint of warmth. The stubble on his face gave him a distinguished, almost rugged appearance, but his soft, friendly smile put Jolly and the others at ease.

 "My name is Joshua," he said in a gentle, melodic tone. "Please, come in."

[buckyarchives]

EARTHQUAKES CAN BE A FLIGHT RISK, TOO. [1/3]

modern obi-wan kenobi x female reader

w/c: 8k

!!!: obi-wan is referred to as ben. family trauma, jealous asshole men, anakin is dead and it comes up a lot.

heavily inspired by im with you by wkemep

ao3 / masterlist

“...ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention? We regret to inform you that the current blizzard in Chicago has delayed several flights… for more specific information, please go to the customer service desk for your respected airline assistance. We are sorry for the inconvenience.”

The airline speaker announces like a mantra to a less-than-pleased crowd at O’hare international airport. 

Watching as sun-kissed families that are more than ready to go home sit around barricaded by the feet of snow piling up on the floors, and behind and ahead of you people with permanent scowls as they come to the realization they'll be stuck in this airport for more than expected.

The line to the few customer service desks has loomed and looped around the place, from where you stand it looks like it never ends. You look forward and at the back of a pitch-black head of hair, a tall man in a suit taps his fingers on his leather briefcase and groans for the 10th time in the past few minutes, (yes, you're so bored you began to count). The snowfall outside was more of a blessing rather than a curse for you, you wear a small smile, completely unbothered by the long line ahead of you.

New Year's Eve is tomorrow, and tomorrow is your annual new year's party. 

Your friend group has done it since high school, it's like a sort of reunion, and the only thing keeping your friend group alive. It seems no matter how far apart or distant any of you've grown, everyone manages to make it back to this party. You’re sure some of the reason is for the fact the girl, your best friend, that throws it every year is absolutely loaded. You're less than excited to go this year, though.

A loud, stressed yell of a man in a tacky Hawaiian button-up makes your head shoot up. You'd been watching the family at the front desk for a moment now, the stress of the toddler whining and the teenager complaining has probably gotten to the father. You understand, yet it still doesn't give him the right to yell at the customer service attendee just doing his job. You shake your head in disappointment. 

“A bunch of barbarians.” is whispered with a thick accent behind you, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to where it might have been directed at you. 

You think to turn around to find out, but you don’t and keep looking ahead at the father yelling and successfully keeping the line looping around the airport.

“Honestly, I can't tell if the yelling is more embarrassing or the absolutely disastrous excuse of a shirt he's wearing.” the man behind you comments and even if he isn't speaking to you, you can't stop the snort that leaves you unprovoked.

“The socks and sandals combo, I think,” you mutter back, hoping in lands. It does, a small breathy laugh comes from the man behind you. Smiling to yourself, you still haven't turned around, yet.

You do - instead - shift your eyes to the large windows. The world is covered with snow and the bright lights of the city. A dystopian feeling washes over you that you're sure only comes from being at an airport this late, or so early in the morning. Time is irrelevant in the sense you only need to know how long it will take you to grab gum and some caffeine while also being able to make it to your boarding gate on time. 

You snicker to yourself, accepting the fact you'd be completely okay with your flight being canceled or missing your boarding time. 

The line erupts into chaos, it happens so quickly. The Hawaiian shirt must have blown his top, taking a step back and causing a domino effect to the line. The businessman with no bits of patience falls back on you and before you can even get a yelp out, hot coffee pours down your sweatpants and solid arms brace your fall. 

The world moves on though, everyone's eyes don't stop looking annoyed, at their phones or flight board. The man in the Hawaiian shirt continues to yell, and apparently, so do you.

“Asshole! I spent a good 4 dollars on that!” you push yourself out on the arms of the mystery funny man behind you and barrel forward like a goddamn tank, you'd barely got a few spits out of that drink! Grasping at his shoulder to get his attention, the man whips back fast.

“You got your coffee on my shoes, you bitch!” his finger raises to your face, he's tall. You should feel intimidated but irritation blinds you and your rage doesn't stop your shouts.

“Me! You're the one with no sense of surroundings and bumped into me!”

“Listen here, young lady – “ he begins to step into your space, tower over you and fear suddenly washes over you. Flinching as his pointer finger waves around, you shut your eyes and an arm from behind you brushes past your shoulder. 

Blinking your eyes open, 5 fingers are spread out and pushing the businessman back, whose gaze is looking past you now.

“Please back off the girl, sir.'' His voice is stern, an interesting contrast to the sarcastic tone from moments ago. It sends a chill down your spine and you haven't even seen his face yet. 

Your eyes trailed from his hand down to his cream hoodie sleeve, slowly he steps in front of you and between the man. You notice his side profile, a large mole on his cheekbone and then the back of his sandy blonde hair as he speaks to the man.

“Do you know how much these shoes cost? Just for coffee to be spilled all—”

“I suggest you settle down, turn around or you'll have to argue about your cheap shoes to airport security,” he speaks with a stern, calm tone. “And with this layover, you do not want to be stuck in airport security.”

You're not sure if it was the threat itself or the intimidating aura this man suddenly gave off, but the businessman turns around with a stank in his eyes and a grumble leaving his lips. You're impressed, to say the least.

“Are you alright?'' The sandy blonde hair turns around once the threat is seemingly gone, his voice is less stern and replaced with a surface-level worry. You notice his eyes, they're piercing through you. 

Your fingers run down your wet pants, it's warm but bearable, not noticeable. 

“Uh, yes, I think so.” just startled and damp, you almost say.

“I'll get you another cup of coffee once we survive this line,” his Atlantic blue eyes dart from your hands to the head of the line, and then back to you.

“You don't need to, you weren't the one to bump into me.” you wave his offer off, “anyways, you did enough with that dude.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, with a surprising amount of concern in his voice for a stranger that literally fell into him.

“Yes, I'm sure,” you say, suddenly feeling like a deer in headlights as he stares at you. You reach your hand out, offering your name.

His smile catches you off guard, it's warm and reaches his blue irises, and the sides of his eyes crinkle. It's genuine and very, very pretty. 

“Ben Kenobi, it's nice to meet you.”

The line moves, thankfully, and you're reminded of the fact Ben had technically stolen your spot. He notices as well.

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, I didn't mean to step in front of you.'' He gently pushed you in front of him, with a gentle hold on your upper arm. His hands are impossibly warm, you don't like physical touch, much less from a stranger at an airport. But this was okay. He coughs and you turn around, he might as well disappeared then, except for the fact his presence loomed over you to an uncomfortable extent. 

Time is still irrelevant and you notice how quickly the line begins to move now, the airport has seemed to get a grasp on the situation as the flight plan board begins to flicker with dots of green and another customer service worker starts a new line. You almost forget about your coffee-soaked pants until you begin to move to break off into a new line, conveniently having a suitcase full of clothes. 

The boy behind the desk looks barely eighteen, maybe just a babyface. Either way, you can tell the stress of the situation is getting to him. His ears and cheeks are tinted red in stress and his eyes dart wildly in anxiety, you do your best to be considerate. 

As he begins to punch in the number for your flight, you wait patiently, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Ben at the desk next to yours. Glancing over, he glances back with those piercing blue eyes. Have you ever seen something so blue? You smile kindly, one of those smiles you give to someone whom you're not friends with, but not strangers. It's fitting. 

“Thank you for your patience, ma’am.” you hear, he clears his throat and you notice his anxiety diminishing. “We are still watching the blizzard before we can get a confirmed time of departure for your flight from Chicago to San Diego. Please be patient and keep watch on the flight information boards and announcements going forward. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

You nod and thank the man for his help, he smiles at you, watching his shoulders slack a little. Honestly, you'd rather stay camped out around cranky kids than step foot in the state of California right now. You have no complaints and an unusual bounce in your step as you go to find a place to rest until you hear more news about your flight.

A part of you wonders why you even agreed to go this year, a moral obligation to the unspoken tradition that's been going on for over a decade now? Probably. To see your best friend? You see her normally, you don't need a stupid New years party to see her. You know he will be there and just for that fact you're dreading it. 

Seeing him by choice should be considered self-harm at this point. Especially since the last time you saw him, because you know once you see his stupid smile the cycle will repeat and you'll be head over heels. Your eyes dart back to your flight schedule. Delayed. Good.

Your name is shouted from behind you, faintly you hear it and have to let yourself hear it again before turning around. Ben comes walking close with a military backpack slung over one shoulder. He's still calling out your name before you ground yourself enough to respond.

“Hey, Ben. Updates on your flight?” 

He shakes his head and wears a bittersweet smile, he doesn’t seem so down about the blizzard either. You wonder for a moment if he too is versed in the art of balancing on earthquakes just to fall, because that's what this is, whatever you're doing right now. 

“Nope, off to terminal D to wait it out.”

Your eyebrows perk up in surprise, “terminal D, huh?”

“Would that be where you're headed as well?” he catches on, the end of his lip quirked up slightly. You notice the freshly groomed beard. It suits him but you also notice the razor cuts lower on his neck, it makes you want to laugh.

“It would be.”

“In that case,” his eyes darted to the terminal entrance, a sense of familiarity was in his eyes. “I think you should let me buy you a new coffee.”

Wow, this man is stubborn.

An amused smile paints your face, and you almost laugh. Not sure why. Thinking to protest, but you remember a conversation you had with your therapist. Looming over your shoulder telling you to say yes to good things more, even if you believe you don't deserve it. This could be a good thing, or this could be nothing and you steal a latte from this man and never see him again. Either way, caffeine does sound good. 

“Okay, Ben. Lead the way,” you say and Ben smiles, he tells you there's an okay coffee shop in this terminal he swears by. You trust him and watch the back of his head as you walk down the terminal. 

Your palms are slick as you grasp at your suitcase handle, the clicking sound as the wheels hit the grooves in the airport floor turning to white noise. Trying to cast out any thoughts of this party, or actually attending it.

“Where are you going? If you don't mind me asking,” he asks, the sounds of the world come rushing back and Ben’s walking next to you now. 

He must have slowed his steps for you, his eyes are still so blue even under the dull lights. You didn't realize you made it to the cafe already. It smells warm of vanilla, a stark contrast from the artificial smell of cleaning products the rest of the airport gave off. Ben is still looking at you.

“San Diego,” you answer plainly as you step into line. Two blonde-haired teen girls stand in front of you, giggling about something. In Front of them is a college-aged student with heavy bags and headphones over her ears, she's ordering something with too many shots of espresso.

Ben laughs, “Me too. La Jolla.”

“Clairemont.” 

A beat of silence. Ben rocks on his feet and puts one hand over the other in front of him, his eyes darting to the menu. “What will you be having?”

You hum, overwhelmed by all the options. Maybe this is the time to try something new, you think. 

“just an iced latte with espresso.” old habits die hard. You always get that drink, no matter the cafe, no matter the state, no matter if a handsome and polite stranger offers to buy you anything you’d like. Maybe you should have gotten a matcha or a cappuccino to make yourself more interesting.

“Alright.” he nods. 

“Thank you,” you mutter.

“It's no problem,'' Ben smiles and it's so genuine, it feels strange to be on the receiving end of such a genuine smile from a man you met only a few moments ago. “If you want – you can grab a table or change out of those pants while I order.”

You look down at yourself, the sweatpants are practically dried now and you really didn't feel like digging through your bag in the middle of this cafe. “Thank you, again.”

Ben just nods and you roll your suitcase and yourself to a table, it's sitting next to the glass window and looking at a middle-aged man passed out on a bench. You hope he doesn't miss his boarding time. A group of adults with fruity drinks laugh together, surrounded by luggage. 

your fingers brush your hair out of your face, taking a deep breath in and just settling, only for a moment. Glancing back to the front, Ben is ordering and the barista has a smile on his face. With a look of familiarity in his eyes as he speaks to Ben, it's obvious they are speaking about more than just coffee order, he must be an old friend. 

Quickly, the unknown but apparently familiar barista glances towards you, and back to Ben's face once he notices you were looking too. That was embarrassing. His face is painted with surprise, and happiness when he looks back to Ben, just before you could look away and dwell on your own life. 

Ben comes walking back, you sit up straighter so maybe he doesn't get the impression your rethinking all your life choices up to now. You know? Bad first impressions and all. 

Well, you may have already checked that box now. Great.

“So,” he smiles, setting two cups down. A piping hot chai with lavender and honey and your drink, a simple latte. “What's in San Diego that you've decided to travel to during a blizzard?”

“Uh,” you stutter, do you lie so as not to get into the dread of why you wish to not be going? Hmmm, he is a complete stranger as well. “Well, I didn't technically choose to travel during this. Mother nature as her own mind.”

Ben chuckles, “That is true, I guess.”

“A party.” you spit out. “A New Year's party, I've had it every year since sophomore year.” 

“Oh, college or high school?”

“High school.”

He sits back, an amused smile, maybe even a little shocked as you’re in your early 30s now. “Wow, long-time tradition.”

“Yeah.” you breathe, sipping at your latte. It is pretty good, you are glad you followed this stranger into this cafe. Better than Starbucks, god, you could roll your eyes.

“Excited?”

Your eyebrows furrow, “excuse me?”

“Are you excited about the party?” he clarifies.

Are you this out of your mind? Nothing feels real right now.

You pause, almost choking on your own words. Do you lie? 

“Yes.” you keep it short and simple, gritting your teeth.

Ben hums, seeming not too convinced. You had never been a good actor before.

“Sorry,” you say before Ben could even ask if you were lying, “I'm not good at small talk.”

“That so?” his eyebrows quirks up, “big talk then. What first? Politics? Religions? The meaning of life? Pineapple on pizza?”

You smile, “It's criminal, fruit doesn't belong on pizza.”

“Oh, have you tried it?” a cheeky grin falls to his face and he leans forward. 

“I don't feel I need to, I know it will taste horrible,” you say.

Ben just laughs at you and it's warm and genuine and it's nice enough to wear it rings in your ears and for a moment, muffles out any thought of him. You think, maybe you can get used to this. Once again, your eyes find the world around you and you begin to notice more and more stressed passengers scrambling for their brains and flight times. You sigh, a part of you wishes you could care so much. 

Ben observes everything too, he looks almost nostalgic. You've known this man for only twenty minutes and he's been the most interesting or mysterious man you've encountered in a while. You're not sure which word is best to describe him yet, you haven't decided.

“All hell is going to break loose soon, we’ll have to make a game plan,” he says, deadly serious and it makes you smile. It's never been that easy.

“Game plan?”

“Of course.” Ben sits up straighter. “We’ll need to find food, shelter, chargers, and entertainment. In order of importance.” 

The question slips off your tongue, “You seem familiar with this, do you travel a lot.”

An emotion flashes across his face, it's unknown to you, but it didn't seem very positive. You'd wish you held your tongue, instead, you sip your coffee.

“Somewhat, more as a kid than now.” you're trying not to overanalyze the way he sounds sad when he said that like it was a pain to come back. It's probably nothing. You sip your coffee again and so does he. 

Ben's eyes glance to the clock, “well, we should probably get to it.”

It's funny, you don't realize this now but the way he doesn't need to ask, or you need to request teaming up on surviving the O’hare international airport blizzard. But you do, you get up and follow him again as he begins to ask you about your favorite food, if you're vegan or gluten-free. Maybe it is the bonding over coffee and assholes that molded this, an unspoken bond within 30 minutes. It's quite impressive, you think. 

You just hope he doesn't turn out to be creepy or some serial killer luring you in with his charm and blue eyes, it seems like a recipe for another Ted Bundy. But within those piercing blues, you see kindness and a sort of pain you would only be able to recognize in yourself. Maybe you have a strong intuition, or maybe you're stupid, but you continue to follow him into a small convenience store. 

The air still smells like a cleaning product, you catch a whiff of garlic when you walk past a certain aisle and then cold air once you reach the back. You grab a water and soda, a few strides to the right and you turn around, one thing of pringles and gum. You look up and see Ben's hair bobbing up and down as he walks down another aisle, just before he shows himself in front of you with handfuls of his own snacks. 

“All good?” he asks you, checking up on you. It's sweet.

“Mhm.”

The cashier rings you both up, once again, Ben knows the cashier.

“Haven't seen you around her in awhile, Ben.” her raspy voice speaks, she looks to be in her 60s with a head of shoulder-length gray hair. She balanced red glasses on the tip of her nose and wears a soft, apologetic smile as she greets him.

“Can't stay in Chicago forever,” he says, you think about what that means. He said he traveled a lot. Maybe you think too much.

Her hand grazes over the bag of m&m’s, the yellow-colored pouch ones with peanuts. Her face goes sour, a stark and surprising contrast from the happy customer service mask you recognize. She holds them in front of her like it was a flaw, but she doesn't say anything and lets Ben notice it first. He does.

“Oh,” he says, almost like he surprised himself that'd picked them up and carried them all the way here. “Habit. I'll put them back.”

Habit? 

You watch the interaction with a solid confusion from start to end, feeling like an outsider watching from within, an inside joke you can’t seem to grasp. From the apologetic, embarrassed, and solemn faces – it definitely isn't funny though. Ben speeds up, grasping the package all too tightly with his eyes trained on the ground and then he disappears around in isle.

The cashier looks back at you, she doesn't know you but she knows Ben. She smiles, it's a sad smile and she understands your confusion.

“They were his little brother’s favorite.” is all she says, you're still confused and your brain urges you to ask more. It feels way too personal though, and Ben is already back with empty hands.

He pays, you pay. You try not to think too hard about what it means and why she looked so sad telling you that, you don't think to ask either.

________________________________

Ben's palms are hot and sweaty as he wipes them on his pants, he's doing better. He's talking to new people, new people being a very pretty stranger during a flight delay. Only one small slip-up, it wasn't his fault really, muscle memory because normally Anakin would kill him for not getting his m&m’s. Maybe he should have just bought them anyway.

He passed the terminal D sign, he could navigate this place blind. Your railing close next to him looking around curiously, shelter. That was the next part of the game plan. 

“Over here,” he mutters, glancing at you. Show you a mostly deserted corner, a free outlet (rare), and close enough to a flight board so each of you'd be able to keep up to date. Not like Ben really wants to see those red words turn green, shamefully. 

You settle in, you drop your backpack, and park your suitcase against a wall. Ben goes straight for the outlet with his charger, got to hog them before any iPad kids can. You follow and sit next to him on the large window sill, his phone buzzes alive and he's met with a picture of Leia and Luke crawling onto his shoulder. It was when they were only 5 years old and they'd taken a trip to the beach for Ben's birthday, it was also the last time he'd seen either of them. He bites back a frown. 

“Cute kids.” your voice brings him down to gravity, and his head started spinning in the convenience store. Forgetting you were looming over his shoulder. “They yours?”

“Oh, no.” Ben gulps, “my niece and nephew, they're twins.”

You just smile and not, not saying anything else. 

“You should probably change out of those pants. Do you have something else to change into?” Ben asks, eyeing your stuff.

“Oh, yeah. Thank you for reminding me.” you jump down from the window sill and zip open your suitcase. Ben watched as you rummage through your clothes to pull out a pair of black shorts, “I'll be right back, save my spot?”

“Of course.” 

And you headed to the restrooms. 

Ben looks back down at your wide-open suitcase, he's not nosey or creepy, but he notices the short and sparkly dress laid out on the top. It looks incredibly fancy and even a little skimpy. He thinks you'd look pretty in it.

You come back in no time, legs on displacement and Ben notices your beat-up converse, little doodles along the soles. Ben smiles to himself. 

“Do you mind if I ask?” the words leave his mouth without permission, and he glances back to the sparkly fabric absolutely intrigued. He's probably crossing some personal line right now, but his mind can't stop thinking of your face - compared to now, at least – when he asked if you were excited. You say yes with a disappointed look while sitting in a long line knowing your flight will be delayed with a satisfied look in your eyes. It's curious, but Ben thinks he understands fully.

 “Are you actually excited for this party?” 

You look like you've been hit with a brick, for a stranger to be able to suspect your real emotions so well, to be able to read you, to detach that carefully crafted method of acting. You look down at your shoes, clench your fist and look back up at him. Smiling, it's not genuine, but it's what he would call a smile, “no, not really.”

Ben nods, he understands.

You huff and shoulder slack, sitting next to him. The secrets out and the boulders on your shoulder begin to lift, slightly. The overbearing weight that you could still be eating on a slight soon still hangs heavy over your head. 

“It's horrible, but I was actually so excited to find out about my flight delaying.” you laugh to yourself, it's self-depreciative. “It's just…” the words begin to slip out of your mouth, “I've known these people forever and obviously, you go through a lot with people you've known that long, but we still make an obligation to go to this party no matter what. This year though, some of my relationships with people there are a bit shakier than usual.”

“I understand,'' Ben breathed out. His voice shakier than usual, now he won't let the water break the damn, he's sure of it.

“You do?” you light up ever so slightly, looking at him with sudden curious eyes. A sense of understanding and someone to bear your burdens with, your shoulders look even more relaxed. Ben wants to curse at himself when he notices your lip quirked up when you start to speak. “What troubles face you on the other side of this stupid flight.”

Maybe he won't let himself crack, maybe.

Ben gulps, “Yes, uh.” he thinks, should he? “My family–”

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” You seem cautious, but Ben would be a hypocrite if he didn’t even vaguely explain his situation after you practically spilled your guts in the wonderfully terminal D of O’hare international airport. “I know how some family drama can be.”

“No, it's okay.” he laughs off your incredible consideration, breathing heavily. Why does he do this to himself? Just don't mention Anakin, he tells himself that it's going to make any difference once he opens his mouth. The damn always breaks. 

You nod and sit patiently, attentively and it makes Ben's chest thump. What is wrong with him? He frowns with pink-tinted ears because what good has come from learning to pretend? 

“My sister-in-law and I don’t have the greatest relationship, currently…” Don't mention him, don't say his name. “So I haven't seen my niece and nephew for a while.” your eyes widen, not because of the simple fact of what he said. No, you feel bad about asking, obviously, it's a sore subject. You think you should have known, but you didn't. “And no good has really come from that either, I've pretty much been digging myself a hole with her and the kids over the past few years and well, their tenth birthday is in a few days so I'm trying to make steps to apologize for my absence.”

You don't say anything, but you understand. Ben can tell by the way you're looking at him, you know there more though. You don’t push or prod, you wait.

“But it's very scary, as you can tell,” he says, avoiding eye contact and looking at his sweaty palms, he's still sitting on the window seal with blinking city lights just past you two. The cold feeling on the large glass panels calms him and single-handedly keeps him back from breaking down. Ben learns to find comfort in the dangerous blizzard, strange, isn't it? He's never liked the cold before.

“I feel guilty for being happy about the delay, I should be excited to see them.”

A beat of silence, he shouldn't have said that. A failure of an uncle, a bad listener, and a bad person. He's just laying it all out too, ironic. Just as he called himself a hypocrite.

“Well all my best friends are at this New years party and you don't see my moping around about this flight delay, hm?” you say like it's just that easy, maybe it should. “Don't feel too guilty, you are nervous, you're human.”

You're human.

______________________________________

It's been an hour, you think.

Actually, you're not sure about it all. having not checked the time in a while, much more occupied by beating Ben at uno. It's been borderline embarrassing having handfuls of cards as he yells uno for the 8th time. But hey, you're learning things about each other whilst doing it, and how bad is getting to know a charming, handsome stranger with a toothy grin even if he's absolutely killing you with +four cards.

“Uno!” you look up to see a cheeky grin and unfortunately, one uno card in his hand.

“You have to be cheating!” you murmur.

“Sorry, I'm just very good at reading people.” he quips back and you hate the shine in his eye as he speaks, it's making it very hard to be mad at him.

“You know, if the shoe fits.” you nervously put down a green five, eyes glancing up at him as Ben watched you intensely. His face is empty and calm, but Ben puts down his last card and you erupt into a pained groan. “This is horrible for me!”

Ben just laughs softly, grabbing the deck of cards and yours and beginning to shuffle them once more. You originally planned to sleep off or even finish that book you've long neglected during this delay, anything to not think, but this. This was an alternative you were okay with. 

Most of the airport got the memo, keeping watchful eyes on the flight information and listening ear to the announcer. For those that could – slept, read, snacked away. Parents did anything to keep their children quiet or entertained. It was a sort of humility you'd only ever see during such a situation, it helped the doom brewing in your chest.

“So what did you say you did for a living?” you ask, as Ben hands you another seven cards.

A new discovery was made soon after you got to know Ben. Small talk is much more bearable whilst multitasking, so those awkward beats aren't filled with even more awkward little “interesting” or “that's so cool,” which are most of the time, very ingenuine. 

But the small talk you started with had slowly snowballed into big talk, or whatever Ben has called it in the cafe. You'd learned Ben's favorite color was blue, he was thirty-nine. obviously, he's very good at uno. That one you figured out on your own, besides that, it's been purely basics. 

“Well, I am currently unemployed.” Ben swallows, putting down a red nine.

You put down a red-three, “almost forty and unemployed. You're brave.”

“Are you shaming unemployed people?” he deadpanned and his certain sarcastic demeanor makes you giggle.

“No! I've been there once, you know,” you add, leaning back to get a good view of your cards before getting another down. “I just mean, what do you do with your life?”

“Mope.”

“Be serious, Ben!”

“Okay, okay.” he settles, putting down another card. “I am currently living off the government's money, army back pay. I read books, and visit cafes. Read books in cafes, draw pictures in them too, but only sometimes.”

“Army?” that would explain the military bag, the non-humanly straight posture, and definitely the traveling.

Ben looks away, almost embarrassed when he speaks, “Twenty years.”

You want to gawk, but that'd be rude. Should you say thank you for your service? Based on his demeanor now, you don’t think that's a great idea. It's always forced and no one really means it anyways. 

Instead, you ask probably an even worse question. “Why'd you leave?”

Ben's figure taps rapidly on his card in hand, he's trying his best to keep eye contact with you but you can tell it's hard for him. You regret asking him that, maybe you should have stayed in your comfortable small talk area.

“My brother,” Ben starts, barely holding himself together by grasping at the uno card. “He passed almost 10 years ago and I decided then I would leave since he had just had children.”

Oh, that’s what the moment in the convenience store was about. You think about this place and everyone that seems to know him, assuming they knew his brother as well. This airport must bring some conflicting memories.

“That was very considerate of you, Ben.” You answer honestly, your mouth feels dry as the syllable leaves his mouth. 

“It was hard.” Ben looks down at his hands and shuffles the few uno cards in his hands. “I’m not a patriotic person but the military was my life. I left to help my brother's wife and didn’t realize I would need help after making that decision.”

There’s a beat of silence. You feel an uneasy rage for Ben, rage towards the corrupt military system and how it treats its veterans. That’s definitely something that can be hashed out another time. 

“I failed her.”

It scares you how sincere and accepting he is of the phrase that he spoke, too comfortable with his failings like it’s a second skin. 

“What are you doing?” You ask softly.

Ben's head shoots up, confused, caught off-guard. “What?”

You nod ahead, urging his response because you know he heard you.

“I, uh,” Ben stutters for the first time since you’ve met, which arguably, isn’t that long. “I’m getting on a plane, to see my nieces and nephew for their birthday.”

You smile, not bothering to say anything, hoping he gets what you were getting at. Maybe you’re an optimist for everyone but yourself, or a fool. Ben looks ahead at you, intense eye contact grows and you feel his stare in your stomach. It’s strange. 

Ben knows what you’re saying, knows that you see he’s trying, and do not believe he’s a failure. You see it, and you’ve known him for less than a day. Scary.

“Uno.” 

Ben looks down at your hands and sees one card, he smiles.

_______________________

“Do you have any pets?” 

A few more hours pass, and an empty uno card and another solo trip for caffeine later. The careful question games continue.

“No, but I used to have a husky.”

You gasp, almost choking on your spit since the dynamic of hanging your head upside down off a bench didn’t agree with that exasperation. “That’s so cool.”

“She was very pretty,” Ben says, he sounds a little occupied but not annoyed. It’s nice and helps with your overwhelming boredom. “Do you?”

“I wish,” you say. “I think my landlord would crucify me, my plants will suffice.”

“Do you name them?” 

“What?”

Ben laughs like he knows the question itself sounds a little ridiculous. “Do you name your plants?”

“No, I don’t think I’d be able to keep track.” You look at Ben from the corner of your eye, he lay covered in a tan-colored shawl. 

The airport had started to grow chilly and your choice of camping out by the large windows maybe wasn’t too practical, the pretty lights make up for it. Ben looks comfy, his black sweats and crème colored sweatshirt make him look too good, way too good. A man that knows color theory is dangerous. Hoping he doesn’t notice your lingering glances.

“I’m assuming you name your plant then.” You taunt.

“Oh, yes.” He pauses to yawn, “any sane person would.”

“Are you calling me insane?” You spring up, blood rushing to your head and leaving you a little dizzy. Shooting playful daggers at Ben, failing to hide the quirk on the corner of your lip as you speak.

“What? Never.” He’s dripping with sarcasm. Rolling your eyes, you get to your feet and make small strides to sit next to Ben.  

“I thought about being a landscaper,” Ben adds.

“Oh, so you like plants that much?”

He chuckles under his breath, “I guess you could say that. Being able to design spaces and make nature more beautiful than it already is – deeply interests me.

“I say go for it.”

Ben's head cranes and he looks at you, looking for something in your features. He must have found it because he looks satisfied when he turns away and says, “I might have to.”

Ding!

Both of your heads shoot down to your phone as it lights up, just some random email, probably about work or some store you signed up for sending you more 30% coupons. 

“Are those your friends?” Ben says, eyes still looking at your phone. Not the email, your wallpaper. In photos from last year's party, everyone sat on the couch, some on the floor in front, and some laying on the back above everyone. “I’m sorry if I’m being nosy.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, despite the sting in your chest thinking about the memory. It’s fair though, considering you were in the same scenario earlier, prodding about his life and generally being nosy. You had forgotten that photo was even in your wallpaper album, the phone turns off and back on to re-notify you of the email, and a new photo is replaced. “And yes, those are my friends.”

“You seem awfully happy and close to dreading this trip,” Ben adds.

“We are close but,” you drag out, contemplating your words. Bens watching you so attentively, almost zoned in on your face and lips. His eyebrow quirks with curiosity and anticipation.

“But?” Ben prods, not that you mind.

“It’s stupid.” You drop your head shamefully.

“I doubt that.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Oh, I doubt that even more.” He says under a breathy life, an amused smile dances on his lips.

“You’re laughing right now!” You accuse him, but Ben's eyes dance around your face first, looking for something. His mouth opens to speak, he knits his eyebrows and draws back.

“Excuse me then, I’m serious and definitely will not laugh,” Ben says, you want to smack the grin on his face.

You also really want to know what he was going to say before that statement.

Groaning, “Fine.”

You breathe in once and another out, “there’s this boy, we’ve had a complicated relationship for many, many years now. Last year it kind of all came to a stop after some… decisions. We haven’t spoken for a year now and I’m just, I don’t know, dreading seeing him.”

Ben hums, and you watch for a response. For him to laugh for being so stressed out over such a silly reason, especially in comparison to his problems. Not that it’s a competition. 

“That’s certainly not stupid.”

You want to roll your eyes, sarcastically you murmur, “Sure.”

“I’m serious,” Ben affirms. He does sound incredibly serious, you shift nervously in your seat. Your knee brushing against his thigh as you sit with your legs crossed, Ben tenses slightly. “Don’t undermine your feelings. I understand your nervousness, I know I do not know the full story but may I share some advice?

“No one is stopping you.” 

Ben yawns once more, excusing such actions before continuing. “This boy, no matter what experiences you’ve had, he’s just a boy. I don’t think you should put so much weight on it and let him ruin your happiness. You shouldn’t worry too much about the past, it’s happened and you can’t change it, focus on the now.”

You snort, “Easier said than done.”

Ben makes a sound of agreement before facing you, leaning in way too close. He raises a hand and taps the temple of your forehead, “It's all up here, once you put in the work, your mind will fill in the blanks and adapt.”

You feel his breath as he speaks, much less focused on his words of advice and rather trying not to drown in the pair of Atlantic blue’s absolutely staring you down. You feel vulnerable and stripped down under his glare, but warm and seen. 

With another yawn, Ben and you share another knowing glance. “I think your mind wants to sleep, Ben.”

Ben purses his lips, as to protest before realizing he is defeated. Before he can reply, you reassure him, “I’ll watch your flight.”

So you do, and Ben sleeps. Pretty quickly he had fallen asleep and your shoulder burned when eventually his head dropped on it. You didn’t mind, quite the opposite, it was just a new sensation you weren’t mentally prepared to hash out in the particular circumstances. 

Looking down you see his scruff, sandy hair with blonde highlights that look way too tempting to run your hands through. His lashes are long, you're jealous. The colors he wears make him look warm and comfy, you see a scar on his forehead and cheekbone, next to his

Mole. If you looked closer and maybe if it wasn’t winter, you’d see freckles littered across his nose.

Thinking about how he called himself a failure, kept his niece and nephew as his wallpaper despite how long it’s been since he’s seen them. You wonder what his plants' names are and if he has a favorite, you hope he gets to become a landscaper. Imagining him in a cozy sweater, at some warm cafe with a cappuccino and sketchbook drawing beautiful gardens and decorated patios, just to turn them into reality.

You fully understand what you're doing is a dangerous game, you know this routine in and out. The wondering, the gawking, and imagining. You’d always romanticize and fill in gaps with romance, it’s what brought you to your current dilemma. Now you sit with a stranger, in a Chicago airport with him sleeping on your shoulder as you imagine yourself sitting across from him in coffee shops.

_______________________

“....Flight 213 to Clairemont airport is boarding at terminal D, gate 2….”

You shifted your head, eyes blinking open to the fluorescent lights above you. 

“Last call for flight 213 to Clairemont airport is boarding at terminal D, gate 2….”

That's your fight, you sprung up, not realizing your head has been resting on a still-asleep Ben’s lap. His neck rolled back onto the edge of the uncomfy airport benches. You ruffled your hair, looked at your watch. You'd been asleep for maybe an hour, your eyes searched for your flight on the board. It was indeed boarding, finding Ben's shortly after. You would probably jump out of a plane right now if you missed it because you fell asleep.

 Ben needs to see his family and if you're the cause of that not happening… you'd never forgive yourself. Your eye found the number 215, Still delayed, which is still unfortunate but good for now. 

You wished you had time to bask in the innocence and calmness on Ben's face before having to wake him up, you were on a time schedule though. 

Gently placing a hand on his shoulder, the fabric of his sweatshirt was way too inviting. “Ben, Ben, come on sleepyhead. Wake up, Ben,” you spoke softly, you saw his eyes begin to lull open.

“Anakin?”

Your eyebrows knotted, reeling back, “What? Ben, wake up. I have to go.”

“Anakin, i'm sorry.” his voice was rough from sleep, and sorrow filled. His voice almost cracked in his dreamlike state.

Looking at your watch again, You need to go, but you weren't inconsiderate enough to leave without saying something. Your hand grasped his shoulder and shook him gently, his eyes shot open and his breath caught up. For a moment, you wondered if you should mention the name, better not. 

The life came back to Ben, frantically looking around to check where he was before his eyes found you, fully conscious this time. His name left his lips quietly.

“I have to go, they did the last call,” you babbled, beginning to gather the small amount of things you had out. Phone, charger, snacks… check, check, check.

Ben was shifting awake and to his feet above you, you noticed him peering at the flight plans as well. “Uh, do you need any help?” he came to your aid as you somewhat frantically stuffed and zipped your bag up.

You found yourself stuck in a gaze with him again, his eyebrows were slightly furrowed with sleep still lingering and he swallowed nervously. Suddenly, your mouth felt cotton dry. 

“Don't forget what I told you, okay?” 

Your chest feels heavy, a strange feeling creeps up your neck that makes your stomach feel uneasy. Reeling up and preparing for this to end, like some fucked up story or abruptly ended song. Slick palms grasp your backpack strap and suitcase handle, as you now stand face to face.

“I won't.” you swallowed, “thank you, Ben.”

Ben smiles, it's small but so genuine and so sweet that your teeth begin to ache.

You think it's appropriate to say goodbye now, but it feels wrong, so wrong. Maybe you’re selfish and the thought of saying bye to him despite the circumstances leaves a bad, yearning feeling in your mouth and doom deep in your chest. 

“Good luck,” you decide, the implication doesn't hurt any less but it feels like you're letting yourself down easier.

“And to you too.” Ben nods.

You begin to turn and find your gate. It feels like your body hit a brick wall, your knees don't move except to let you turn around and look back.

One last look.

“Hey, Ben,” you say, and god, his eyes are piercing. Even with so many feet between you, this was a dangerous tightrope you were balancing on now. “You haven't failed anyone, and don't dig yourself a hole and give anyone a reason to think you have, yeah?”

“I promise.”

Then, you turn back around and prepare for the flight ahead.

-

Comment to be added to the tag list to be the first to hear when part 2 and 3 come out!!

[justaboot]

Oh yeah the dramatic end to the understudy nightmare week -

Demetrius actor came back in a heartbeat when I asked, was speechless with rage abt me getting hurt/the other actor’s incompetency & we took off early for lunch on his motorcycle (we have a growing collection of pictures of us as leather jacket twins, and I can’t post it but we look like we’re abt to call gay teens slurs). By the time hed heard everything in its entirety he was hurling his empty coffee cup at a garden wall, putting the lid and sleeve back on and then throwing it again. It was fantastic, I love having guy best friends, every ounce of feminism left my body for about an hour, like yes save me straight man I love being defended by men to men. (He was such a petty bitch at lunch, too. We rolled up to the restaurant late and he had to sit next to The Understudy, and he literally was like “thanks for ordering me a coffee” and just SNATCHED THE GUYS MUG. They were like uhhh…that’s his… and my friend was literally like “not anymore” and stared me down as he drank it YES bitchy men YES.)

The last two days of teaching together was a fucking DREAM, I fucked with him so much and it was so much fun, and doing the shows felt like coming home, it’s insane. Crazy supportive cast/friends, I felt so taken care of.

OH AND THEN, so Demetrius actor had called the director to be like “hey there were safety issues and I’m coming back this is not a request,” and I ended up talking to the director, who ended up SOMEHOW turning some of the blame on DEMETRIUS, FOR “taking over the put-in rehearsal,” when teaching the understudy the track. DEMETRIUS IS OUR FIGHT CAPTAIN ITS HIS FUCKING TRACK, and I both over the phone and in writing read him the riot act about how he competent he is and he was the ONLY reason I was safe at ALL. We are a TEAM we take CARE OF EACH OTHER get the FUCK away from my friend.

Anyway, new and exciting injuries have been making themselves known since Tuesday, been wearing a wrist brace and my ankle gave out onstage today during a fall so we were altering fight choreo mid-show on the fly. I’m just. Simultaneously feeling the most furious I’ve ever been and feeling more loved than I’ve ever been in my life. I love my cast and I love my friends and I love my job.

[chosos-mascara]

｡˚۰˚☽ K I N K T O B E R D A Y 25 ☽˚۰˚｡

Insatiable - Toji Fushiguro

cw: vampire!toji, mentions of death, mentions of blood - tbh this one is more story than smut, minor gaslighting, age gap (20s and 40s)

Falling for Toji, you finally venture to his home in order to confess, only to be met with a questionable encounter leaving you confused through your admiration for him.

minors+ageless dni. 2.3k words

masterlist

Your friends danced in front of you, drunken and prancing around happily as you put back another shot, glumly watching. Partying hadn't been your forte, but you'd been dragged out nonetheless, dorm mates giggling on about the student life you would miss if not a part of the 'halloween night out'. Though, now you were here, you had realised the only thing you could have missed out on was a headache, and an uncomfortable feeling shifting through your body whenever one of the girls would usher you toward them, neglecting eye contact as if you hadn't seen them peering at you. 

The leather on your seat was getting a little musty, and you'd built the courage to stand up and leave, planning on calling an uber back to the dorm and end the night prematurely. You'd brushed off the back of your dress, the cold chain of the clutch you'd brought with you stinging on the warmth of your shoulder, sighing as you examined your path to freedom. It was likely you'd have to swim among the vast sea of bodies all crammed into the club, and you braced yourself for the dive. 

But, a hand on your shoulder stopped you. 

"What's a pretty girl like you doin' all alone?" A male's voice boomed into your ear through the monotonous music, your eyes rolling as you brushed his hand from your skin. Turning, you surveyed the initiator, though your plans to tell him to 'fuck off' had fizzled out when you'd been met with such an attractive face. 

He'd been tall, dark hair framing his face, a scar placed vertically down the side of his mouth. He hadn't been dressed for the sleazy club you'd been inside, modelling a black button-up and slacks, a gold rolex over his wrist. He read your confusion as he took your hand, pulling you toward the other end of the club, and through a curtain. If you'd feigned sobriety you wouldn't have followed such a mysterious male, but with the buzz circling through you, you'd entertained the idea, thinking to the pepper-spray that sat safely in the confines of the clutch you'd worn. 

That was how you'd met Toji Fushiguro. He'd requested your company for a game of poker among a few of his work colleagues, men you were sure you should steer clear from in the future, but Toji himself you'd been unable to pry yourself from. You'd once been a college student struggling for funds, now you'd been dating a rich forty-year-old, practically funding your lifestyle, unbenounced to the students you'd surrounded yourself with, or the family that had been blissfully unaware of their daughters actions only a few towns over. 

The first night you'd met him had ended in sloppy head, the second night he'd repaid the favor, and from then, each meet up would conclude in some sort of sexual act. Your relationship had mainly consisted of the matter, with Toji bringing you money, buying you clothes or taking you out for dinner in between. You hadn't complained; a great dick and financial aid had been all you'd needed from a relationship after all. 

Only, there had been some feelings involved, from your end. You weren't sure if he'd reciprocated that or just enjoyed having a young woman to play with - you were sure you'd be able to accept the outcome until you found yourself falling into a slight depression when his calls had eased up, and you'd no longer had to make up excuses to your roommate as to where you'd been disappearing off to late at night, or how you'd been able to afford the new gifts you'd gotten. 

For that reason, you'd been adamant on admitting your feelings, even if that had meant the conclusion to the two-month long spout you'd had with an older man. It was something you'd put thought into, and were at peace with either outcome. 

So, you'd managed to find yourself pacing outside his home, finally plucking yourself from your thoughts and swallowing any residuals of pride you'd had left, raising your finger to press on the doorbell. He'd brought you home a handful of times, though you'd yet to show up without warning. Your stomach churned as you waited, half expecting him to turn you away, though as thirty-seconds had passed, you'd wondered if he'd answer at all. 

You took a step back to turn away, when the entrance you'd been staring at finally moved, a disheveled Toji standing behind the door. He looked rough, bags sitting under his eyes, shirt half buttoned, skin pale. You furrowed your brow as you'd opened your mouth to speak, conjuring up the rehearsed lines you'd had in your head, but as his eyes flickered over you, you were unable to bring yourself to lecture him. 

"Are you okay?" You questioned, watching as the usual malevolent glint in his eye had resided, bringing forward an abyss of unreadable emotion. He laughed, the usual judgmental response he'd found himself in favor of, though with the hoarse chuckle, cam a few coughs. You'd watched in awe as the male usually so quick to tease you had held himself weakly on the door, as if pulling away from the handle would cause him to fall. 

He took a step back, opening wider to grant you presence within his home. You stepped through, wearily glancing over the usual surroundings of his home. Usually such a composed male, now seemingly at his demise as you eyed a few broken bottles and pill bottles laying around. Confusion spiking, you began to turn your head and question what he'd been doing, when you'd felt a sharp pain in your neck. It had taken a moment to register what had occurred, but you'd felt a face in the side of your throat - what had seemingly been teeth piercing through the skin. Before blacking out, you'd heard the sound of drinking echoing through your ear, a sensation of bliss arising through your veins. 

Waking up had been easier said than done. In Toji's bed, unable to remember how you'd arrived there, a pulsating feeling through your body as if you'd been hungover. After a few seconds of consciousness, the events of last night came flooding back to you, hand reaching to feel your neck. You'd felt two indentations in the skin, dried blood surrounding the marks. 

The bed beside you had been empty, and when stepping out of the warmth you'd noticed the change of clothes, instead of the outfit you'd eagerly picked out in order to woo the man you'd come to visit, you'd sported one of his shirts, though still in the panties beneath. 

Too many questions had havoc over your brain, pushing you to confront Toji - this time you'd be unforgiving no matter what state he'd be in downstairs. One foot in front of the other, you paced down the carpeted staircase, one you'd realised you'd never seen in the light of day as you'd usually climbed them while on Toji's lips, and absconded in the early hours of the morning. 

He'd been in the kitchen cooking when you'd found him, messy circles of pancakes shoveled onto a plate as he finished the pile off from the pan, maple syrup on hand with a small bowl of fruit. You wondered if you'd died during that moment last night, for the sight before you would make more sense if you'd simply passed on. There was no chance you'd been observing Fushiguro cooking. 

Your presence was detected, but not acknowledged until he'd cleaned the pan within the water in the sink, placing a fork beside the single plate sat on the breakfast bar. His eyes sheepishly trailed from the food to you, mouth opening for excuses to flow through.  "I made you breakfast." The sentence he'd spoken hadn't matched up with the cold exterior of the male you'd been stood before, half dressed, while he'd been in a pressed shirt and his usual dress trousers, shoes reflecting the overhead lighting with the unnatural shine. Unable to counter what had been occurring before you, you decided to sit at the table, allowing him to push the creation before you. 

"What is this?" You questioned, ignoring the bizarre gesture and instead watching the man opposite you, glancing around the room that had been completely broken only twelve hours before.  "Pancakes?" He'd replied, a smile playing at his lips with a glint of hope at winning you back. He looked healthy - he looked normal. Something he hadn't been last night.  "Toji, you know that's not what I'm talking about. What the fuck happened - did you fucking bite me last night?" Your rambles were justified; he'd known that. But with too much inquiry, you'd end up dead, much like others who'd dared to investigate his condition. 

"You came here drunk," He began to explain, expression unfaltered despite the lies seeping through his teeth. "I took you to bed, as I wasn't in a state to drive, and now, I'm making you breakfast." You'd have believed him if you'd had no recollection, even being embarrassed, but you knew he'd been spouting bullshit, and were unwilling to soak up any more of the falsehoods. 

"Don't you dare lie to me, Toji." You slammed your hand on the counter-top, blood boiling at the immaturity. "You owe me a fucking explanation - why did you bite me?" He sighed, smile fading as he shook his head.  "Ya think anyone will believe you?" He moved from the stance behind the bar to tower over you, as if to intimidate the female before him. "A rich white man bit a dumb little college girl?" Toji's threats fell on deaf ears as you scowled at him, and he'd been reminded of your stubbornness - the reason as to why he'd found himself getting lost in you, instead of fobbing you off like the other bimbos he'd used, drinking the sweet nectar from their bodies and returning them to the street for someone else to save. 

"You think I'll go tell anyone about this?" You furrowed your brow, disbelief settling in. "Toji, I want to know what the fuck is going on, for my sake. I fucking love you." What you'd planned to be an explosive response to his gas-lighting had turned into you choking back a sob, throat closing up as you'd confessed your feelings to the male who'd wooed you. 

His expression dropped as he scanned over your face, as if searching for the proof of dishonesty - but found nothing. You were being raw with him, your usual aura dissipating, tears spilling helplessly from your cheeks from your own confusion and the betrayal of his demeanor, someone you'd counted on to be honest with you now suddenly having a change of heart. 

"That's -" He cut himself off, an empathetic look gracing his face as you'd swallowed back a further cry, his feelings evident through the uncomfortable silence and stuttered words.  "Talk to me, for fuck sake!" You shoved into his chest, in an attempt to give yourself some sort of output, but as the male had remained completely still, you sighed in annoyance. 

You'd slammed your fist down once more, this time feeling a sharp pain through your hand as you'd come into contact with the ceramic plate, cracking it, blood pouring from closed fist. You sighed as you brought your hand up to admire, mentally cussing yourself out for letting your anger get the better of you. 

Toji's hand enveloped your own, a gasp leaving you at the abrupt action he'd taken. You turned your head to apologize, but had been met with eyes you hadn't recognized. 

Instead of the usual stoic green gaze, the irises before you had set in a deep red, typical straight teeth he'd grinned with had changed to mimic the shape of small daggers, pointed sharply as if created for only the purpose of piercing skin. 

He'd been correct; if he'd told you his condition, you wouldn't have believed him. But, being met with the reality before you, it had sunk in. 

The transformation had faded within a few seconds, grip loosening over you as he'd controlled the urge within himself, calming the instinct. Unable to speak, you were now the one sat in silence, mouth agape as you'd processed what had just occurred before you. You'd half expected Toji to abuse your trust once more and lie about what you'd just witnessed, but as you'd remained in silence, he hadn't fought off the mental accusations you'd made. Instead, studying your face to search for a reaction.

"What was that?" Your voice was weak, on the verge of breaking as you watched the man you'd loved peer over you in fear, concerned for the backlash bound to happen. Sighing, he brought a hand over his eyes, rubbing them before finally supplying you with an answer.  "Well," He searched around the room as if buying time, looking for an explanation he could supply that didn't sound as insane as he was about to give. 

"It's like being a vampire, I guess." He swallowed, refusing eye contact as he'd continued. "I was involved in some sketchy shit when I was younger, and there was a job that was too good to be true - thirty million yen to kill some girl. I did it, but it made some high-school kids mad, and one of those fuckers caught me off guard and killed me. Turns out one of the big-shots had other plans for me, and injected me with some guy's blood. Low and behold, I get turned into this." You hadn't heard him speak like this before, no hidden intent behind his words, just a tired voice trying to make sense of events he hadn't understood. 

"What happened last night?" You questioned, hand going back to the puncture wounds you'd been dealt, watching his expression change from hopelessness to concern.  "I need blood to survive, otherwise my body shuts down. If I leave it too late I get to weak to move. You showed up and I just couldn't help myself-" He exhaled, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, kid. I don't usually see women for this long. Bad shit happens." 

"Could you have killed me?" You question, heart racing.  "Yeah - just eat something and go home, okay?" Toji looked glumly past the counter, turning to walk away. You reached an arm out, gripping around his wrist to stop him. He didn't move to look at you, only letting out an annoyed hum as if to question your actions. You stood, still wrapped around him forcefully, walking to stand face to face with the man you'd fallen in love with, letting go of the wrist you'd held to pull at his shirt, tugging him into a kiss. 

It had taken a few moments to register your lips on his, and when he had, there'd been some hesitation, but he eventually kissed back. You were needy, a display of affections for him, mouth molding to his in synchrony as you'd added a little tongue, hand sliding up his chest and into the black hair that fell so perfectly over his face. The pair of you had shared many intimate moments before, his cock had been buried deep inside you as you'd gasped for air between thrusts, or his fingers curling into your pussy while you'd sat mouth open and throat swollen from screams, but never had you shared a moment so raw with him. 

Pure, insatiable love, perhaps following the revelation of truth you'd just encountered this was the stupidest move you could have made, but you couldn't change the fact that no part of you had wanted him to leave in that moment. Seeing him open up to you and be honest about something so delicate had you head over heels; as if you hadn't already been. Your thumb traced over the scar at the corner of his mouth, a smile on your lips as he'd reciprocate your emotion, even if unintentional. You could feel his love for you behind the way he'd hummed, the way he'd come undone despite having no intention of doing so, for he'd trusted you, like no other. 

The pair of you had backed up, your back hitting the counter as he'd lifted your ass plush to the cold granite, spreading your legs to allow him to edge closer to you, as if his intentions had been anything other than sexual. Maybe they had been at first, because the way you'd shown him admiration and genuine tenderness was unlike anything he'd felt before, but after a few more moments shared, he was tracing the insides of your bare thighs, grabbing at the fat situated in under the skin, grasping at every handful he could get from you, needing more. 

You'd slipped your panties from yourself, lifting the shirt he'd placed on your unconscious body hours before to allow him access, his fingers finding their way to the place he'd felt they'd belonged, massaging at the folds between your legs. He rubbed at your clit, earning moans from your lips while he'd slipped his trousers downward, sitting at mid thigh, left hand pumping over his hardened cock as he'd prepared you. 

Pushing forward, he prodded into the wet entrance, a few pumps and breaths before maintaining a moderate pace. Unlike the usual roughhousing you'd gotten, he'd been seemingly lax, focused purely on the moment you'd been sharing rather than trying to score an immeasurable amount of moans from you, or seeing if he could set a new record for your orgasms before you'd almost passed out from exhaustion. 

This, you'd thought, would be the first time the pair of you'd had sex - unparalleled to the pleasure he'd given you previously, this was another level. The way your heart raced against your's and his chest, verging on what had felt to be a heart-attack, because there was no way one man could bring so much emotion over your body. You wondered if his heart beat too, if it hadn't, maybe yours could beat for the pair of you. 

His maneuvered in and out of you, deep circles over your sensitive bud as he'd done so, having you bite your lip in pleasure. The soft moans passing from your mouth to his were warm, gentle caresses against one another. Your cunt had stretched over his member in a tight state, one that had you feeling so undeniably full.

"I love you, Toj'." You'd whispered against his lips, a hum following, opening your eyes to watch as he'd pressed his forehead on yours, only now realising how you'd been crying through the act, over-encumbered by sentiment. He traced kisses over your jaw, a grunt and shudder of gratification as the words ricocheted through his ears, your soft and lustful voice tickling the inside of his neck as you repeated yourself, prouder this time. He hid the smile he'd had in your neck, inhaling your scent as he had you clenching around him.  "I love you too." He'd whispered, hands gripping firmly at your sides, a warm feeling within him that he hadn't felt in so long, that he was happy to feel when it was you causing it.

[aledanshi]

Tried searching for some q!Archivists content on the tag but there's barely anything, so I guess I'll have to become this site's biggest q!Archivists warrior (while also feeding my own delusions).

Brace yourselves.

So! In my hc, Cellbit is polyamorous and he ends up falling in love with and eventually "marrying" Philza during purgatory, their trust in each other has been developing before that due to Philza helping him in his investigations and becoming one of the leaders of the Order, but they only formed a connection after day 1 on Egg Island and all the insanity-inducing bullshit they went through.

Their relationship is a mixture of mentor/pupil and lovers, they playfully call each other Father and Son, but ever since Philza became the leader of the BOLAS?!?? gas mask cult, the title of Father Crow has much more depth attached to it. Philza is practically their God, their saviour in moments of desperation and hopelessness, he'll guide his "children" and protect them from everything that this hellscape THIS ISN'T PURGATORY, THIS IS HELL throws at them.

And then he sees Cellbit. Fierce, unforgiving, sometimes cruel, with the intellect of a genius and such compassion and humanity which would surpass that of even the most God-honoring men and women that he's known, but buried so deep inside his heart after everything that he's been through that he isn't even able to feel empathy anymore. He sees this beautiful, broken shell of a man and takes him under his wings, glueing the little pieces bit by bit with his kindness in the hopes of making him feel whole again, even if he knows that it won't heal the cracks and the scars.

But Cellbit sees Philza too, he sees the once stoic, solitary crow residing atop of the wall, observing the passerbys living their lives while keeping his distance, beggining to protect his newly acquired "flock" with a vice grip on his axe and shield, building a nest that'll shelter each of his children while providing them with anything that they need, whilst also encouraging them to pursue their freedom and take matters into their hands. A loving father, a kind leader, a wonderful man in all aspects.

He's not exactly proud of letting the walls that surround his most vulnerable parts crumble so easily, but he can't bring himself to regret it if Philza's the one swinging the hammer at the bricks.

Don't get me wrong, it's not simply a tale of loving gazes and whispered reassurances, their love is also sick, it blinds them to the outside world and the consequences of their actions, their selfishness is warped into a delusion of compassion and they keep themselves tethering on the edge of insanity (or "freedom", as someone that's part of a cannibalistic doomsday cult may call it).

When they eventually "marry" each other near the end of purgatory (and Roier is informed of their newly formed relationship), Philza gives Cellbit a green leather collar with a gold pendant that has been engraved with his initials, his only words to him are "I would like for you to be mine, even if your heart has already been claimed by someone else", Cellbit accepts and once the rest of team BOLAS?!?? receives the news of their union, Cellbit is refered to as "Mother" in family gatherings and "The Hand of God" when Philza is absent.

The green collar and his wedding ring are his most prized possessions, no one's allowed to touch it if not Philza or himself, which unintentionally resulted in an argument between Cellbit and Roier when the mexican tried to touch his husband's neck and had his wrist held forcefully by the other on pure instinct. If someone from the blue team takes the collar as a "hunting prize" after murdering Cellbit they are ambushed and brutally eaten alive by the frenzied red team members.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

WORM OC WORM OC WORM OC

his civilian identity is Wyatt Burns!!! he was an accomplished cruiserweight pro boxer with a promising career. after six years of gaining notoriety, he was finally invited to an IBF titlefight, and went out drinking to celebrate - only for an intense brawl to break out between two men playing pool, which quickly spiraled out to include the whole bar. he held his own for a short while but eventually received severe injuries, including several bone fractures.

he was given a two-month recovery time, long enough to lose his shot at the IBF title. worse, even after the bones had healed, the aching, burning, and soreness that had accompanied the fractures did not, and he was diagnosed with chronic pain syndrome with no apparent cause. the physical pain only compounded his worries - the shame of having been so badly overpowered by untrained strangers, the hopelessness following losing his career as a pro boxer, the aimlessness he had felt during those two months of recovery, the financial stress of suddenly becoming physically disabled and no longer having a job or any transferable skills, and the frustration that what had brought him so low was something as simple as pain which he thought he should be able to push past. the desperation brought him deep enough to cause him to trigger.

he is a breaker 4 (brute 3, mover 2, thinker 2.) his breaker state is not directly controlled by him; it begins as soon as he lands a close-quarters hit on someone else, or is hit BY somebody else in close range. it ends as soon as his mind or body no longer consider him to be "in a fight." while in his breaker state, he has enhanced strength, slightly enhanced speed and reflexes, and an innate understanding of the parts of human physiology that are involved in a fight, as well as the forces fundamental to fighting. this understanding allows him to land punches in a way that causes minimal injury to him and maximum injury to his opponent. finally, while in his breaker state, he has no pain response whatsoever (though he can still receive injuries and may change his fighting style to accommodate,) as well as having no emotional reactions. the downside is that when his breaker state ends, he experiences all of the pain and emotion at once, frequently bringing him to scream, fall down, drop to his knee, etc. following a fight.

his powers did not actually solve his problems. the pro boxing leagues refused to take him back as he would pose an unfair advantage. he took on the cape name Olympic and tried to make some headway in the parahuman prizefighting rings, but found them lacking both the reputation and money he was looking for - so he turned to mercenary work instead. he is... still relatively unsuccessful, but he's trying, okay

civilian appearance: mixed mediterranean-american, tan olive skintone, dark brown hair kept short, dark brown eyes. cheerful features. athletic build, fairly well-rounded with slightly above average emphasis put on shoulders, back, arms, and abs. civilian clothes are simple and he does not put much thought into it, though much of his wardrobe shows off his muscles.

costume: crimson exomis, low-cut to reveal much of his musculature. fastened at waist with brown leather zoster studded with bronze medals rather than with cloth belt. boots are a dark reddish-brown cross of the calceus and caligae, closed-toe and leather, fully covering foot like calceus, but with the caligae's hobnailing, and leather bands and laces that go further up the leg, to about a foot below the knee. reddish brown caestus worn on each hand/arm; thickest leather is from wrist to below knuckle, with cloth on inside as padding and bronze studs set into this region to increase damage done with hits. leather braces extend from caestus, criscrossing/wrapping around his arms all the way to the elbow. dark brown leather tainia just above browline keeps his hair in place and helps prevent sweat from obstructing his vision. no mask and does not make secret of his civilian identity.

[bitebitesnap]

What Are You

Does anyone remember that time I said I had an AU for Guilty Gear? Yeah I don't really have much of an explanation for this beyond it was a test of that AU that I wanted to write that;s evolved into...this.

So yeah um, this has been sitting in my drafts for -checks notes- at least a few months??? I really wanted to get it out much earlier than now but tbh I'm just glad it's finally done so have this nearly 3000 word thing before I overthink it.

Heat burned in his eyes and throughout his chest. Smoky embers rolled through his throat, coating his tongue in ash and soot. Strain filtered through his forearms, resting hot on the shoulder. He shoved harder, grip tight around the wrench.

Absolutely nothing. The bolt remained as steadfast as any rusty piece of crap would be from lack of care.

His brow pinched tight. A deep frustrated breath heaved in his chest as a trickle of sweat rolled down his temple, "Hng...dammit.." He tugs the wrench free, staring at the thing with a harsh scowl.

"Still struggling down there, hothead?"

He rolled his eyes almost good naturedly-not that you could see, "Shut up. I'm making progress, quite making fun of me." He brushed the back of his hand against his cheek, smearing something viscous but he ignored it. The headband had been an oversight, as he meant to take it off before getting under his little project, but at least the leather kept the sweat out of his eyes

You still laughed at him while kicking your feet, "Maybe I will when you're not getting covered in grease and let us both get something to eat for once!"

He huffed, "It's not that simple. Can;t just force the damn thing, it takes a careful touch. One wrong move and," Metal pings sharply right into his ear, but it proves his point as the exhaust rocks softly against his flick, "This thing goes right into my face."

He hears your hair rustle as you push it behind your ear nonchalantly, "And? You've been punched real hard by a car once."

"Got hit by a car."

"Semantics aren't important." Your shadow on the wall waves off his scoff, "You'll be fine."

"I will. This won't." He picks up the end of the topic of discussion to hold it out from underneath the motorcycle, "This thing was half a month's payment to get and I don't feel like remaking it. And the manufacturer is out of business for the rest of the year, so there's no replacement either." The recently polished pipe squeaks as he props it back onto his shoulder, hanging precariously just over his face.

The singular reason why it couldn't just be pushed out of his way was staring him in the face with all it's rusted stubbornness-a joint from the old exhaust kit still set in place. He'd left it when first starting since it wasn't too important yet, but now he kind of wished he did. The rust had soldered the bolt into the frame and he couldn't replace that without completely fucking up the whole shape of the bike. If the section he was on wasn't a support brace he wouldn't have been worried about it, but there it was right in his face like a fist to the nose and here he was trying to fix it.

To add insult to injury it was quarter past noon, right in the heat of the day. The sunlight from the garage's ratty window was like a branding pole right across his chest, not held back in the slightest by the missing slats in the already broken blinds. He'd already sweat through his one good shirt-thankful for the one time he thought ahead and took off his vest for 'safety reasons' that only meant for the jacket to sustain the least amount of damage possible.

"Yeah fair enough on that end I guess." Your small sigh stills his hand before he can pick up the wrench again, "The Dragoons have been getting worse." And he almost rolled his eyes, huffing under his breath.

Dragoons. Half human, half dragon. Monsters in the form of men that only knew destruction. The reason for the current lockdown that pushed him off the King's work list for a while. For his own sake, he said.

Bullshit.

His grip on the wrench tightened, "Yeah. Like always." The frame creaked a bit as he pushed himself into place, the old wheels on the cart he laid on rattling under his back, "Bastards love to make things worse whenever they crawl out of their holes." Like keep him from getting an actual set of jacks for the bike over his head and leaving him to resort to ram-shackling the thing on top of scrap and a pile of real thick phone books.

You only hummed. The tips of your steel toed boots flicked in and out from behind the front wheel. You;d sat yourself on one of the many old crates he had yet to haul out of this old garage, leaning back and kicking up your heels like you owned the place. He didn;t doubt you came without your phone, which he did hear you tap away on again once you stopped answering. So he turned back to the subject in his hands-a stubborn bolt that refused to move.

It was after a few minutes of him quietly struggling to himself that you spoke up, clearly bored with whatever you had been entertaining yourself with before, "Though it's kind of confusing to me." He lets out a tight hum for you continue, "How are you different?"

He grunts through his teeth-damn this thing refused to move, "Different? The Hell are you on about?"

"I mean." You hesitate, huffing as you gather your bearings, "Why aren't you?" Your heels tap against the crate as you swing them.

"Why aren't I what? Just say it." He let too much aggression slip as he tried again to make the bolt just fucking move. Fucking Hell, he was moments away from just wrenching the whole lot off and calling it a day. Support frame be damned he wasn't dealing with this for much longer.

"Dangerous. Like the other Dragoons."

Immediately tension locks his hands into place, wrench handle digging into his palm. Ice pours into his veins as if the sun decided it wasn't summer anymore and slipped right into winter. Wide eyes glance towards where you sat, frantic, "What."

If his bark affected you there was no way he could tell from where he sat. Your boots shuffled against the crate, steel lined heels clacking together, “You have the Dragon Install, which is a Dragoon ability. The marks on your neck are a dead give away, too. You're also stubborn, short tempered, and itching for a fight at a moments notice. Just like one of them.” Each finger he heard you flick out made his shoulders flinch almost imperceptibly to you, but for him he felt each one like a tick of a clock.

A self conscious hand left the wrench to brush along the stripes decorating the sides of his neck and throat, normally covered by the jacket's collar. The jacket he had stupidly tossed aside so he could drag himself underneath his project without worry. Right.

Fuck him.

He forced his hand back onto the wrench. Change topic, change topic, ”Dragoons are assholes that can't keep their heads on long enough to hold a conversation. Mostly they're known for their rampant destruction of a lot of big cities.“ Frantic he scanned around for something, anything to busy his other hand with so you wouldn't notice his pause-or at least hopefully, you'd brush it off and move on like he did, ”You did go to school at one point right.“ The question wasn't as smooth as he wanted it to be but it would have to do as he rummaged in the junk next to him.

You picked up the topic change. He knew you did. The sudden lurch forwards was perfectly aligned with the indignant scowl you always gave him when he prodded at your intelligence ”Hey I was homeschooled, asshole. I know enough.“

A little huff pulled the corner of his mouth, "Ya sure about that? I remember having to tell you about the older generations of that tech menace you call a phone." Pliers found his hand and lifted out of the mess on the floor. Without thinking too much on it he clasped the teeth around the wrench's handle.

"And? I didn;t take tech classes in college, along with half the population in the city." Your shadow waves away the comment and sweeps towards the door well out of his line of sight.

He leers at your image, grip tightening as he pushed, "You. College. Really."

"Yes really, jackass. I did manage to get in like every other half-baked professional we work with."

”Not to get anything better than a-“ Metal snapped much too loudly and right into his face, ”FUCK-! Shit….dammit.“ The bitter taste of now twisted steel bit at his tongue as the flecks scattered onto the garage floor beneath him. Even the wrench flung itself away as if to escape blame while it clattered along the floor.

”You good down there?“

”Yeah..Just fucked it up.“ He brushed the metal off his face as best he could, though a faint sting laced his eyes, ”Nothing new down here. Old piece of shit still has it out for me.“ With a scowl towards the skeletal frame braced above him he assessed the damage.

While the frame had been scraped bad, nothing was too out of order. The bolt's remains fell out of the socket with a tug from the pliers still in his hand, a mangled mess of threaded steel reduced to just a nub. He didn't really care where the rest of it went-with his luck it exploded from the force he exherted, which was fantastic. With the exhaust pipe in the other hand he shoved it up further under the chasis until it braced onto the floor over his head-not an ideal place for it, granted, as it could twist up the metal in some way, but it was better than on him or lost in the mess that was this garage's floor.

But it was your snickering that made him shove against his bike's suspended frame, the cart’s wheels rattling beneath him as he looked at you with a deep frown, ”Shut the Hell up, asshole.“ Slowly sitting up he scrubbed his very likely grease covered fingers over his eyes, probably smearing black over his face in the process, ”You don't even care that I got metal in my eyes, do you?”

You just grinned at him, leather jacket squeaking as you shrugged, “Nah, I know you're fine. Not like I haven't seen you deal with worse.” Your gaze stays on him even though he gives you a glare, narrowing onto that smug little tilt of your lips for a bit too long while you go back to picking at the peeling patch on your arm.

He grunts, getting up from the cart, “Ya sure about that, runt? Could have got a real big shard in my eye and you would be laughing about it. Real mature of you to make fun of me while I could be bleeding on the floor.” Damn, his neck ached. Granted he was laying down for longer than normal, but it rarely got this bad. It pulled on his shoulders while he rested a hand over the knot at the base of his neck and tugged hard-the nice pop rolling through his spine deeply satisfying.

“But you wouldn't because Dragoons don't get hurt that easily.”

He huffed, long and loud. Again with that. “I told you, I;m not a Dragoon.” Dropping the bolt into the scrap pile he starts digging into the drawers of a donated file cabinet that was being filled with anything but, “I'm not a mindless freak like they are.”

Perhaps you felt merciful today because once his sharp retort left him you fell silent. A small victory. Unfortunately the natural desire to ignore the current problem now left him painfully aware of just how bad he’d let this borrowed garage get. The file cabinet was the oldest piece he had-a surprising feat, as the building was at least a few decades- filled with more rust than whatever he had that had spent too much time lying around on the floor and needed a place to be stuffed into. And it's convenience was also the problem-there was more than just spare bolts in this thing. It was practically bursting with random crap he didn’t need when he had it but didn’t want to deal with. It was less an organization method and more a way to ignore the mess.

And clearly, an excuse not to continue the topic.

He'd never admit to the unease roiling in his gut. Waiting was not his thing-neither was digging through old crap in the waning hope you'd drop the idea niggling in your head for something he wanted to be bothered by.

”So.“

But you were, in fact, the most stubborn human being he's ever met.

He sighed, rolling his head back behind his shoulders, “What now.” He grumbled, hand still halfway into a new drawer.

“I'm getting to it, jerk, give me a second” Again he snorted as you huffed. But when you weren't immediately going down another one of your common rantings about the king you both worked under-which would be a blessing in this case, he'd take anything else right now-he grew wary.

Yet you continued.

”I know of the dragons. Big ugly things that come from the rifts to the Otherside, some unknown dimension parallel to our own where it's similar but wrong in a way.” Your boots tamp onto the concrete as you hop off the crate, ”People think that humans were there once from relics, but it;s possible the dragons either ate them all or did something to get rid of them.“ Steps clunk across the garage floor as you approached slowly, almost cautiously, “I know you're not a dragon. That much is obvious." He rolled his eyes, "You've also stated that you're not a Dragoon, but you have a lot of similar abilities that Dragoons have-short temper, brash personality, preference towards destruction and the like.” His ears twitch at each finger you flick out, repeating the count you’d made before, “Yet at the same time you have control over your rage. Instead of reaping havoc, you direct it, almost like a gun, towards whoever you're fighting. In fact I don't think I've ever seen you get super angry at anything that isn’t that hunk of junk you call a project over there.” Air swishes, like you'd tossed a thumb over your shoulder.

He’s frozen in place, staring blankly at the cabinet. It’s all too much. How had he not noticed how closely you were paying attention. How well you’d been watching his every move-sure, he couldn’t exactly call you a slacker, but you’d rarely made it feel like you were a threat.

And yet he should have. It was written in your title, your name.

Hunter. Dragon Killer.

Harmless wasn’t in the job description.

But…could he really call you dangerous? Yes, you’d read out his failed cover up like a book on a shelf, but it wasn’t with malice or even disappointment. Though you sounded a bit exasperated, it wasn’t what stood out-just a backdrop to something softer, lighter despite the weight of them. Something almost like…

Curiosity.

“So my question is, if you're not a dragon, or even a Dragoon, then…” A subtle shift of your hair as if  you’d tilted your head makes his breath catch in his chest, ”..What are you?“

The words are there. They stick in his throat like honey-sweet, sickly so, a coat of lies he could use to cover the whole truth and hide it away before it's ever known. He could speak them now, cover his back and run away again.

But he can't. He's already gone too far. Said too much, let you in too soon. If he backed out now, it would only make it worse for the both of you. In his eyes, there’s two ways this can go. Either you get it from him, or you take the unbelievably stupid risk of finding someone else to answer-neither of which are on his good list of ideas.

Well, at least one was a definite no-go. The other not so much, but he couldn't guarantee how flaky he could get.

Instead he sighs. Air hotter than the setting sun boils against his lips, what little condensation a desert could procure steaming away before his face in a puff. With a collecting breath he turns, face carefully neutral. The aged black shirt stretches to accommodate the tight cords of muscle as he crosses his arms, workbench creaking as he leans back against it.

Looking you in the eye he forces the words to leave his lips, ”A Drago.“

He sees the gears in your head working. Little flicks of confusion as you glance about, unsure whether to maintain his intense stare or gather information yourself by whatever he'd hung up on the walls. But the garage's scattered remnants of memorabilia wouldn't elaborate on his words, thus forcing you to turn back to him. And with a soft swallow, you ask the words he didn't want to answer yet knew he had to, ”…What's a Drago.“

And here it would fall apart.

”A dragon turned human.“

[pedroscurls]

Title: One Drunken Night (Part 2.)

CHAPTER TITLE: Back to Normal

Character(s): Negan (pre-apocalypse), Joel Miller (pre-apocalypse, au), Reader (third-person POV), Lucille Summary: After their fun and unforgettable night together, Reader and Negan go back to their normal lives, but it seems like the universe is trying to keep them together. Word Count: 1,794 Author's Note: So, as you can tell from my recent reblogs, I am obsessed with Joel Miller and Pedro Pascal, so this story will now include him (cross-over). Ahhh, I’m so excited for you all to read what’s in store for this story! Enjoy. Warning: None.

(GIF Source: @jdmorganz​) 

Negan

The following morning, Negan awoke in a conflicting mood. He felt great, especially after last night’s events, but he was feeling an intense amount of guilt. While he was still riding his high from last night, he immediately felt regret when he caught a glimpse of Lucille walking into the kitchen.

He couldn’t believe that he had cheated on her and he wasn’t sure that telling her was a good idea. So instead, he decided to keep it to himself. Besides, it only happened once and it wasn’t going to happen again. 

“Are you even listening?” Negan heard Lucille say.

“I’m sorry baby, what?”

Lucille sighed. “Got too drunk last night?”

Negan let out a heavy breath. He didn’t want to argue again, especially not this early. “Well, it seemed like you didn’t want me here, so what was I supposed to do?”

“Do you even– You know what, nevermind.”

“No, what is it? What is your problem with me, Lucille?”

“If you have to ask that, then it really shows that you think there’s nothing wrong with our marriage.”

Negan shook his head and stood from the stool he was sitting on at their island counter. He looked down at Lucille, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. “I’m tired of fucking fighting, Lucille, so before we start yelling at each other again, I’m just going to walk away right now.”

Lucille scoffed. “I’ve gotta get to work anyway.”

Negan sighed. “Lucille–”

“Bye, Negan.” No kiss. No hug. No “I love you”. Lucille instead walked to the garage and slammed the door shut behind her, causing Negan to flinch at the abrupt, loud sound.

Negan tightened his jaw, running a hand over his face. “Fucking hell.” He felt like shit. A shitty husband. A shitty person. An overall failure. His marriage with Lucille used to be great; they were both so head over heels in love with each other and now, neither of them could stand to be in the same room with each other. At least not without an inevitable yelling match.

It was only a matter of time before Lucille decided to leave him and file for divorce. It was too late to salvage their marriage, so Negan was just bracing himself for what was to come. It made him sad to think about separating from Lucille and despite their constant arguments, he still wanted her to be happy. 

He knew he wasn’t making her happy and nothing he did was ever enough either. If he had to let her go for her to be happy, then he would do it. Negan still loved Lucille and if she decided she didn’t want to be with him anymore, then he wasn’t going to stop her. 

Lucille deserved to be happy and it was obvious that he was only making things worse.

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Reader

Y/N awoke that morning feeling very satisfied. She wasn’t usually the type of woman to have one night stands, but even she had needs that needed to be tended to. Once her date stood her up, she didn’t have any expectation that she was going to end up going home with an absolute stranger. A sexy stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. 

“Negan,” she mumbled to herself. “What a unique name.” She sighed, biting her lower lip as she imagined the same man from last night. The leather jacket, the dimples, the deep voice… He was amazing and it was no wonder why she was attracted to him; she always did have a thing for older men so she wasn’t sure why she was trying to go on dates with men her age. 

However, her mind then drifted to the man she had an insane crush on. She sighed. He was so out of reach and never showed any interest, but he was so sweet, quiet, and the complete opposite of Negan in terms of personality. He was probably around the same age as Negan and he was just as scruffy, his hair and facial hair tinged with gray. His voice was also deep and inviting, causing her to feel butterflies in her stomach whenever he was nearby. 

She was broken out of her reverie when her phone started to ring. She bit her lower lip and picked it up, hearing his voice on the other end of the line.

“Mornin’,” he said. “Are you still up for coffee?”

“Good morning to you too, Joel.” She blushed, just even hearing his voice made her insides tingle. “Oh, yeah yeah. Give me twenty?”

Joel smiled. “Fun night last night?”

Her mind drifted to Negan. “You can say that. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon, darlin’.”

Y/N had met Joel over a year ago and while their friendship grew overtime, she had the biggest crush on him and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide it. She knew Joel wasn’t interested in dating, especially not after losing his daughter. He had opened up to her one night and since then, Joel knew he could trust her. Their coffee meet ups happened frequently; it was a weekly occurrence and Joel looked forward to it every week. She brought out a side of him that he thought was long gone.

But Joel knew he couldn’t pursue her. He knew Y/N deserved better than him anyway. He was damaged goods and he didn’t think he could make her happy, so he decided to settle on being her friend. It pained him to hear her talk about various men she met or even spent the night with because he had wished it was him, but he knew it was better this way. 

He didn’t want to end up disappointing her like he did everyone else.

Twenty minutes later, Joel was sitting at a table, waiting for Y/N to arrive. She usually wasn’t late so he had to wonder how her night went last night. He was just about to call her to ask where she was when he noticed her walking in.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Joel flashed her a small smile and pushed her cup of coffee in her direction. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Y/N smiled, taking a sip of her coffee and goraning at the taste. “I really needed this. Thank you, Joel.”

“Figured you’d need it.” He sipped from his own cup, looking in her direction. Joel found her to be so beautiful, so captivating, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it, so he admired from afar, determined to not make it so obvious.

“You got work this morning?” Joel heard her ask.

He nodded, running a hand over his bear. “Yeah. With Tommy.”

Y/N was used to Joel being a man of few words, but while he didn’t say a lot, his eyes were so expressive. So, she noticed a slight roll of his eyes at the mention of his brother, hinting at annoyance and dread.

“Oh, why that face?” She laughed. “Tommy isn’t all that bad.”

Joel scoffed. “He’s just gonna be talkin’ about his new girl, Maria.”

“Sounds like he’s in love,” Y/N smiled.

“And I’m happy for him, but he’s been naggin’ me to get out there and date too. Somethin’ about finding my own happiness or whatever.”

Y/N felt herself get excited at the thought of going out with Joel. Maybe this was a good thing; Tommy was pushing Joel to start dating and this meant she might at least have a chance. Since meeting Joel, she had developed a crush that she had to push aside. He never really did show any interest towards her, or any woman, but Y/N was still holding onto hope. 

Maybe one day.

“He sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.”

He shook his head and scoffed once more. “Me? Love? You’ve gotta be jokin’. Besides, I like bein’ alone.”

Her excitement and hope slowly began to fade. She didn’t know how to cross that line of being just friends with him, but she knew she wanted more. 

“Oh, come on. Everyone deserves love, Joel.”

“Not me. ‘M fine with the way things are,” he replied quickly.

Before Y/N could reply, she caught a glimpse of the same man from last night. The heat between her legs became noticeable, serving as a reminder of last night’s events. When their eyes met, Negan smirked, flashing his dimples and sending a wink in her direction. Before she knew it, he was walking over to their table with such confidence and charisma that Joel even noticed that her attention was elsewhere.

“Well, fancy running into you. Good morning, doll.”

Y/N bit her lower lip, his voice causing her insides to tingle that she forgot Joel was sitting across from her. “Negan…”

He grinned, running his tongue across his lower lip. “Looks like the universe is trying to send us a message.” Negan winked, referring to what she said last night about their hook up being only a one time thing. 

“That or you’re following me,” she quipped. Y/N tried to keep her resolve, but was finding it increasingly difficult to do so with Negan standing near her and Joel sitting across from her. She didn’t want to bring up last night, especially not in front of Joel, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Negan. The events of last night flashing through her mind and she was, surprisingly, yearning for more.

“You gonna introduce me to your friend, darlin’?” Joel asked, bringing her out of her reverie. 

She looked over at him and nodded, clearing her throat. “Sorry. This is– Um, this is Negan.”

Joel stood from the table to face Negan. He was shorter, but was by far more muscular and thicker than the other man. Negan was tall and slender, and the smirk on his face irritated Joel and he didn’t know why. 

Both men were complete opposites. 

Negan was loud and confident. 

Joel was quiet and reserved. 

And Y/N wanted both of them.

“Negan, this is my– This is Joel.”

Negan arched a brow, catching the way she stuttered when introducing the man in front of him. He looked over at Joel, maintaining that smirk. He could tell he was getting under the other man’s skin and Negan liked it, enjoyed it rather. It was obvious to him that Joel had a thing for Y/N. 

Y/N looked between both men, her mind immediately going to inappropriate thoughts.

Though, it was Joel who stuck his hand out first.

“Nice to meet ‘ya.”

Negan ran his tongue along the top of his teeth and reached out to shake Joel’s hand with a firm, tight grip. “Yeah, good to meet you too, Joel.”

---

Part 3.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @kaitebugg03, @a-girl-interupted

[vxxlkyrie]

Could you possibly pls do some Jane the Killer hcs?? If not her, then maybe Nina?

I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this request! I’ve been on and off sick for a while (I’m still sick actually).

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Masterlist

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Jane The Killer HCs

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- 100% had an emo phase before she met Jeff let’s be fr

- THE BIGGEST LESBIAN ISTFG

- Dresses in pink tutus with Sally when they have “tea time”

- Has an entire collection of just different brands of black lipstick

- Practically all the young creepy pastas call her mom or something of the sorts

- She doesn’t know how to feel about it ^

- Has a separate closet just for leather jackets (the lady needs her jackets idk what to tell you 🤷)

- Draws on the thinnest fucking eyebrows omg

- HUGE coffee drinker

- Whispers “i hate men” whenever Jeff enters the room

- Defo blasts AC/DC when she drives

- Had a shit ton of Evanescence posters in her room at one point

- Her first celebrity crush was Avril Levigne

- Nina says her room is depressing (it’s monotoned 🫠)

- Has a bouquet of roses she kept from Sally

- She’s terrified of it dying cause she knows Sally will cry ^

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Nina The Killer HCs

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- Tried to do dye her hair rainbow one time and it ended in tears

- Plays that little flower petal plucking thing (the “he loves me” “he loves me not” thing idk what it’s called)

- Owns way to many Kandi

- Colour coordinates them with her outfits ^

- Same with hair ties and hair clips

- Was OBSESSED with those princess dress up games when she was little

- Would watch the Little Mermaid constantly growing up

- Drowns herself in vanilla perfume

- Gives herself new highlight colours every week (Ramona Flowers frl)

- Her sink is now permanently pink (her hands too ngl)

- Has a really creepy collection of My Little Pony dolls she stole (it’s all pinky and Twilight)

- She never even watched MLP, she just likes their colours ^

- Has those tooth gem things, a heart on her left canine and a star on her right

- When she had braces (she did idc what you say) she begged the dentist to put all the elastic colours on at once

- Has a really old Beanie Baby on her bed that she refuses to get rid of (the fluff is gone and it’s ripping)

- It’s Eva btw (the pink elephant thing) ^

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[theoakleafpancake]

“I ask for what must be. You have the skills, the heart, the right, and the need to do what I have asked. Believe what I have told you. Do as I have said. Then will the Shadowen be destroyed.”

•••

[Image ID: Par Ohmsford, from the elbows up. The background behind him is contrasting shades of red. He is wearing a brown tunic over a darker, long-sleeved shirt with a blue cloak wrapped around his neck. He is looking to his right with a worried expression, one hand at his heart. He has light skin, greenish eyes, and blonde curly hair reaching down past his chin. His ears are pointed. A red light creeps up from the bottom, the light reflecting in his eyes. There is gold border with text on either side of him, reading from left side to right: “Par Ohmsford, bearer of the Wishsong’s promise, I charge you with recovering the Sword of Shannara—Only through the Sword can the truth be revealed.” /End ID]

[Image ID: Wren Elessedil, from the elbows up. The background behind her is contrasting shades of teal. She is wearing a purple shirt, dark belt with gold platings in the middle, and a red cloak that covers part of her left arm. A black arm brace covers her right wrist/hand and she is holding a leather pouch by the strings. She has tan skin, hazel eyes, and ashy blonde hair, curly and cut short. Her ears are pointed. A light blue light is glowing around her from the bottom, reflecting in her eyes as well. There is a gold border with text on either side of her. Reading from left side to right, it says: “Wren, child of hidden, forgotten lies, yours is a charge of equal importance—Find the Elves and return them to the world of men.” /End ID]

[Image ID: Walker Boh, from the elbows up. The background behind him is contrasting shades of blue. He wears a dark green, loose-fitted tunic with a brown cloak around his shoulders. His dark hair is long and slightly wavy, and he has a short beard. He has brown eyes and pale skin. His right sleeve is empty and cut short. His left arm is cradled close to his chest, his hand curled up as if holding something. His ears are slightly pointed. A dark blue light creeps up him from below, reflecting in his eyes. Around him is a golden border with text on either said. Reading from left side to right: “Walker Boh, you of no belief, seek that belief - and the understanding necessary to sustain it—Search out disappeared Paranor and restore the Druids.” /End ID]

[existentialterror]

how would you define dr. lights gender identity?

Let me give you way too many words for a boring answer. (And of course, this is how I see her, anyone is welcome to headcanon her in any damn way they please.) In short: mainstream-Light (not an O5, not a god) is cis by default. She does not have a strongly-felt gender identity and is a little skeptical that anyone does. In the same way that I (known asexual) will still hear someone say like “a good sex life is important to me in a relationship” and at first think “yeah, sure,” that’s her w/r/t anyone having much of a gender.

Her presentation wiggles a little. She used to present fairly femme. Autism, masking, even after leaving her family she found it easier to get along if she has a Role she can Perform clearly enough. People come up to her. She gets a little more flexibility. Mars comes around with her dapper aesthetic and suddenly Light has a place to fit in, a role to belong to without tying her down. She accumulates clothing with tolerable textures and figures out enough Fashion to put together outfits.

When Light's old world ends and she's recruited to the Foundation, she has to figure out who she is from scratch. The Foundation is unlike anywhere she's worked before. For all its faults, the Foundation does care less about certain things.

When she finally puts some effort into her appearance, she goes for Utility rather than any particular aesthetic. She wants to look formal and trustworthy but mostly doesn’t want to have to think about it. Her hair is long enough to get it out of the way. She doesn't wear makeup because she doesn't like things on her face, and also, who wants to bother. She orders clothing out of online catalogs and tugs at the sleeves of shirts that don’t quite fit right.

When she breaks her hand badly and can’t always get the braces through the buttons, she ignores it and fights her way through for as long as she can. It comes to a head after her breakdown when she has to replace most of her wardrobe, which she should have done months ago. In her defense, you never really get in the habit of remaking your existence.

You’re still making choices, her psychiatrist tells her. It's fine not to worry about it. You don’t have to be making a statement about everything all the time. But you can’t completely sacrifice fashion at the altar of practicality – that’s not how it works, there is no such thing as truly neutral clothing. Are you sure you don’t care what people think of you? (For other reasons, Dr. Sabourin is one of Light’s worse psychiatrists.)

Light thinks she can get pretty close to pure practicality, thank you very much. When she’s promoted to Level 4, she tries on thirty six different brands and sizes of garments, and buys a closet full of the best ones - the exact same white Oxford shirts, camisoles, and those yoga pants that look like black business pants. Throw in some synthetics for exercising and she's good. She never needs to think about it ever again.

Later she adds one detail – and if it’s a little bit to spite Sabourin, that’s fine, she’s made her peace with it by then – which is the wingtips. She falls in love with a particular Italian workshop and orders a new pair every other year. They’re custom-made, exactly like men’s shoes but smaller, because her feet are small. They are, objectively, worse than sneakers: more expensive, less comfortable, less traction. She kicks her feet against her desk, scuffing the leather, and stares at the broguing. She really likes these shoes. It’s silly, right? It’s silly.

Ten years down the line, she finally, quietly, stomachs the thought: Mars would have worn these.

Even that much later, her closet is basically identical. Her system is fucking good, thank you. The additions are a few outlier outfits for special occasions. One shirt that is A Color (green) and has some embroidery, for casual events. A few t-shirts with various animals on them received as presents, that are not accounted for by her system but get worn nonetheless. A suit, for weddings and such. Boots and cold weather gear for dayhikes and seabird-watching in Svalbard. A single clean labcoat for when she needs to appear somewhere as A Member Of Senior Staff(TM) (and she will complain to anyone nearby about that not being the point of a labcoat, because of who she is. But she sees Sabourin’s point by now, clothing is about signalling as much as comfort.)

Light doesn’t know what the wingtips mean. She doesn't need to. Mostly, what she wants to signal is “I want you to listen to me" and "I want to get back to work.”

-------------------------

That said, Light, of course, comes in different versions with their own stories going on. It doesn’t really surprise any of them that they have different gender situations, except in as far as provoking questions like “some of us sure seem to have different chromosomal situations, how does that work? If we’re not genetic clones what does that even mean for us to be the same person??”

O5-2 "The Nazarene"’s story is different. I want to do more with her but need to up my weird esoteric gnostic queer theology game before I commit to anything. But I’m tentatively thinking something like: You need to be a certain kind of person to be the son of god. To be responsible for everyone. You can present as whatever the hell you want, but for certain ploys to work, people – even just a group of people that happen, for no good reason, to be at the center of the universe for a few moments – need to believe you. It’s easiest to believe it yourself.

If you’re already serious about being responsible for everyone, for becoming an icon, you don’t even need to think about the question: do you want to become this kind of person? Of course you do. It’d be like thinking “I want to bake bread, but do I want to be the kind of person who kneads bread?” You can stress over this. It’s totally possible. No one’s stopping you.

But you can also just knead bread.

No one’s stopping you.