#its free real estate people take it away and do whatever you want with it

[the-ace-with-spades]

Unhinged buddie fic idea again -- Tia Pepa starts setting up Eddie on dates but with a bit of an AU twist.

Tia Pepa starts setting Eddie up on dates. Which Buck is fine with. Obviously. Why wouldn't he be? Eddie is his best friend, he wants him to be happy. He's also straight and maybe Buck liked having him all to himself but realistically, that couldn't last forever.

Whatever. He can get over it. Or he can at least pretend he got over it.

So Eddie is complaining at the firehouse about another set-up date and Buck tries to be positive and encouraging and says something about how Eddie could at least give them a chance - even if every word is said through gritted teeth.

And Eddie is appalled and says something along the lines of, "Maybe my tia should be setting you up, if you're so open to the idea." And everyone from the team claws at the idea, teasing Buck about being single and wanting to marry into the Diaz family through Eddie's cousin or something (which, a bit too close to the truth, ha).

Eddie finds the idea so hilarious that he tells Pepa about it. And regrets it not a minute later when she says, "Why not? I could set your Buck up with someone nice."

This actually makes Eddie grit his teeth, there's just something that makes him itch, even just thinking about Buck going out with any of the women Eddie went out with---Just no.

What he doesn't know is, Tia Pepa goes over his head on this --- just calls Buck (because of course she has his number, he's family and Eddie's and Chris's emergency contact). She sweet-talks Buck into it over the phone, telling him how Eddie told her about how he's single and how she knows just the right person for Buck and it'll be nice to keep Buck close in the family if it works out.

Obviously, Buck is skeptical --- there's just one Diaz he wants to be with and he's unavailable --- but then Pepa keeps on going how she knows just his type and how he's not going to regret it and just one date never harmed anyone and, well, Buck caves in because he's weak against most Diazes it seems.

He doesn't tell anyone about it. Not even Eddie. It's probably just going to be one date that he'll ruin like he always does and the girl will tell Pepa all about it and then Pepa won't even bother to set up another poor girl with him.

He gets a text with the place and time, a small hole-in-the-wall place that's just about Buck's thing, and an ominous message with Addy will wait for you there, look out for a red bandana.

And Buck is expecting some cute girl in dungarees and with a bandana holding up her hair but when he enters the place, it's almost dead and there's just some elderly couple, a group of teens, and a guy. A guy in jeans, a white t-shirt, sunglasses, and with a red bandana tied around his neck.

Turns out Addy is short for Adam, not Adelina or Adriana like Buck thought.

Adam is also gorgeous. Dark hair, chocolate eyes, tan skin, fit and strong. Addy has a six-year-old daughter, is no longer in contact with his ex-husband, works as a nurse in the ER, loves quiet indie places, and would love to travel the world every chance he has.

When after the date --- which goes on for so long the cafe's owner has to ask them to leave because they're closing --- Buck calls Pepa to tell her how it went and when can't really make his mouth produce words, she just tells him, "I told you I know your type, mijo."

Needless to say, Eddie finds out about that fast because Addy is his cousin and texts him for ideas for a second date with 'his friend Buck.'

His brain resets. Then restarts. Then resets again.

He did not know that about Buck. He would've known that about Buck.

He's calling his tia before he knows it and demanding answers.

Eddie, well, Eddie is fuming inside but Buck seems happy and Addy seems happy and they're both good guys so he shuts up whatever unreasonable, surprising anger he's boiling with and helps Addy prepare a date --- tells him about the water show in the aquarium he was planning on taking Buck and Chris to.

But the day of the show comes and Buck isn't answering his texts and he's just walking in circles around the kitchen table and before he realizes what he's doing, he's packing Chris into the car and, "Oh, look at that, what a coincident we're meeting you here."

He feels like an absolute madman when Addy tells him, when Buck and Chris are distracted by colorful fish, "If you didn't want me to date him, you could have just said so."

And a couple of days later both Pepa and Buck are at Eddie's for dinner and he feels like an absolute asshole when Pepa tells Buck Addy doesn't want another date. For about five minutes, that is, because after that Pepa looks Eddie straight in the eyes, he swears, and says brightly, "Don't worry, I know plenty of young single men that are just your type, Evanito."

The history repeats, obviously, and Eddie uses Chris to just 'run' into Buck on his date with another of his cousins. At some point, his cousins probably start to warn each other about it because they stop talking to Eddie about Buck's favorite activities and foods.

But they tell Buck the date places. And Buck tells at least one person on the team, always, and Eddie might be a madman but he's a madman on a mission so he always tricks the info out of someone -- Chim is usually the easiest and Hen won't admit but she likes to gossip about people's love lives. He even manages to trick Bobby into telling him where Buck is on his next date under the disguise of concerned 'Buck sure is going on a lot of dates lately,' etc. and Bobby actually falls for it and Eddie feels guilty about it until he hears Buck is going on a date with his godawful cousin Marco.

(Meanwhile, every time Buck 'runs' into Eddie on a date, he's cursing the universe and its stupid, obvious signs... Like, he knows he's in love with Eddie, the universe can shut up and stop screaming at him.)

Eddie is at Pepa's again and she comes back from where she was talking to someone on the terrace and silently sits down opposite Eddie with that look and says, "So, that was Marco."

"Yes, exactly. Marco. How could you set him up with Marco of all people?"

"Well, I'm running out of candidates because someone keeps on scaring them off."

Eddie doesn't look her in the eyes. He's truly become a madman since the whole thing started happening but like hell he'll admit it.

"You know, Eddie, if you don't want Buck to date any of your cousins, there's an easy solution that will solve this dilemma and will let us keep Buck in the family."

"Pepa---"

"Tell you what, I'll set one more date for him, tomorrow at seven at that ice cream sandwich truck Chris likes," she says, raising her eyebrows pointedly. "You decide if his date stands him up or not."

He never ever again wants to see Buck going out with any of his cousins.

Which doesn't mean he isn't a coward. He doesn't tell Buck. He tries to leave the house three times, changes his clothes about six times, and by the end of it, he's late.

Buck is easy to find between people, towering over most.

Buck smiles when he sees him but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Let me guess, he decided it wasn't worth it and backed out last minute," he sighs. "And Tia Pepa sent me a personal cheer squad to humor me up and pay for my ice cream."

"No, he's here," Eddie says because the it's me doesn't want to leave his mouth.

"Oh," Buck says, and his shoulders don't look so slumpy anymore but he still doesn't look, well, happy. "Where is he then?"

Eddie makes an elaborate wave with his arm and deadpans, "Ta-da."

There's a moment when those big baby blues blink at Eddie dumbly and Eddie swears Buck stops breathing for a few seconds before finally managing to push out, "Oh."

#chris is a willing participant in this I believe #originally this was supposed to be pepa setting buck with one of eddie's sisters btw and eddie being jealous as hell #buddie #911 fox #911 abc #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #pepa diaz #she's the MVP here really #fic ideas I'll never write #its free real estate people take it away and do whatever you want with it #fic ideas #op #charlie writes

[caterpillarinacave]

Got any random Fairchild family headcanons, especially ones pertaining to Matthew and Henry?

Oh, I always have headcanons!

Also, sorry I took so long to answer, I am currently withering away to sawdust. 

Matthew was one of those “nicely disobedient kids”. Someone will be like “okay, keep your shoes on okay? It’s important not to take them off in here alright?” and he's like “yeah yeah yeah! I got it!” then tears his pants and shirt away and takes off running. 

Both Matthew and Charles were those kids who just hung off their parents 24/7. Actually, all the TID gangs kids are like that. Someone is always carrying at least one child. Henry’s lap is prime real estate. So are Will’s shoulders. What are adults if not your personal chauffeur?

Henry and Matthew actually do have very similar hair, although Matthew’s is straighter. Matthew can’t tell because, you know, he styles it, and Henry absolutely does not. 

Matthew’s concern about not looking like his father in GOTSM is distressing because its so unfounded. He looks a lot like both his parents, and frankly he’s the only one who's never noticed.

Christmas is soooo fun there. Mostly because they dont do any of it at their own house, they just go to all the christmas parties they get invited to and watch shit go down. Every shadowhunter party is a madhouse. Matthew and Charles get released into the crowd of children to play, and Henry and Charlotte just kind of sit to the side and watch everything dissolve into chaos. They’ll send Matthew and Charles home with an uncle or aunt, they're staying to watch 24 year old Micheal what's his name from some corner of Britain tries to fight his 64 year old uncle over the rise of livestock taxes in liverpool. Charlotte doesnt feel morally obligated to step until chairs become involved.

Other than the entertianment of christmas chaos, holidays are fun. They come with markets and present shopping. Matthew and Charles get paired off with whatever parent, then their basically free in a christmas market (provided they stay within five feet of said parent.) Matthew goes with Henry and has the time of his life. He comes home with pockets full of peppermint candies choclaty little fingers and a whole lot of happiness. Also, did you know theres fun holiday stuff in the shadowmarket? Whats better than sitting in your dads lap while he chats with a warlock in a demon language like forty people in the world speak, then going back to the cities for a chocolate croissant. Hey, it's safer than you think, Henry's not letting Matthew go anywhere in that market lol.

Of course, there a lots of bedtime stories and songs. Matthew is big on bedtime stories, though he has a few favorites. He's quite keen on Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, and he asks for it at least once a week. That was Henry's favorite as a child, and there are several copies to pick from which may be part of why Matthew likes it so much.

When Matthew gets a little older they move onto more interesting stuff. You know, the normal books for a nine year old; like The Travels of Marco Polo. Matthew is a well educated nine year old.

There's a lot of checkers and chess. Charlotte is decent at chess, and Henry's amazing at it, though Charles Buford and Matthew are more average. Matthew does, however, enjoy the aesthetic, and can play a mean game of checkers.

Tea time is important. World might be burning down but there will be tea on the Fairchild's table.

Matthew and Charles get sent flowers on special occasions. Doesn't really matter if they want flowers, or if they are "far to old for such frivolaty, I have things to do they'll simply die-" (coughcharlesbufordcough), they get them anyway. Henry and Charlotte have had the same ancient florist from Yorkshire doing it for decades, and considering she's been ninety since Henry was about six, and shows no signs of mortality, Charles and Matthew should prepare to have flowers forever.

One good rule for the kids in that house is to a) knock, and b) if that door is locked, do NOT open it. Really a rule all the TID gang kids know. If you decide to open, or try to open, or even hang out near, a locked door (or any thin walls) may the consequences be on your own head. Look, everyone in that group loves their partner very much, 

That’s why Charles Buford is so bitter btw. Didn’t know the rule, scarred for life. Pretty much like that vine. 

#also constanly thinking about the fact that matthew is so much like henry and doesnt realize it in ghosts of the shadowmarket #the fact that one of the reasons matthew thought he was gideons bastard was because of his height when Henry is taller than gideon??? #never leaves my head. think about it every day. killing me right now. matthew my little meow meow #if i could animate the very first thing i would do would be to animate that vine with charles budford and will. will would think thats hila #hilarious. besides whats charles whining about imagine what james and lucie live with. #i have more naturally but you know #tid #tsc #matthew fairchild #charlotte fairchild #henry fairchild #charles fairchild #charles buford fairchild #charlotte branwell #henry branwell #tlh #the last hours #ask #thanks for the ask #answered #cc

[divorcelawyergunnisonutah]

Estate Planning Attorney Price Utah

Estate Planning Attorney Price Utah

Death is inevitable. Whatever position you have in life, you will eventually come to the crossroad between life and death, sometimes you get to pick to live but in the end, no matter what you do, you will end up in the other side. It is for this reason that all people, including you and I, need to secure our money and our assets as soon as we can so that we will be able to protect our families to become financially stable in the event that we pass away. Whatever worries you have about your assets and its security, as an estate attorney and human being, I feel you.

An estate attorney can help you in your endeavors to secure all the things that you have worked for your entire life. The planning and organizing where your money and physical possessions will go after you die is an important thing that you will have to do while you are young and mentally functional. By planning ahead with the help of a professional, you will be able to minimize the expenses that your beneficiaries have to pay, most especially the taxes from the amount of your estate left for them to claim.

There are various types of planning your estates and whatever type you decide to take on, an estate attorney will be there guiding you. One of these is the medical directive, which is a legal document that states your decisions regarding health care surrogate. This paper of proof will allow a certain individual you have chosen to take over your belongings, your personal needs and will make decisions for you in times that you are incapable to.

Another type is the planning for death. This may sound so grim to most people, but this is the most common type of estate planning. This kind ensures you that your debts, if there are any, will all be paid, leaving your family debt free when you pass away and it will also ensure you that your beneficiaries will get what you have in store for them. Your estate attorney will be making your legal will and will be managing it after your death.

How to Choose an Estate Attorney

Selecting an estate planning attorney is an important task, but how do you go about it? The best ones usually don’t advertise in the Yellow Pages and finding one online is not much easier.

The first question is, what exactly are you looking for? Some attorneys specialize in wills, trusts, powers of attorney, and durable powers of attorney, for people without taxable estates, some prefer the high-net worth crowd, and some are best for settling an estate after the individual has died. There are different skills involved in each one.

Basic Wills. The lay public always thinks they only need a “simple will”. Therefore, it should only cost $100, right? Well, if you wish to hire a live, flesh-and-blood attorney, you need to expect to pay more than that if you want a good job done. Otherwise, you should just purchase an online will or a computer program to do your will. While it is true that virtually all attorneys these days use computerized forms as a starting point, don’t forget that what you are really paying for is the judgment and experience of an attorney to spot issues you didn’t know about and to make sure the document addresses them. Very, very few people really have what I’d call a “plain vanilla” situation; there’s always something: a second marriage where he wants to be sure his kids won’t get left out if he leaves everything to his wife; a child with a disability; a trouble making child involved in drugs or alcohol; a special gift to be made to a charity or educational institution; contingent gifts to various relatives, etc.

Tax-Planning Wills: Attorneys who can prepare tax-planning wills (i.e., where your estate exceeds $2 million) must not only be familiar with all the will drafting skills of the attorneys who do basic wills, but must also have a very strong tax background. They must be intimately familiar with estate tax, gift tax, generation-skipping tax, income tax, plus real estate law and the partnership and LLC rules, as well. Since trusts would almost always be involved in a plan of this type, they must be trust drafting and administration.

Why You Need an Estate Lawyer

In the unfortunate time of death of a loved one, fulfilling the will and distributing the assets are not as simple as they sound. Financial and legal matters like taxes, creditors, mortgages, burial fees, and other final bills are just some of the issues need to be settled by the family or executor with the help of an estate or probate lawyer. Not all of us understand state laws regarding the distribution of assets and probate. To be able to settle matters properly and avoid disputes, a lawyer will be most helpful in providing legal assistance. Here are the roles of an estate or probate lawyer that will prove to be useful in time of need.

Locate, Determine, and Secure the Assets of the Deceased

The last will and testament of the deceased will be helpful in laying down all the assets and properties of the deceased. This will give a snapshot of the deceased’s overall assets. The probate lawyer will then locate all the assets whether it’s a cabin or vacation home, a bank account, or a business investment. Any outstanding debts must also be located and determined to be able to settle any unpaid balances. He or she is responsible for giving notice to creditors of the death of the decedent in order to make necessary arrangements to settle unresolved financial matters. Also included in the lawyer’s responsibilities is assisting in the preparation of documents, statement of accounts for the audit of court. Any transfer of estates must be documented and prepared. No one can do this best than an estate lawyer who is experienced in this legal process.

Provide Assistance and Advice to Executor

It is not uncommon for family and beneficiaries to have disputes regarding the will and the distribution of assets. To get legal advice and assistance in this case, an executor can feel more confident and secure with a probate lawyer. State laws have its provisions regarding estate administration. In this case, the best way to handle disputes is to rely on the legal process and the knowledge and experience of the lawyer in this area.

Know Your Taxes

Different states and countries have varying laws regarding estate and inheritance taxes. The experienced lawyer can advise you on this. Sometimes, selling the property instead of acquiring it as inheritance will prove to be more practical due to various taxes involved. Estate lawyers will also assist in how and where to get the cash to pay the taxes.

Distribute to Beneficiaries

After taxes, final bills, and other debts are settled, the lawyer is tasked to distribute remaining assets and properties to beneficiaries. This is easy with a last will and testament but without one, a lawyer can get the court’s approval on who will receive the inheritance and how it will be distributed to the heirs of the deceased. If you want a smooth process in this legal matter, always make sure you have an experienced estate lawyer to back you up in the administration and distribution of assets. Having one will help you get things done and over with in no time and with less stress and disputes.

Avoid Probate – Tips For Keeping Estate Assets Out of Court

There are many reasons to avoid probate. Firstly, probate can be a lengthy process that ties up assets and depreciates the estate’s overall value. Most estates require the services of a lawyer or estate planning service to comply with probate laws. It is relatively easy to avoid probate, or at least keep the majority of assets from having to pass through the process. Different strategies exist and depend on the types of assets owned. It is advisable to work with an estate planning expert to determine which options are best for your situation. The most ironclad way to keep assets out of probate is to draft an irrevocable life insurance trust or living trust. When assets are transferred to a trust they are no longer considered part of the estate and thereby exempt from probate.

Trusts are managed by a designated Trustee. Most people designate their self to this position and assign an estate administrator to take over in the event of their death. Trusts are generally reserved for estates valued over $100,000. If your estate is valued at less, there are strategies which can keep certain assets out of probate. The first step is to execute a Last Will and Testament. This can be as simple as purchasing pre-formatted Wills at an office supply store or downloading forms from the Internet. Although a Will does not keep assets out of probate, it can expedite the process. If you can afford to do so, it is best to have an attorney draft the Will. Most attorneys charge a nominal fee to draft legal documents. Many lawyers offer additional services such as assisting the designated estate executor in their duties of administering your estate once you are gone. If you do not execute a Will, everything you own will be transferred to probate court and sit there for months on end. Your family will not be able to receive inheritance property and your estate must continue making payments on outstanding debts or mortgaged real estate. Realize your loved ones will be grieving.

Dying without a Will in place only adds more stress and anxiety during a highly-charged emotional event. If you have a checking or savings accounts, go to the bank and ask the teller for Payable-on-Death form. In less than 5 minutes, you can designate beneficiaries and the percentage of funds to bequeath them. For instance, if you have three children and want the monies distributed evenly, simply indicate this on the POD for. In most cases, if you are married and own joint bank accounts funds automatically transfer to your spouse. It is best to assign your spouse as POD beneficiary to avoid potential problems. If you own financial portfolios such as investment accounts or individual retirement accounts, contact your broker and request Transfer-on-Death forms.

Similar to payable-on-death, you can assign beneficiaries and percentage of account proceeds each will receive.

IRA accounts are usually distributed to beneficiaries as a lump sum payment. Investment accounts can be transferred to the designated beneficiary as a roll-over account or lump sum payment. Transfer-on-death can also be used to transfer automobiles, motorcycles, recreational vehicles and watercraft. Not all states allow assignment of TOD beneficiaries on titled property. If your state prohibits transfer-on-death, apply for a joint title and add the intended beneficiary’s name. In the event of your death, the beneficiary can provide a death certificate and transfer the property into his own name. If you are married, obtain joint ownership title for real estate. Joint ownership allows your spouse to automatically inherit the property in the event of your death. If you are single you can bequeath real estate by adding beneficiaries to the property title. Finally, you can avoid probate by “gifting” property and personal belongings while you are alive. The Internal Revenue Service allows individuals to gift up to $12,000 per person or $20,000 per married couple, per year. Gifts higher than $12,000 in one calendar year require the filing of a federal gift tax return.

Mistakes to Avoid When Drafting Your Will and Planning Your Estate

• Wills are necessary for people of all ages.: One common mistake in estate planning is not getting around to writing a Will at all. At a minimum, you should make sure that you take the time to plan the financial portion of your estate and distribute your assets to your loved ones so they have some amount of security. If you do not have a Will, the state will make decisions for you according to a distribution schedule it has already established. The state tries to pass assets to people it thinks benefit the most, but unfortunately, this may not be in line with your wishes or what is best for your family. • Wills are necessary for all estates of all sizes; Many people also have difficulty with estate planning because of the misconception that their assets are not large enough to warrant a will. Writing a Last Will and Testament is not just for people with large estates. Most people, when all property and accounts are considered, are worth more than they think. In addition, some possessions may not have great market value, but they do have substantial sentimental value. These are items that you will want to keep in your family, and it is important that you know they will be well cared for. • Avoid leaving all your assets to your spouse: If you own assets jointly, when you die your spouse is automatically awarded your half of the property. But, what happens if your spouse dies? What will your children receive? What if your spouse remarries? While there may be certain tax benefits to giving all of your estate to your spouse, there are greater benefits to making sure all family members, especially children, are going to be taken care of. Make sure you think about appointing a guardian for your children, a trustee for any trusts you may have established, and an executor for your will. A lawyer with expertise in estate planning can help you plan for all the possible outcomes of your family’s future. • Creating your own Will does not save in the long run: It may seem like writing your own Will is less expensive, but “do-it-yourself” wills often do not contain all of the required legal components. As a result, they are frequently ruled invalid. A wrongly worded clause, while well intentioned, can result in lengthy legal battles. Also, anyone who might benefit from your will being invalidated can challenge it. If the challenge is successful, your estate may be required to cover all legal costs. The money you save now could cost your loved ones in the future. A Will is a flexible document, and nothing is set in stone while you are still living. Your lawyer can always draft amendments to your Will to take into account changing living and financial situations. Establish a Will now and keep it current so that you and your family know your wishes will be followed.

Free Initial Consultation with Lawyer

It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. Legal problems come to everyone. Whether it’s your son who gets in a car wreck, your uncle who loses his job and needs to file for bankruptcy, your sister’s brother who’s getting divorced, or a grandparent that passes away without a will -all of us have legal issues and questions that arise. So when you have a law question, call Ascent Law for your free consultation [phone]. We want to help you!

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[psychogirlfriendandsupervillain]

Leading Question

One shot (ish)

Benny Watts x Reader*

(* Reader wears a skirt, has hair long enough to pull (like anything longer than a buzzcut) and a vagina, so anyone who identifies with that: it’s free real estate. I am considering writing a copy that is fully gender-neutral, so if anyone wants that let me know (although I’m likely to do it anyway).)

Content/warning tags: NSFW, 18+, Smut (but it’s the slowest pacing smut, talking slow-burn but they’re both already in the bed, no joke), fluff?, friends to lovers, mention of alcohol, swearing, oral (male receiving), making out, heavy petting, really a whole lotta kissing, porn with no plot?, the porn is the plot, foreplay more like half the fucking play, hair pulling kink, mention of knife kink, sex, plotted during a figurative and literal fever, edited during a figurative and literal heat wave, we love it here.

Summary: Benny half-confesses to his attraction to the reader during a night at the bar and reader takes his clumsily put question and turns it into a homerun.

Word Count: 7k (this is what happens when you give me THAT and then take it away)

A/N: Entirely self-indulgent piece of smut thought out during two hours at 4 AM (and then throughout the rest of the day) the day after watching Fork, because I was frustrated and Benny is hot, whoopsie.

@go-catch-a-chickn showed some interest in what I was writing, but I bet you regret that now! Nonetheless, here’s your tag, have fun!

I’m open to criticism, just shoot me a message or an ask. Let me know if I’ve got errors or missed a warning.

--------

You and Benny were friends since high school. Not because you also played chess, but because you had been making out with your boyfriend in the back of the library and Benny had come looking for a chess book that was on the shelf you were leaning on. You two paused, moved to the side so that he could pull out the book and then he was on his way.

A few days later Benny was in the cafeteria and came up a few cents short, when a voice next to him told the woman at the register that they would pay for his meal as well as their own. He looked over at you as the cashier added your things to the total and you smiled.

“Now you have money over for other things.”

It continued like that for the rest of both of your high school stays. You would catch him in the corridor and strike up conversations before heading off for you next class. When your relationship with your boyfriend ended (mutually, it should be said; he was interested in another girl, you felt the spark wasn’t there anymore), you told Benny after he asked why you looked a little glum. He was supportive but didn’t bring it up again.

Now the two of you are sat at a bar counter, a bottle in front of each of you, as the day is winding down. You meet up like this between his tournaments and whatever else is going on your lives, touchdowns in the well-known amidst it all. The buzz of patrons has calmed down and outside the curtained windows the street is black, broken up by spots of the streetlights.

“Do you-“ Benny stops. He’s half turned towards you, left hand around his beer on the counter, legs facing you, but his eyes are currently at the bottles lined up against the back wall where the bartender is pouring a drink for someone down the line.

You put down your bottle after a sip, resting your hand on it just like he is. Benny starts again.

“What do you do when your dick tells you to sleep with your friend, but your brain tells you it’s not a good idea?” He’s still not looking at you. It’s almost a hypothetical, almost a thought about someone else.

You shrug, taking a last sip before turning forward.

“I don’t know, I follow what my pussy says.” With that you get up and put money on the counter to close your tab, seeing Benny jump in the corner of your eye at your answer. You’re pulling on your coat as you start for the door, slow enough that he’ll catch up no problem.

“Wait.” He’s at your side in no time. “I’ll walk you to your place.” Even in the slight shade of his hat you can see that he’s a bit flustered.

“You sure?” Benny nods. “Otherwise I could walk you to yours. It’s farther.” You push up the inner set of doors and Benny follows you into the dark airlock entryway.

“Why would you want to walk where it’s farther?” He asks behind you,  a frown audible in his voice, and you hold up your hand to signal for him to wait as you push up the second set of doors.

The air rushes against you and the hum of a road somewhere off campus reaches your ears. There’s no one on the walk path running between fields of grass and lines of trees. It’s still too early for the streets to be filled with people getting home from the bars, too late for any overtime workers dragging their feet.

“Honestly?” You turn to Benny, who’s standing with his coat still unbuttoned and arms hanging at his sides, like he isn’t sure what to do with them. “Because I’m hoping to get invited up, and if I’m going to get fucked, I want to be in your bed, surrounded by the scent of you.”

It takes a second. Then he’s a little bit closer. Not that he was far away before, but he’s close enough that when he leans a little forward you don’t have to take a step to close the gap. Your lips run against his, soft and slow, with the slight scratch of his mustache against your skin, warm cotton and leather so close now, and then you step back, absentmindedly swiping your tongue over your own lips to chase his taste. His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips.

“Your place or mine?” Benny’s voice is a little rough; maybe it’s the drinking, maybe it’s the kiss.

“Again, yours.” You quirk your lip and reach to catch Benny’s hand, warm in yours. Pulling him into motion you start walking in the direction of his apartment, shoes echoing against the asphalt.  

“I’m not sure I will make it that far.” He sounds a bit tortured, and you laugh, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you make it. And if you don’t, I’ll help you clean up and wait for you.”

Benny makes a noise.

“Tell me about Open Sicilian.” You look forward at the empty road as you walk.

“What?” He looks at you.

“To distract you, explain Open Sicilian to me.” He has explained that particular tactic to you several times before, not that it necessarily stuck too well.

“That’s not going to help!” Benny throws head back with a frustrated laugh. The sound makes your stomach flutter. “You’re going to make me tell you about chess, and then ask questions, to keep me distracted? Like you showing sincere interest in it isn’t going to just make it harder to focus.” He shakes his head, looking out over the empty street. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You would have gotten there quicker if Benny hadn’t stopped at every tree, stone wall, and doorway to push you against it and kiss you. He even sat down on a bench when you were halfway and pulled you down into his lap. You let yourself be pulled down but wouldn’t go along with his attempts to make you straddle him, despite his hand on your inner thigh through your skirt and his insistent, chasing kisses.

As you reach the building you let go off Benny’s hand so he can punch in the code for the door. He leads you up the hollow stairwell to his door, noisily unlocks it and lets you in before him.

It’s a short hallway with doors leading off to the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, lit by some cool light falling in from the open doorway to the kitchen. There are hooks for jackets with a pile of shoes beneath it to one side, and a table holding a phone and newspapers further in.

The lock clicks behind you and Benny turns around, dropping his keys back down in his coat pocket. Just as he faces you, you push him back against the door. Shock flashes in his eyes and his lips part but when you place your against his he quickly responds, pushing back against you, his tongue running against your bottom lip, inviting you to taste it. It’s with difficulty that you pull back.

“Okay, I lied.” You admit as you get onto your knees, looking back up at him. “Can I?”

Benny’s breaths are unsteady, and you have to ask him to repeat it before you can clearly hear him consent.

You hum, pushing aside his leather coat to hold his hips back against the door, pulling his belt out from its loops so you can undo the buckle. Benny closes his eyes and groans as you let the belt with his knife still attached fall back against his legs and undo his button and zipper.

“Don’t be too loud, you don’t want the neighbors to hear you, do you? Even solid wood doors are thinner than walls.” You wink up at him and he repeats the sound, head leaning back against the door and hips pushing forward. If you didn’t believe Benny before, you definitely would now, as you feel how hard he is through the barriers of fabric. He’s solid and warm against your hands.

Pushing his jeans down, you move his boxers carefully until you can pull them down as well. Precum is leaking down the underside of his erect cock and his hips push forward again, impatiently this time. You circle your hand around him, the other resting against his hip so that maybe he’ll stay in place, not having the patience to start stroking before you take him in your mouth.

The sound Benny makes when your lips close around his cock is far too loud and not loud enough. His breathing audibly speeds up, encouraging you to run your tongue along the underside each time you pull back. Sucking down his cock, you match your movements with those of your hand, creating just the perfect rhythm that has his hips pushing against your other hand. You look up at him, meeting his eyes as you circle his tip with your tongue and he pinches his eyes closed, turning his head back up and cutting off the whine escaping his throat. You swallow around him, and the whine comes back, ending in a high pitch. You do it again. His hand pushes lightly against your shoulder, and you pull off him, sitting back and licking your lips as he meets your eyes.

“I don’t want to finish before we’ve even started.” His words are low, his hand falling back against the side of his coat. You shift your legs on the floor.

“Shame, I want you to.” You smile and bite your lip. “I told you I’d help clean you up and wait after. I’m in no rush.” Benny’s hips jerk forward again.

“Fuck” His eyes flutter shut.

“Can I?” You wait for the sound of his yes before you lick a line from the base to the head, reveling in how little he is holding back this time. Pushing his hips back a little rougher against the door to keep him in his place you earn a moan of your name which has your stomach fluttering and head spinning. One of his hands rest on your shoulder again but isn’t pushing away this time. He lets you decide the speed, albeit with the occasional jerk of his hips as he hisses and braces against the door.

“Fuck, I’-” You feel Benny tensing and look up to see him looking down on you, breathing heavily and clenching his jaw. “Fuck” He slams his head back against the door, hips pushing him further in, and you can feel the vibrations emitting from his chest all the way in the back of your throat as he releases into your mouth. You swallow it down, catching the whimper Benny makes at the feeling it gives his cock.

When you get to your feet, Benny head is hanging so the brim of his hat casts his face in shadow and he’s leaning so heavily against the door you’re not sure he’ll be standing much longer. His breathing is loud in the quiet apartment, and you can’t help the pride growing in the back of your mind. Still breathing heavily, Benny finally lifts his head enough to look at you. You meet his eyes and swipe your tongue over your lips.

His eyes flicker down to follow the movement and he groans, slumping back against the door. You smile triumphantly.

“Let’s get your clothes back on and then I’ll get water.” You help Benny get his pants back on, refastening the buckle. He’s not standing entirely stable, but enough that you can slide his coat down his arms and hang it up, followed by his hat, before you sit him down on a stool right by the door. Having hung up your own coat and switched on the lights you gesture to the kitchen door. “Do you mind?” Benny shakes his head, blond hair falling in his eyes.

You fill two glasses from the tap, throwing a glance at your watch, before returning to him. Handing one to Benny you drink the other, both of you listening to him regaining control over his breathing while you empty the glasses. As you take your last sip you place both on the hallway table and toe off your shoes.

“Want to move out of the hallway?” You hold your hand out to Benny and he’s standing before you’ve had a chance to blink.

You get precisely two steps into Benny’s bedroom before he’s kissing you again. His tongue runs softly against yours, contrasting with the scratch of his beard. He won’t even let you move forward, blocking you with his body until his hands have found their place on your hips, and even then standing stronger than you’d expect from how he looked a minute ago.

Every kiss he chases after you, when you move to the side so does he, when your tongue touches his lips his tongue comes to greet it. It’s overwhelming and intoxicating, his body heat rising and seeping through his button up and your shirt, the warm scent of leather still lingering in the air around him.

Then Benny moves backwards, pulling you with him three quick steps, refusing to let your lips part for even a second, and lets you fall on top of him on his bed.

You pull back, insisting despite his protests. He managed to switch some light on before getting lost in you, letting you full appreciate the shine in his dark eyes when he looks up at you as you brush blond strands out of his eyes. Flittering over you above him, they keep coming back to meet yours, a playful smile on his lips. You lean back down and let him capture your lips again, his hands splaying one on your back, one running up and down your side. Chasing his smile you kiss the corners of his mouth, dipping your tongue in to meet his. It’s like you’ll never run out of places to taste him.

Straightening back up and moving so you’re straddling him, you undo the first buttons of your shirt, but Benny’s hands stop yours, taking over their work with slow precision. He pulls you back down so he can continue kissing you even if it makes it harder for him to get the buttons undone, not that that seems his top priority. Sitting up and sliding the fabric down your arms Benny throws it in some corner of the room, pulling you closer against him by your hips.

“Easy, tiger.” You hum against his lips and Benny laughs a little, shifting further back on the bed and letting you both fall back against the mattress again, arms wrapped securely around your waist.

His necklaces are cool against your skin, but his hands are on fire. They run over your back and sides, up one down the other, and leave nothing but further fires under your skin. Even his rings don’t feel cold as Benny brushes his fingers up your arm to cup your head, tongue skimming your lip but withdrawing whenever you try to catch it.

Pulling back for the first time, Benny looks up at you with a mischievous smile.

“If I had known telling you I like you would lead to this, I would’ve told you already five years ago.”

Not that you’d really been open to anything at that time. Five years ago, and the five that followed, you had been entirely focused on your academics, and the only person you really hung out with had been Benny. He brought his chess books and sat with you in the library while you read up for exams. You’d chat about everything while trying to cram every bit of knowledge into your tired brains. That really only slowed down once you graduated, the hyper-focus on reading every book and spending hours writing notes over bad coffee.

“Do you want to like” You look up at the head pillows laying vertically to your bodies, and Benny starts laughing, luring you into doing the same. “move up?”

“Sure” He lets go of you so you can both get higher on the bed, but the second you’re close enough Benny pulls you back over him. “Better?”

“Much, thank you.” You smile and lean down halfway. Amused you watch Benny push up to meet you, hungry lips convincing you to push him back down into the mattress.

You can’t help the occasional shifting of your hips against his, underwear pushing against the friction of jeans below your skirt. His hands skim the hem of it, but never ventures below it, favoring to run up to your hips and draw you closer.

Running his hands up your back to hold you against him, Benny rolls you over onto your back. Settling between your legs, he braces one arm above you while the other cups the side of your head, lifting just enough for your lips to reach his.

“You know, for later, we’re still on your bed.” You remind him before kissing the corner of his mouth. Benny’s lips quirk and he follows you back down against the pillow.

“I know.” He runs his nose along the side of your neck, the chains around his sliding against your skin. Warm cotton and leather surround you, and this might actually be heaven.

Pushing back a bit Benny reaches up to undo his green button up but stops when you give him a look.

“Isn’t it my turn now?”

Benny lets go off the button and shows his hands, dropping them to your hips as you reach up, undoing the first button before pulling him down by his collar. His smile meets yours, and it only gets bigger for every button, as the release of each is met with the same celebration.

When there are no more buttons to open you slide the fabric out from his pants and down his bare arms. Holding the shirt out in one hand you look at Benny, whose eyes are locked on yours, his lips kiss-bruised.

“Does this have to be folded on a chair” You tilt your head. “or can I just throw it?”

“Throw it.” His eyes sparkle, his voice hitting a little lower and sending vibrations where your body is touching his.

The green fabric flutters to rest at the far end corner of the bed in your peripheral vision. You weren’t really looking where you were throwing.

“It didn’t even get off the bed.” You speak very seriously, as if it was a grave matter, but you’re absorbed by Benny, whose eyes are as stuck in yours as yours are in his. “If you want it off, you’ll have to throw it yourself.”

His arms shift above you, and without moving away from you or breaking eye contact Benny kicks the shirt, sending it tumbling of the edge with a soft thud as it hits the floor. You push your hips up against his, the hilt of the knife at his belt pressing against the inside of your thigh. Benny’s hips thrust back against yours and he lowers down to brush his lips against yours before devouring you again. Your thighs slide against his bare skin, and he reaches back to hook them further over his hips, swiping his tongue along yours. When Benny pulls back slightly the sound he makes fills the room, bouncing off the walls. The end of it mixes with the sigh of his name pulled from your lips as he dips the tip of his tongue into the corner of your mouth.

“Think we’ll wake the neighbors?” You lift off the bed to chase after him, not giving him a chance to reply, pushing him over onto his back. His hips shift against yours as he settles into the mattress.

“The walls are thicker than the door.” He looks up at you straddling him, his lips quirking up into a smile, blond hair falling over his eyes again. Satisfied with his answer you lower your body back down over his, occupying his mouth with yours again.

From slow, insistent kisses where Benny’s tongue runs against yours, you move to kiss the corners of his lips, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and his eyelids as he closes his eyes. Continuing down his chin, alternatingly placing kisses on either side of his neck, and one at the dip at the base of his throat, passing over his chains, you shift back to trail down the right side of his chest. As your lips touch between navel and the top of his jeans, brushing along the fabric, Benny touches the side of your head.

“Don’t you dare do it again.” His tone is light and teasing, with just an edge of breathlessness and seriousness.

You move up to kiss his left hip and his hand falls back onto the mattress.

“I won’t.”

You trail back up Benny’s irregularly moving chest, out his right upper arm, and lift his hand. Pressing two more soft kisses to his inner forearm, you place one in the middle of his palm and one to the tip of each finger, before beginning again at his sternum and doing the same to his left arm.

Raising back up you push Benny’s hair from his eyes, inviting the light to dance with the sparks already in them.

“Benny Watts, you are a drug.” You smile a little breathlessly and shake your head down at him. The corners of Benny’s mouth start to raise, and he quickly swipes his tongue up to pull down his upper lip and bites down on his lower.

His attempts fail and when you kiss Benny, he’s beaming, a satisfied sound emitting from the chest pressed against yours. His heartbeats translate through your ribcage and your sentiment is repeated in your mind with a flutter in your stomach.

Ringed hands shift from your hips to your back to hold you closer against him. Somehow, you’ve forgotten Benny’s knife because you can’t even feel it at this point. You only feel the friction of his body against your, the pull of his lips.

“You should be in prison.” His tongue swipes into your mouth at that, stalling your continuation with a dizzying taste. “You should be in jail, and I should be in the same cell with you.” The vibrations of Benny’s laugh and twist of his lips reach your senses at the same time as the push of his hips. Combined they’re enough to make you say his name against his lips, repeating it when he does it again.

Lifting off the mattress Benny’s hands holds your hips down against his as he sits up, lips running down the side of your neck when they slip from yours. The scratches against your skin turn into fire running through your veins, out into your arms and fingertips as you run them over his bare shoulders, along the chains around his neck. You barely hear the sound of your name slip from his tongue against the crook of your shoulder, before Benny turns to make you fall first back into the mattress.

Benny’s hands run from your hips to the hem of your skirt, warm fingers tracing bare skin. You lift your hips against his and he pulls back, but only after sucking your lip into his mouth, swiping it with his tongue.

“Want me to get it off?”

“It’s mostly in the way at this point.” Having gotten his answer, Benny eases the skirt down, letting you lift your hips and moving so he’s not in the way. When it’s all the way off he throws the fabric the same way as your shirt, or maybe the opposite. You can’t remember.

Leaning back over you Benny brushes his lips against yours, meeting you when you arch up against him, then lets himself kiss you fully again. His hips push yours down into the mattress before he pulls them back up towards him. You roll back against him, crossing your legs behind Benny’s back, and he hisses against your lips. The sound of you saying his name causes the grind of his hips to stutter, restart, a low sound resonating in his chest, sending its aftershocks through your body as his hands squeeze your thighs a little harder.

One moves to skim the inside of your knee, hot fingers with warm rings running over equally heated skin. When it reaches the junction of your thigh and hip it slides up along the edge of your underwear and then drops beside your side to support his weight as Benny brings his other hand to hover between your legs and pulls away from your lips.

“Can I?” His dark eyes shimmer.

“Yes.” Since you can’t hear your own voice over the increased speed of your heartbeat you repeat it twice, catching the way Benny’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip as his eyes flicker down.

He runs his knuckles down the slick, wet fabric. You think you hear a breathed-out curse but are distracted when fingertips retrace the same path with just enough pressure to make your hips roll against them. The feeling is dizzying, your breathing skips. Benny’s dark eyes flick back up to yours. Then he does it again, sending sparks where the pads of his fingers almost touch you. Your eyes almost flutter at the way he looks at you when your breathing stops again to become what might have been a curse, or his name, or the curse of his name. The last one in particular feels likely as the sound twists and grows louder, and Benny’s eyes are locked on yours.

Pressing back into his bed you roll your hips against his, his hands planted back on either side of you as he lowers back down to press starved kisses to your mouth. Hips lift off yours, only to change their mind and push back down, accompanied by a curse against the corner of your lips. When Benny’s bottom lip slides against yours, you pull it into your mouth and lightly push down your teeth into it. His left arm buckles as you swallow the sound of his groan.

With little effort you coax Benny onto his back. He willingly falls down onto the pillow, rings sliding against your back as he tries to entice you into press against him. His fingers trail down, skimming along the edge of your underwear until they reach the front, barely touching the waistband, eyes flicking up to yours.

You give permission before Benny even has a chance to open his mouth.

The pads of his fingers push past the fabric, running softly your body until your breathing hitches as they lightly slip over your clit. You resist the urge to close your legs around his hand but can’t help the way your breathing audibly increases when it moves further down. Bare skin slides against your wet folds, stroking up and down; the movement slow and deliberate, and far too good for you hold it out for much longer.

You make a sound.

“Explain Closed Sicilian to me.” Your voice is strained, and you are trying very hard to not focus on every slight change in pressure Benny is subjecting you to right now. Another noise slips out and you bury your face against his chest, rolling your hips involuntarily against his hand. “Please, please explain it to me.”

“Now?” Benny’s other hand pushes against your hip.

“If you don’t, I’m going to come, and I’ve waited this long so I’d rather you didn’t do that before you’re actually inside me.” You lift your head to look up at him, quickly adding “Then again, you talking about that is just going to make it worse, so maybe don’t.” You did not need his eyes lighting up and his confidence going thrice its size because he was talking about something he really, really liked. That was bound to make your situation become much better and much worse really quick.

Benny looks like he’s about to protest before making a face and withdrawing his hand.

“Alright, fine.” He rolls you onto your back and kisses you hard, raising his hips as much as possible but keeping you down with his chest.

Letting you up to breathe Benny’s hands go to his belt, pulling it fully out of the loops this time. He catches the handle off his knife as it slides off the leather and off-handedly places it down on your stomach so he can roll the leather around his hand.

You must have done something as the sheath fell flat or as your eyes shifted up and back down again because Benny’s eyes flick from the belt in his hands to your eyes and then he smiles.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for knives too.” He teases.

“Listen” You’re a little too breathless for any type of denying being at all believable and it’s visible in Benny’s eyes how little he would actually believe you if you tried. “Messing with that takes practice and discussions, so let’s put a pin in that. I like seeing you get off, let’s leave it at that for now.”

He tilts his head like ‘fair enough’, finishes rolling up his belt and puts both that and the knife out of view to your left.

You reach up to brush Benny’s hair to the side where it’s over his eyes again, letting your fingers linger just above his ear. There’s something very recognizable about the slight way his eyes move at the gesture.

“Do you- like having your hair pulled?” You ask tentatively, and when Benny doesn’t answer right away you continue “You don’t have to say yes.”

It takes a second longer, and you start to pull your hand away before he shifts his eyes away and rolls his shoulders.

“So what if I do?” Benny glances back at you.

“I’ll tell you what” You smile encouraging, guiding the topic to focus on yourself instead to make him more comfortable. “you’d be in good hands; I like it both ways.” Benny visibly relaxes but you don’t move your hand back, favoring to slide it along his jaw to stop below his lower lip.

Softly tilting his head down, you give the slightest pressure.  He follows down to peck your lips before drawing back to meet look at you again, hands rubbing reassuringly over your thighs. The pad of your thumb rests against Benny’s bottom lip, and you tilt your head, trying to read out the thoughts that form and disperse behind his eyes. The corner of his lip quirks up and he dips his head down to catch the finger in his mouth. The flat of his tongue maps your fingerprint, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You make a noise, shooting him a glare as he looks far too smug when you pull your hand back to press it against his back instead. The expression doesn’t leave his lips when you push his side to get him down, as a matter of fact he looks offensively at home against his pillow, shuffling further into it before beaming up at you again. Unable to stop yourself you scoff, trying to look annoyed but failing spectacularly.

“Think you’re ready to go again, if you want to?” You look at your watch, pinching the face of the clock to keep it so you can read the time. “It’s been an hour.”

“You still have your watch on?” Benny reaches up to pull your arm down so he can look at it.

You laugh.

“Well, you didn’t take it off me.” You let him turn your hand over, undoing the watch and looking at it for a second before handing it to you. Leaning over him you put it on the empty nightstand to your left.

“I’m so glad you’ve got two nightstands.” You hum, leaning back to resettle over his hips.

Thinking for a second, Benny makes a face, a mixture between a frown and scrunching up his face.

“It doesn’t make sense to only have one nightstand.” He states, eyes flicking back to yours. Smiling at his answer you bend down to peck his lips.

“That’s what I like about you, Benny Watts. Things can’t just be for you; they have to make sense.” Continuing in the same light tone you add “I might even go as far as to say I love you.”

“Woah, you’re just gonna show your hand like that?” Benny mimics shock, before smiling, his hands rubbing your hips reassuringly. “Throw the whole game?” You snort a little, moving your eyes to the wall, schooling your expression to be serious.

“As if you didn’t show your hand back at the bar.” You tilt your head exaggerated, pretend thought.  “And earlier, now that you mention it.”

“I said liked.” Just like you, Benny is pressing his lips together to prevent himself from laughing, and even then, a smile cracks through.

“I’ll give you that, you did say like.”

Benny pulls you down, kissing you with a smile. Letting yourself sink into it you push down against him, swallowing the sound he makes and feeling his heart beating through his chest. His hands pull your hips closer to his to repeat the motion. His breathing increases as you do it infinitely slower this time, feeling you press against him, although you can’t say you are doing any better.

“Ready?” You laugh breathlessly and Benny groans, pushing his head back into the pillows.

“I was ready half an hour ago.”

“Well, good sex takes preparation. And this is going to be good.” Straightening up you putting the base of your hand on Benny’s chest, holding your index in front of his face to shush him. “No, no, it’s going to be, because I’ll make it so.”

Instead of arguing, with sparkling eyes Benny favors to bend his head forward and close his mouth around your finger, sucking while you talk. His tongue swirls around the digit and the corner of his lips quirk up when you make a sound, mind drifting before you catch it.

“Asshole.” Benny’s eyes light up mischievously at that, and when you pull your hand back, he raises his eyebrows.

“Oh you wan-?”

You cut him off.

“Shut up.” The bed shakes with Benny’s laughter, and you roll your eyes, shaking your head at him. He’s really having too much fun.

When his laughter calms down, Benny looks at you for a second before sitting up.

“Come on”

He nudges you sideways until you get the hint and get off him, letting him get off the bed. Benny offers his hand to pull you up after him. When you’re both on your feet he turns back and in one quick motion rips off the covers, throwing the corner to the middle so the bed is folded half-open diagonally but not all the way down.

You’re just letting your underwear drop onto the floor when Benny turns back around, and he catches up with you in the time it takes you to blink. He holds his hand out again, pulling you with him backwards.

Jut before his legs hit the bed Benny sidesteps, pulling you down first onto the bed and following, catching himself on his arm so he doesn’t fall directly on top of you.

Settling between your legs, Benny tilts his head with a cheeky smile.

“Comfortable now?”

You make a show of settling into the pillow, trying to divert his attention from the way you pull air deep into your lungs. It’s in the pillow, the sheets, the air vibrating around you with tension, but most of all it’s above you, radiating from him. The warm, slightly sweet, smell of clean cotton shirts pulled from the tumbler, a bed slept in until well past noon, and sun-heated leather in the first days of summer.

“Yes.” You smile up at him.

“Good.” Benny lowers down over you and presses his lips to yours, tongue running over your lip once before slipping into your mouth. You hum while he pulls protection from a drawer of one of the nightstands above your field of vision and pulls it on.

Fingers skim lightly over the wetness gathered between your legs, and then Benny pushes into you. It sends lightning through your stomach, sliding slowly, almost torturously, against sensitive nerve endings. His breath is slow and controlled, albeit a bit wavering. Solid warmth spreads from his body into yours and your body clenches involuntarily around him when he stills, breath warming the side of your neck. Your hands run up his sides to find purchase.

“You’re gonna mark me?” You ask the ceiling and Benny shifts, running his nose against your throat and giving you chills.

“You want me to?” His hips pull back slightly, and you close your eyes at the slow drag of his cock against your inner walls. As Benny pushes back in, one hand disappears from beside you, moving your hand from his back to his hair. Sparks dance up your spine when he thrusts a little quicker, igniting you both like a match against a striking surface. Benny makes a sound in the back of his throat before kissing you again.

Carding your fingers through his hair near his scalp you pull lightly. The way his hips jerk forward has you arching against him, moan mixing with his. Tension builds in your stomach and if the room was hot before it is blazing now. Benny presses against you, overwhelming and perfect, filling you. Your hips lift off the bed to meet his, legs crossed behind his back to pull him closer. The drag of his abdomen against you in just the right place has you whining against his lips. His next thrust is faster, causing your body to clench down, approaching the edge fast.

“I’ve waited this long to fuck a master; you better not make this be over quick.” Your hips arch against his despite your breathless words.

“You call an hour and a half quick?” Benny asks in disbelief, but the roll of his hips slows to delightfully slow, burning pulls. He closes his eyes, breathing becomes deliberately slowed. “I’m not going to last long no matter how slow I go.”

“That’s okay, neither am I.” You quirk the corner of your lip as Benny opens his eyes again and pull him back down to your lips. Trying to starve of your orgasm you focus on tasting every corner of his mouth. It seems to have the opposite effect on Benny, as he whines and his hips stutter. One of his arms buckle and you pull your hand free to direct his to your hair before going back to his.

The first slow drag releases a satisfied noise from you, and the slight sting of the next sends a thrill down your body, connecting with where Benny’s cock pushes into you. He slides his tongue against yours, pulling your head close to his.

“Fuck” The word falls from both of your mouths as your fingers pulls the blond strands they’re tangled in, and Benny’s hips jerk forward. You push your hand against his lower back to push him down, deeper, and he pulls your hips up with his free hand, grinding against you. His eyes glitter with pride when you arch, pressing your head into the pillow, mouth falling open.

Unsatisfied, Benny slows even further, changing thrusts for slow grinds, watching you trying to make a sound with a smile, heels pressing into his lower back. Your eyes flutter, trying desperately to stay open, pleasure coursing through you in unrelenting waves. Meeting his eyes, you jerk your hand a little harder in Benny’s hair, and the sound he produces almost has you falling.

His hand pushes between your bodies as he moves faster again. The pleasure is hot and fast, and as Benny pulls your lips to his it explodes, fire shooting through your veins in search of oxygen and shaking your entire body. He swallows the cries of his name falling from your lips, but then his hips stutter and slipping from your lips he repays the praise. It’s loud, it’s messy, and it’s so fucking hot.

Benny drops his head in the crook of your neck, weakly trying to hold himself up. Your chest pushes against his until both your accelerated breathing reaches the same rhythm. There is pleasant ache starting to make itself known, one you’re sure you’ll be feeling tomorrow, and perhaps the day after that.

Softly you push Benny over and he lets himself be rolled onto his back, still inside you. Head landing on the pillow he takes a few more breaths before his eyes pop open. When they meet yours there is a content smile on his lips, with only a hint of unsedated hunger still visible in his dark eyes. He reaches forward to meet your smiling kiss and lets you pull off him and roll onto the mattress beside him.

After a few seconds of just the sound for your breathing your voice comes alive again.

“I hope we didn’t wake anyone.”

Benny starts laughing, breathlessly and beautifully, and you scrunch your nose playfully at him.

“I hope we did.” He looks at you, eyes brilliant, and adds in a more serious tone. “I think they’re all asleep so they can get up at a reasonable hour tomorrow.”

You reach over and pull your watch from the nightstand.

“Two isn’t a reasonable hour to be up?” Benny snorts a laugh at your fake naiveté as you settle back into the bed.

There’s a few more seconds of silence before he talks again.

“I still only made you come once.” Benny looks at you, eyes flicking down to your lips and back up; the hunger more than unsated now.

“That’s okay” You smile teasingly. “I wouldn’t expect you to, you did all the hard work.”

Benny doesn’t find an answer to that, but you have a feeling neither of you think two is very late at all.

#I fucking called the watch thing I'm so proud! #I'm glad the internet agrees that Benny has both bi and switch energy #benny watts #benny watts x reader #the queen's gambit

[a-is-for-abel]

"“I’m moving.” He froze, glancing up at his friend. The other boy’s eyes were gleaming with suppressed sobs, breath hitching and jaw clenched. “Mom got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

Inspired by this prompt by @givethispromptatry

Sand and shells crunched under the belly of the kayak as it ran aground. With a wobble and a curse he tumbled into the water, paddle floating away from him and kayak shooting off in the opposite direction.

"Fuck."

He scrambled to collect both, tossing the paddle up onto the beach and grabbing the handle at the bow of the kayak to tow it onto shore.

"You're late."

He rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to see Warren in all his cut-offs and sandals glory. "And you're early."

Warren crossed his arms. "I'm literally the most on time, dude."

"Whatever, just-- Help me grab the stuff."

He popped open the watertight chamber in front of the seat and reached into the belly of the kayak, all while Warren struggled to pull the backpack out from under the cage of bungee cords at the front.

"Just unhook them, dude," he said, his cellphone and two unopened cream sodas finally in hand.

"Don't tell me how to do it."

"It's not going to--"

"Shit!" Warren yelped, recoiling and clutching his hand.

"Told you."

Warren flicked him off, but turned to do what he said anyway.

"Come on, suns gonna start setting soon." He grabbed his backpack from Warren and stuffed the drinks and his phone inside.

"What? Afraid of some gators?"

"No," he said. "Rather a gator than my dad."

Warren grimaced. "He still got you on that curfew?"

"Yup."

He picked his way through the mangrove thicket that cut the beach off from the rest of the spoil island. The roots of the black mangroves jutted up like fingers through the sand and the stilts of the red mangroves tried their best to snag his feet as he ducked under the sprawling web of an orb weaver hidden in their midst. Thankfully, it cleared out past the initial wall of foliage, becoming more barren with only the occasional thicket.

He remembered when his dad had led them through here the first time and explained that the mangroves kept the spoil islands standing. That when hurricanes and storms threatened to wash them away, their roots would act like a little army, keeping off any barrage and harboring whatever took up shelter under them.

He frowned. His dad and him hadn't come out here since--

"Fuck, fuck, fu--" Warren sputtered behind him, high-pitched.

"Web?" he asked, glancing back to see Warren flinching away from a tree.

"Yeah, fuck--" Warren brushed his arms off frantically and patted at his hair. "Fucking spiders all over the fucking place, man. They call it Mosquito Lagoon, but it really should be spider god damn la-- Fuck!"

"Nice one, ‘spider god damn la-fuck’ really has a special sort of ring to it."

Warren shot him a glare and dusted off his shoulders and the front of his shirt with quick flicks. "You owe me for psychological damages..."

"Come on, we used to come out here all the time."

"When I was like ten! And with your dad!" Warren cowered away from another web that sprawled from a lone tree. "And I didn't have as much free real estate for a spider to like, you know-- Crawl all over me or whatever."

"Free real estate?"

"Yeah, you know the whole--" Warren gestured vaguely. "The meme."

"God, please stop," he groaned. "That shits like, what, twenty-seventeen? That's like ancient history, man."

"It's a classic."

"Sure," he muttered. "A classic."

"Whatever, man, you're just not cultured."

He scoffed. "That's definitely it."

The other end of the island unfolded into a drop-off, all coquina and shells packed tightly together and built up into a mound that cut off abruptly into nothing. It was the highest point of the island-- of most of the spoils out here honestly-- even though it's small cliff had been eaten away and eroded over time, shrinking and shifting as the island shrank with the waves.

Dropping his backpack, he sat and dangled his legs over the edge, shoes knocking back against the coquina with a scratchy rasp. Warren plopped down beside him, keeping his legs folded and away from the plunge. Not that it was much of a sheer cliff. Only about eight feet down at the most, but enough that it felt like a lot. Compared to the average of three feet below sea level for the rest of the mainland; eight feet felt pretty fucking huge.

The tide lapped at the base of the island, the water hissing and coiling, writhing and alive where it squirmed through the holes bored through the coquina face and back out with a soft crackle. Crabs, tiny and mottled, darted in and around the rocks and he could see finger mullet, their scales flashing as they turned and twisted with the waves.

"You tied up your kayak, right?" Warren asked.

"Naw, but it should be fine. I pulled it up pretty far."

"I'm not sharing if you get stuck out here."

He frowned, shooting Warren his best puppy dog eyes. "You'd leave me out here?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "Fair."

Seagulls drifted in lazy circles far overhead, the occasional cry working its way down to them as the birds banked with the wind, following the gusts up to where they could catch a glimpse of a meal beneath the water. One wheeled down in a sudden arc, wings folded close to its side as it plummeted, beak first, into the water with a snap and then back out with a spray.

"Man, tough luck..." Warren said. "Hate whenever they miss. Makes me feel kinda bad."

"They're just gonna go do what the rest do and steal some fries at the jetty once they realize it's easier than doing this."

"Yeah, but it's like-- I don't know, man. Just wish he'd get a win."

"You don't even know him!"

"I feel like we have a connection." Warren pointed at where the seagull had gone back to patrolling the waters. "Me and seagull number one thousand and three, we're like this--" He crossed his fingers.

"Shut up," he snorted.

They watched the seagull try again and fail.

Warren started up a running commentary after the third attempt, cupping a hand over his mouth to imitate the slight grain of a sports announcer's microphone as he dramatized the whole thing. When the seagull finally managed to snag a fish Warren cheered, arms thrown up in a touchdown motion that he copied with a grin.

"Hell yeah, dude!" Warren high-fived him.

"Where's all that enthusiasm for when you're at my games?" he asked.

"Come on, dude, you know I always cheer the loudest. You're just too far out on the field to hear me."

"I'm sure that's what it is."

"Whatever, man-- What'd you bring anyway?" Warren grabbed his backpack and began rummaging through it. "Oh shit! Gummy bears, dude! And the good kind, hell yeah!"

"Yeah, grabbed them before I came here. That's why I was late, idiot."

Warren tore open the package. "Crimes forgiven, man. This is worth it."

"Give me that--" He pulled his backpack out of Warren's lap. "I also got some soda, but I guess all you care about is your precious little bears."

"Naw, naw-- Hand that over."

"Rude much?"

"What? You want me to kiss you on the lips for it first, bro?"

He laughed. "Now, that would be the polite thing to do."

Warren puckered his lips at him and then snatched the soda. "Fuck off."

"Not even a little kiss?" he teased.

"You dragged me out to spider-fuck-nowhere, while it's ass fucking hot out and where it smells like rotting fish taint-- Just to watch the fucking sunset, when we could have sat on my roof and done the exact same thing-- You expect a kiss for that?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Bro code."

Warren snorted. "Hand me a bottle opener, dip shit."

He popped open his own bottle and passed it over to Warren, who struggled for a moment before finally getting it with a triumphant 'whoop'. The mixture of saccharine flavored soda and the slight rotting stench of algae, and whatever else the lagoon had to offer, wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't terrible. It was familiar.

It was homely in it's off kilter sort of way.

"So, why'd you bring me out here anyways?" Warren asked.

He sighed and kicked his heel back against the coquina. "I’m moving.”

Warren sucked in sharply and he glanced over at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the water below his feet. "Dad got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

"Dude…"

"I didn't know how to tell you. I just--"

"Is that why you decided it'd be a good idea to sneak out and go to that dumb party with me?" Warren asked, frowning.

"I figured it would be one of the last chances I had to do something fun, you know. Here. Before I just-- Leave all this shit forever. I mean, we're moving to fucking Ohio, man. Where the fuck am I gonna find a party on an island out there?"

"Right…"

"And look, fuck my dad--"

"Jake--"

"No, fuck him-- He didn't even--" he huffed. "Things were looking up, man. Varsity lacrosse in sophomore year, that's huge, dude. And I wasn't just the fucking loser kid in the back of class anymore and he just--"

"Works rough here, dude..." Warren cut him off, sighing. "Space programs taking a shit. Whole island's taking a shit, really. Plenty of people left the first time NASA tanked, remember? It's just… it happens, man."

"So, you're just fine with it then?" he asked, brows furrowing. "We're never going-- I'm never going to see you again and you're just okay with that?"

"It's not forever!" Warren said, throwing out his hands. "There's planes, man! It's the twenty first fucking century. We got phones, dude. We'll stay in touch."

He grit his teeth and looked down.

"Jake, bro. C'mon-- Look at me."

He met Warren's eyes.

"It's gonna be okay, dude." Warren said, smile wide, and he could see the little falter at the edges, but he didn't call him on it. "Look--" Warren held up his bottle. "We'll cheers on it."

"Cheers on what?"

"To staying in touch, to meeting up in the future. To staying friends and all that, I don't know."

"To you finally getting a boyfriend?"

"Actually, you know what, I'm not going to miss you at all."

"Come on--" he grinned, nudging Warren with his shoulder. "You'll miss me."

"Yeah," Warren chuckled, looking down with a small smile. "I will..."

His fingers tightened around the glass bottle in his hand, bottom lip threatening to worry between his teeth. "Look, let's do your dumb cheers thing before it gets too sentimental or whatever."

Warren sighed, seeming to shake himself off before raising his soda bottle above his head and towards the slowly setting sun. "To us."

"To us?" He wrinkled his nose. "Isn't that kinda cheesy?"

"Just shut up and do it."

"Fine..." he grumbled with a grin, raising his bottle to clink against Warren's. "To us."

--

//photo credit// me and my phone c. 2020 //

#writeblr #writing community #creative writing #fiction #prompt fill #prose #writers on tumblr #short story #writing #my writing #original work #sorry for the cursing #miss the spoil islands and the lagoon #Florida

[mystery-skulls-ghost]

cracks knuckles

please welcome the Duskmarch dorm.

Founded on the determination and will of the Grand Marshal, Duskmarch is a... relatively obscure and bleak dorm. Its members are usually ones that keep to themselves and focus on their passion (which is mostly art in all its forms.) The only people they interact with are with each other and a few other people, but they're generally not sociable with the general public. They have some traditions, but the most prevalent ones are the events held every 22nd of each month, March 22nd being the most grandiose. Their purpose is celebrating the memories of its members past and present. And some other stuff, but we'll get to that eventually. Think a mix of Heartslabyul + Ignihyde. The current dorm leader is Emil A. Carcino while the vice dorm leader is Vice Abriss.

Dorm Location:

The general area is a monochromatic ghost town in the mountains that seems to be literally stuck in time, as in all surrounding fauna and wildlife are in suspended motion. The weather is always overcast. The only things that move are incorporeal ashes falling from the sky like snowflakes and a proper day and night cycle. At night, the sky clears up to show the stars above.

The dorm quarters are located in a mansion right in the center of town. The architecture seems to be similar to the one from the Ramshackle dorm. It's reserved for the dorm leader and the vice dorm leader. All other members reside in the other abandoned buildings. How do they get to choose which building? As a great man once said: "It's free real estate." As long as it's theirs, they can do whatever they want with them. For example: Xander's building is entirely covered with colorful spray paint art.

Members:

Emil A. Carcino

Twisted from: The Black Parade

Dorm: Duskmarch, Dorm Head

Year: 2nd

Birthday: October 23rd (Scorpio)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationship Status: Taken by that edgelord below

Age: 17

Height: 176cm

Dominant Hand: Right

Birthplace: Rose Kingdom

Club: Board Game Club

Favorite Subject: History

Likes: Vice, skeletons, sounds with a good beat to them, celebrations

Dislikes: Killjoys (lol), clowns, babies

Flaws: Too easygoing, he's gonna let one minor thing slide and that escalates into some major problems

Favorite Food: Adobo

Disliked Food: Anything with cinnamon

Special Skill: Perfect pitch

The mysterious, dreamy, charismatic head of Duskmarch, Emil is a very lax kind of guy. He may not look it, but he's very passionate about the arts. Can't you tell by the parties the dorm holds every 22nd of each month? Aside from that, he doesn't seem to be fazed by anything, not even jumpscares or existential dread. Emil's the kind of guy to live in the now rather than dwelling on past regrets. He's wiser than he looks.

Unique Magic:

"Carry On"

Allows Emil to view a singular, specific memory of a target. The catch being:

He can only view them as a dream. He can't see them immediately, he needs to take a little nap.

You know how dreams are. Weird, vague, trippy, and all associated synonyms. They also take the form of musicals!

Emil's gonna have to interpret them by himself.

Relationships:

Vice - Dormmate. Boyfriend. He really is in deep, cutesy love with him. Could this not be just a high school first love thing?

Xander - Dormmate. Much needed lighting in this place! He admires Xander's feistiness. Fun to tease.

Azul - Clubmate. Always enjoys a round of Brabble with Azul. Their scores against each other are a perfect tie.

Idia - Clubmate. Appreciates Idia from afar. Every time Emil tries to get to know him, he's conveniently not there.

Riddle - Next door neighbors. Emil doesn't really know Riddle that much, but his mom does.

Tiny Tidbits:

Emil smells like a hint of vanilla.

His fondest memory is of a parade; so when he found out that Duskmarch held monthly parades, he was overjoyed.

He dyed his hair white to match the previous dorm leaders.

Emil's art is entirely in black and white. He says it's more "aesthetically pleasing" that way.

If he were sorted into a canon dorm, he'd be sorted in Heartslabyul.

Vice Abriss

Twisted from: Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

Dorm: Duskmarch, Vice (haha) Dorm Head

Year: 2nd

Birthday: June 8th (Gemini)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationship Status: Taken by that boy above

Age: 17

Height: 187cm

Dominant Hand: Left

Birthplace: Isle of Lamentation

Club: Film Studies

Favorite Subject: Poison Making

Likes: Emil, poetry, the color red (a specific shade being "Pitchfork Red")

Dislikes: Anyone getting TOO close to Emil, fish, Xander

Flaws: being a fucking dick

Favorite Food: Cinnamon rolls

Disliked Food: Big Bean Burritos

Special Skill: A very attentive eye for detail

The vice dorm head of Duskmarch. A heart attack in black hair dye. Vice is a very strict man. He's serious about everything he does. Does he even have any emotions besides quiet, seething anger? That all seems to go away when he's with Emil, so that's one thing. Although, please don't interrupt his alone time...

Unique Magic:

"Starless Eyes"

Makes Vice invisible. He can't do it for more than 3 minutes, because it'll take some serious damage on him, both physically and mentally. How, exactly? His clothes may disintegrate, his flesh might also disintegrate, he'll become slightly more unhinged, etc. etc.

Relationships:

Emil - Dorm head. Boyfriend. Truly, madly, deeply in love with Emil. Nothing comes in between Vice and him. Literally nothing. Because he'll destroy whatever gets in the way.

Xander - Dormmate. An annoyance. Vice barely tolerates Xander.

Vil - Clubmate. Surprisingly on good terms. Vice does double work, both behind the scenes and onscreen. Vil's picky perfectionism strives him to do more.

Tiny Tidbits:

Vice's art is very abstract. Abstract as in they look like a madman's scribbles on a wall as his sanity slowly deteriorates. They always have some splotch of red somewhere.

He would definitely kill a man if anything were to happen to Emil.

Has a fear of heights. This is why his worst subjects are everything that involves broom flying.

If he were sorted into a canon dorm, he'd be sorted into Pomefiore.

Xander Ammonitra

Twisted from: Danger Days/Party Poison

Dorm: Duskmarch

Year: 1st

Birthday: November 22nd (Scorpio)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationship Status: Single

Age: 16

Height: 180cm

Dominant Hand: Right

Birthplace: Davane

Club: Track and Field Club

Favorite Subject: Practical Magic

Likes: Street art, parkour, cartoony shenanigans, monkeys

Dislikes: Authority, drab colors, sterilized entertainment

Flaws: Loud, obnoxious, dirty mouthed [BLEEP]

Favorite Food: Deep-dish meat pizza

Disliked Food: Canned Marshmallows

Special Skill: Really good hearing

An extremely loud kind of guy. How did a boy like Xander even get into the dark, monochromatic aesthetic of Duskmarch? He expresses himself with bold colors, graffiti, confetti, and anything colorful (both literally and verbally.) He doesn't take kindly to strict rules. Despite the rowdy personality, he's kind of a dork. As things should be.

Unique Magic:

"Make Some Noise"

Lets Xander turn random objects into (non-lethal) bombs of various effects. It's a lot lamer than it sounds.

Relationships:

Emil - Dorm head. Appreciates Emil's "anything goes" mentality. Xander does get huffy over his moments of teasing.

Vice - Dormmate. Shares the same feeling of antipathy towards Vice. Xander's willing to go through slapstick shenanigans just to fuck with him.

Deuce - Clubmate. Sometimes flings snarky negative quips towards Deuce. Not the very best of friends.

Jack - Clubmate. Legitimately thinks that Jack is cool. Xander doesn't really give his usual temperament towards him.

Jude - No relation. He's seen Jude around right before they were both enrolled into NRC. Xander sees him as an idol, him standing up to the city of bullshit that is Davane.

Tiny Tidbits:

Xander has a potted Mars flytrap among his mess of a room. Did he steal it from the campus? Maybe.

He WILL find a way to vandalize every seemingly impossible to reach places with a cartoon monkey. He gets bored sometimes.

His birthday happens to be on the 22nd of November! That means he's in charge of the parade of that month. Expect an extravagant eyeblinding event.

Xander is an appreciator of anything involving wheels. Mostly rollerskates. His cowboy boots may or may not be heelys.

If he were sorted into a canon dorm, he'd be sorted into Scarabia.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland fandorm #twst fandorm #fandorm #oc bullshit #any additions are always appreciated #sleepy time now zzz

[sabraeal]

Traffic Lights Are Burnin’

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @nebluus‘s birthday! She asked for some WFB, and of the options I gave she chose the next part of our Six Flags saga...only the beginning scene of that chapter ended up ballooning out into this so...it ended up being less Amusement Park Shenanigans and more Wholesome Boys Will Be Boys Content. I’M SURE MADI WILL BE JUST FINE WITH THAT TOO 😂

“Are you making an omelette?”

English is not, functionally, Mitsuhide’s first language. Not that he thinks of it like that-- first or second, third or fourth; there’s no ranking in his life, no moment in which one language followed another. There was English with Mama and quebecois with Papa; a plan quickly scuttled by Mitsuhide being the fifth Lowen sibling. Refusing to be pigeonholed into a single language no matter how many times Mama repeated consistency is key, his brothers mostly spoke a tossed salad of both and assumed he’d understand the lettuce.

Coupled with the fact that all his cousins lived in Toronto anyway, Mitsuhide had hardly begun talking himself before it became outside quebecois and inside English. Unless they left the province, in which case it was a free-for-all that left his few monolingual aunts and uncles dizzy.

Which is to say, Mitsuhide only becomes aware of the precise inner ranking of his languages in moments like this, where gut immediately kicks out a dry ‘j’essaie.’ The translation is vetoed on the grounds that although in quebecois he’s never met a word he couldn’t steep in sarcasm and smuggle in a sacre, he prefers to keep his English so clean it squeaks.

You’ve got it all backwards, Kihal had told him as he sweltered under the San Juan sun, English is fake, you can be as much of an asshole as you want it in, it doesn’t count.

It’s true, there’s something that’s more real to him in French, that’s more real about him, but, well-- there were far fewer cousins to tattle on his potty mouth this way. And now that he knows Obi...

Well, if Kiki ever made good on her threats to teach him any of his “church swears,” he’d probably never sleep easy again. So instead, he scrolls through his mental rolodex of possible appropriate replies before settling on, “Would you like one?”

Zen glances up from his array of pamphlets, glossy paper glaring beneath the overhead lamp. It matches the way Zen is looking at him. “We don’t have time for that.”

Mitsuhide frowns, giving his eggs one last vigorous whisk before pouring them into the pan. “There’s always time for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He glances over just in time to see Zen’s grimace. “Shirayuki really could be your sister.”

There’s really no reason he has to look so horrified by the idea. His brothers may all be broad shouldered, barrel-chested giants, but plenty of his cousins made pocket money in high school through catalogue modeling. And they’re all very nice girls.

He doesn’t mention it. A conversation never ends well if you have to whip out photos of female relatives to prove your point. “Would you like one?” he repeats instead, a safer tactic overall.

Zen’s nose wrinkles beneath some dubiously drawn eyebrows. “Are you putting spinach in there?”

“Kale,” he agrees. “And chicken.”

“In a breakfast omelette?” He clucks his tongue, just the way the Wisteria’s chef would when he attempted to cook at the estate. Quel dommage, he would say, sighing over the cutting board, why would you do that to perfectly good eggs? “Why would you do that?”

Because these muscles don’t come cheap; Mitsuhide chokes down a truly staggering amount of chicken in order to keep them. Roasted, of course-- boiled is technically better for protein, but even he has to draw the line somewhere. The eggs have less, but they are calorie efficient; he’d eat more of them if he could stomach the slimy, snake-like sensation of swallowing them down hard boiled.

But explaining his diet regime usually ended with glazed eyes, so he settles for, “I could always put something different in yours. There’s ham.”

Fancy ham, Obi calls it. It’s just from the deli counter, fresh sliced from whatever quality cut’s on sale, but considering how the first time Obi saw a charcuterie board, he shouted, Oh, Lunchables!--

Well, Mitsuhide can accept that maybe they have different benchmarks for fancy. And somehow just the simple act of calling it that does make it taste better. Or at least more satisfying when it’s shoved between a Hawaiian roll and deli cheese.

There’s a soft shuffle by the kitchen door, and a wild thatch of bristle peeps around the frame. Mitsuhide shakes his head with huff. That’s a new one-- just think the devil’s name and he appears.

Obi lopes into the kitchen, all long limbs and smooth movements, blurring right into the background without any effort at all. He’d gotten Mitsuhide a few times when he’d first moved in, popping up wherever it was sure to be the most inconvenient, grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth. But once you knew the trick of it, well-- it’s no effort to keep the kid in his sights.

Which is why he has a full, uninterrupted view when Obi slips right up to Zen’s elbow, and asks, “Whatcha doing, chief?”

“Wah!” Pamphlets fly up, a glittering flock of wings swooping beneath the lamp. Zen slaps them down before they can skitter off the table’s edge. “Obi! Make noise for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he sing-songs, not a sincere note in it. Two long fingers pluck a pamphlet off the wood, twisting it between them. “What’s all this? They starting to put theme parks on exams now?”

“No.” Zen scowls, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m just making today’s itinerary.”

Mitsuhide slides his omelette onto a plate, turning just in time to catch the glance Obi sends him. It somehow says is he fucking with me while also implying I’ll hold him down if we gotta send him to the doctor. “An itinerary?”

He leans a hip against the island, fishing out a fork. What was it Obi always said? Dinner tastes better with a show. Time to find out whether it extends to breakfast too.

Zen fixes Obi with a look that could have had trenches with all its affront. “You can’t go to an amusement park without a plan. How else do you get on all the coasters?”

“It’s only Six Flags New England.” A week ago, the name alone made Obi flee like a cat from a bath, but now every syllable drips with derision, like a sommelier reviewing boxed wine. “They’ve got what? Superman?”

Mitsuhide shoves a corner of his omelette in his mouth. It’s not as good as a sausage, mushroom, and cheese, but, well, it’ll do. “Bizarro.”

“Bizarro.” Obi scoffs. “See? Nothing. Besides, I thought you were the kind of guy to spring for fast passes, boss.”

Zen’s always been sensitive; the sort of kid who tended to pop off when a situation came to a simmer instead of trying to turn down the heat. When Izana had been sitting president, he’s spent half his tenure fielding tense calls, sometimes even climbing into a towncar at a moment’s notice to be taken back east. The school, he’s always say, lifting a shoulder, my brother is proving to be a challenge, and my mother is...unreachable.

He’d thought this Zen kid must be like the ones he knew on the ice, punching first and asking questions later, complaining about being put in the box. All temper and no temperance, Mama used to say when she drove him home, can’t talk when you got plastic between your teeth.

But then he’d met him, undersized and stick-limbed, living in that house with people paid to be invisible. A kid with too much on his shoulders and too many eyes to watch him stumble under it. He’s come a long way from there.

So when Zen squirms in his chair, red already starting to lick up his neck, Mitsuhide doesn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Zen’s discomfort is his discomfort, a failure of him to keep the watchful eye on him that Izana asked him to.

But it also doesn’t stop him from adding, “Shirayuki believes that waiting in line is part of the amusement park experience.”

Obi looks as though he’s just been told it’s his birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one. “Of course she does.” His mouth sharpens to a wicked grin. “So you’ll be lowering yourself to the peasant’s lines today, huh, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, swatting him away. “No one’s being lowered anywhere. We won’t be running into any of them so long as we get there early and hit the coasters in the right order.”

Obi coughs. Or at least, makes it sound like he is. “Uh-huh.”

“Where is Shirayuki anyway?” Zen glares at the empty doorway, brows heaving like thunderclouds over the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you’d get her.”

“I did.” Obi twitches his shoulders; as good as a shrug, from him. “She’s getting ready.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Zen’s glare changes target to him, thunder rolling in the tone of his voice. “Shirayuki doesn’t take this long to get ready.”

When Mitsuhide glances up, chewing around another stab of egg, kale, and chicken, Obi’s eyebrows are already there to meet him. His head tilts, just the barest degree; this is your show, big guy.

Mitsuhide coughs, trying to clear his throat of leaf bits. “Girls,” he starts, the ground sinking beneath him with each word, “like to look nice. Especially when they are on, uh, dates.”

“This isn’t a date,” Zen informs him, more than a little put out. “Obi’s going.”

The sound Obi makes can only be termed as distressed. “I didn’t want to.”

For exactly this reason, is what he doesn’t say. Doesn’t even show it on his face, though it has to be lurking beneath it, considering how he--

Well, considering nothing Mitsuhide knows for sure. But certainly a few things he reasonably suspects.

“Chief.” Obi flips the chair next to him, straddling it. “You know, I really thought it couldn’t be true. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But to hear you now--” he leans in, one narrow brow raising the same time his voice drops-- “you really do chicken out when it comes to getting chummy with Doc.”

Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his chicken.

Zen’s red all over, like someone pulled him from a boiling pot and put him on a plate. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” he says, so easy. “Doc told me.”

“She said that?” His skin’s so flushed Mitsuhide’s half afraid he’ll pass out, but instead he just collapses against the ladderback, head buried in his arms. “Shirayuki?” 

“Pretty much.” Obi sighs, hands braced on the table. “I mean, is it so hard to say she looks nice when she dresses up? Or that you like her hair, or--” he stumbles, shaking his head-- “no, not the hair. Too loaded. But you know, one of her floaty little numbers. Her freckles. Something.”

“I have!”

Obi lifts a dubiously narrow eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Ah...” Whatever the answer is, it’s not helping his blood flow problem. Mitsuhide nearly opens his mouth, searching for a good way to make himself a target-- “The Big E.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Obi’s inquisition crumples into confusion. “What? When did you--”

Every word ekes into the air with the utmost resistance. “When she was wearing your hoodie.”

“When she was wearing my--?” Gold eyes round to coins. “Chief.”

For a solid minute, that’s the only reaction-- wide-eyed disbelief, earned from two sides. But Obi coughs, mouth twitching, and it’s a snort, a smirk, and--

And then Obi launches himself away from the table, both hands still gripping the edge as he falls apart utterly. The chair’s back keeps him from putting his head between his knees, but spiritually he’s there, tears tracking down his cheeks as his laughs wheeze out of him

One hand finally slaps the table, like he’s asking for a time out. Zen frowns down at him, red finally fading to a painful pink. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Obi squeaks, and Mitsuhide has to shove his last bite of omelette into his mouth to stifle his own noises. It’s no good-- Zen whips around and gives him the same glare he’s been saving for Obi.

“If you don’t cut it out,” he says loftily, “I’m going to let a freshman stay in your room.”

Well, that brings Obi up. “Fine,” he coughs, voice still ragged from laughing. “But still. My hoodie.”

“The sleeves hung over her hands! It was cute.” Zen huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, if I’m so bad, why don’t you two show me how it’s done?”

There’s a pause, long and loaded; enough that Mitsuhide glances up from his plate to see just what tomfoolery he should brace himself to break up--

Only to find Zen staring at him.

Intellectually, Mitsuhide is aware that Zen is a Wisteria. He met him through Izana, after all; he’s been over to the manor, he’s even met their prodigal mother on one of her rare stopovers between vacations. But when he thinks of the name, it’s Izana who springs to mind, the gears churning behind his eyes.

It’s not often that Zen reminds him of his brother; Cookie’s always said that Izana takes after their mother with that long and lean model build, while Zen has always been Kain’s child. But now, now--

He sees it, and it sends a shiver right through him.

With a quirk of his lips, Zen says, so like Izana that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t know any different, “You first, Mitsuhide.”

Obi’s mouth curves into a leer. “Yeah, Big Guy. Show us the skills that got you Ms Kiki.”

This probably isn’t the time to tell them that it wasn’t him who got her; Mitsuhide hadn’t been trying to do anything more than be the friend she needed, to be a person she could confide in, could trust. People like that were thin on the ground for girls like her; heiress tended to make men see dollar signs instead of personality. But Kiki--

Well, she had other ideas. Ones he’d only cottoned onto when she climbed on top of him and shoved him against the couch cushions with her mouth.

“D-Don’t look at me!” he manages, trying to busy himself with anything. But there’s only a plate to be put in the sink, and a pan to be wiped. Not enough to fake a decent amount of responsibility. “I’m not--”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Man. Don’t leave us hanging.” Obi leans back, grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Lemme paint the scene. You’re single, Doc is adorable, and she’s waiting there--” he gestures to Zen, who flutters his eyelashes in precisely the way Shirayuki doesn’t-- “for you to make your move. Go!”

He could point out he’s not single, and that he doesn’t have any plans to change that anytime soon-- but that only ends in one way: a two-pronged mockery with additional ridicule provided by the impending arrival of his better half. He could also point out that of all the people in this room, he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted to date Shirayuki, but-- well, the problems with that one were obvious.

Instead, Mitsuhide takes in a deep breath, learns on the counter, and says, “Why, Shirayuki! You’re looking beautiful this morning. Those shorts really flatter your legs.”

There is a long silence, and then to everlasting embarrassment, they burst out laughing.

“Her shorts?” Zen’s hand is pressed to his chest, like he needs support to keep upright. “That’s all you can think of? Her shorts?”

“Well, Obi said not to do her hair,” he protests. “Complimenting her dress seemed like low hanging fruit. I was trying to be unique.”

Obi doesn’t even bother to remain horizontal, sprawling himself over the long forgotten maps. “So you went for her legs?”

“There’s nothing wrong with legs!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Zen sputters out in an effort to keep his mouth straight. “Definitely a very neutral place to comment on.”

“Definitely not known for being attached to things like asses.” Obi’s mouth twitches, as much a sign for danger as thunder rolling in the distance. “Or puss--”

“I was not trying to comment on that.” He’d felt bad for Zen earlier, but the sentiment doesn’t seem mutual. “It’s not typical, sure, but Kiki never seems to mind when I compliment--”

“Kiki?” Zen squawks. “Kiki?”

“Well, I think we’re all learning a little too much about Big Guy today,” Obi wheezes. “Mainly that it’s Ms Kiki that chased him, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah.” Zen shakes his head, long and slow and solemn, like a doctor about to give a terminal diagnosis. “No game at all.”

Mitsuhide’s not a competitive man. Sure, he was forward on the ice, the kind of player that got sent to the box before the end of the first half and slid right into the captain spot when it was vacant. Aggression is part of the game, competition laced in every turn of his skate and lift of his stick, but that’s a different situation, a different language--

But it’s that part of him that surges beneath his skin right now, that makes him want to saunter over and put both hands on that rickety, painted wood until it creaks. That makes him want to take a full minute to bend down, showing off every centimeter of his one-ninety plus, and ask real low if either of them has made a girl beg on their cock lately, but--

He puts it in its place. That sort of talk always sounded better en français anyway.

Zen waves his hand, slipping his pamphlets out from under Obi. “Anyway, enough messing around. Are you still making omelettes, Mitsuhide?”

“Ohh, omelettes?” Obi spins to him with wide eyes. “Can I get mine with fancy ham?”

Mitsuhide blinks. “Wait, aren’t you going to do your take?”

“Nah.”

Zen shrugs. “Joke’s over.”

“So I just did that for no reason--?”

“I wouldn’t say no reason,” Zen wheedles. “It was very educational.”

Obi grins. “Mainly about how Big Guy likes legs--”

“Oh,” drawls a voice that makes his body go cold and hot at the same time. When he turns, it’s Kiki leaning against the jamb, a single elegant brow raised, excusing amusement and menace in equal measure. “Am I to take it that the show is over?”

“K-kiki,” he stammers. “How long--?”

“Hm.” She saunters over to the counter, slipping onto a stool with a casual grace that still leaves his mouth dry. “Long enough. I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing a display of Obi’s fabled moves.”

“Ms Kiki,” Obi simpers, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’d be happy to give you a personal demonstration anytime.”

Both her brows raise. “Did I say I was desperate?”

He’s saved from Obi’s answer by Shirayuki padding into the kitchen, flushed and breathless. “Oh, you were right Kiki! Everyone is already ready. Sorry to make you wait.”

There’s a hesitation in the air, and Mitsuhide can’t figure it out, not until he sees-- she’s wearing shorts.

Shirayuki blinks. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kiki hums, sending him a gaze so wicked it should be illegal outside the bedroom. “Do you have anything to say to her, Mitsuhide?”

“No!” It comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. “I mean, I, uh...like your sandals!”

“Sandals,” Obi snickers, a sound that’s only covered by Zen’s hushed, “Shut up.”

“Oh!” She blinks down. “Thank you. I got them at Payless. I, um, don’t think they make them in your size.”

“No,” he manages mildly. “I don’t imagine they would.”

“You do look real cute, Doc,” Obi chimes in, slinking out of his seat to circle around her. “Did you dress up for today?”

Zen makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, but even with the pink brushing her cheeks, Shirayuki’s too used to his antics to do much more than sigh.

“Of course I did, Obi.” Her fists perch high on her hips, cocked as she talks to him. “It’s the last time we’re all going to be going out together, isn’t it? What could be more special than that?”

Mitsuhide may not be a competitive man, and especially isn’t a malicious one, but when Obi’s jaw goes slack, the tips of his ears darkening just the slightest bit, well-- he does indulge in the slightest bit of schadenfreude.

“Well,” Zen says, a little sharp. “Let’s get going.”

“Aw!” Obi whips around. “What about fancy ham?”

“I don’t think you need--”

“Oh, I haven’t had breakfast either!” Shirayuki adds, eyes wide. “Do we have time?”

Zen hesitates, and then with a sigh, relents. “We’ll stop at Dunkies.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #modern au #my fic #ans #mitsuhide gets so few POVs in the fic I can't help but let them get away from me okay #he's a gift #the actual six flags chapters are gonna have rotating POV #and it was just supposed to START with him #but then i was like WHAT IF I INCLUDED THE SCENE FROM BEFORE THE CANON DATE #and now we are here

[chifrany]

Children of the Entity

Prologue

So much agony. So much pain and death that were moving into centuries. Truly it was a testament to the strength of those still engaging. But the Observer could feel it, their despair, they were losing hope and soon would just become husks. Too bad, he enjoyed a lot of them.

Suddenly though a tinge, an idea put forth by the Entity. Another option, they had enough food, and it hungered for something else. Something new, Observer listened as it explained its idea and was just as intrigued. “Of course, my Entity. I’ll get to creating it right away.” And so he got to building.

The first thing he decided to make in this realm was two buildings. All three stories high with eight rooms on each floor. Much like an apartment complex. The top of the apartment having one large room, just cause he was curious to see how they would divide that. For extra aesthetics he decided that one house will be pink and one blue.

Satisfied with the look of the place, he moved on, making a long rounded building where he put an old style kitchen where they could make a fire and store food they may find, a door that would lead down to the cellar also in place. This room they also added tables and a few couches considering some recreational things but deciding against it. Another idea coming to mind.

With this he started work on the next building. A magnificent, temple looking building where he made alters and a display of the Entity the best they would know him. “If they want more blessings, then they can pray for them.” He explained simply.

After that it was just to create the world, which took the most time, most of the biome was the forest but the Entity was giving him a lot of free reign in this world. So he created a few other biomes as well as slowly starting to drag in animals from the real world. After that he slowed a little with worldbuilding refocusing on the trials as he considered who all he was going to bring in.

An obvious choice was the Survivors supposed leader Dwight. Bringing up the display of the male, he could see him there gently comforting one of the newest survivors. It was still so fascinating that this loser of a man became their leader. But the Observer could sense his wariness, so the next time the fog arrived it would claim him as well.

After looking at him he decided to instead inspect the other four that had been here longest. Meg, Nea, Claudette and the loner Jake. Claudette was the group’s resident healer often teaching other survivors how to heal themselves, while Meg got them running and Jake, well he was a unique case, highly respected by the other survivors but if he noticed he didn’t seem to care. As for Nea, she was a dedicated teammate and one of the most skilled survivors often escaping.

Yes all four were perfect. The fog would claim them next.

They wanted fifty for this to work, it was the number the Entity had given him and the hunt to find the perfect ones had finally started. After those five he then also decided to take Laurie, David and Quentin. Staring at Bill he also decided on the old man, knowing that the Entity could age him down, and decided to grab Ace as well.

After this he was almost getting bored of watching the survivor, so as the fog claimed those ones and had them moved to their newest home. Where they would slowly wake up, at first not knowing why cause the Observer only wanted to explain this once to the whole finished group. No, now he set his sights on the other side of the fence. Killers.

There were many that were starting to lose their spark and will to continue on. No amount of pain and torture cutting through. So he decided those ones were the perfect candidates, first one he went for was the silent Wraith, the fog claiming him as he slept and carrying him away to the new realm. He considered Freddy but that man was restless and frankly annoying and he doubted their goals would be met if he took him.

So instead he went to one of the longest standing killers. Evan Macmillan, aka the Trapper. He seemed angry like always and the Observer couldn’t wait to see what he did in the new realm. So fog moving in it took him as well. The next killers he grabbed was the little teenage ones, the Legion, the isolation seemed to be messing with them. Whatever the Entity did to them making them too bloodthirsty and feral to even be around themselves.

He could feel their loneliness and despair though, especially in the lonely hours between trials. There was that time where they decided just to mix them up as one being but it did not go over well. Panicking them and breaking even more of their hope then was expected. So they were an obvious choice to grab.

There was a few more he considered but he decided to go back to the survivor side, this time taking Adam, Jeff and Kate. After a moment of careful consideration he also decided on Jane and Zarina. The two reporters deserving of it. It seemed that people were starting to notice that other survivors weren’t showing up again. It was amusing to see their confused and alarmed looks. To freak them out even more he decided that the ones in the new realm deserved their old clothes so he just absorbed them up as well. Chuckling at the alarm of the group.

He wondered at this point who would rise up to be the next leader and perhaps wasn’t that surprised when he saw the soldier Jill step up. Ordering for everyone to be calm. This despair and fear was addicting to watch but the Entity was impatient. Wanting him to get on with his choices. Spoil sport. The Entity thought with a sigh. Smirking as he decided Jill and her closest friends were a good choice as well.

So Jill, Chris, Leon and Claire would be the next one the fog claimed. He decided to take another set as well when he looked over and spotted Steve, grabbing him Nancy and Jonathon. With that once more he decided to see what the killers were up to. One he found interesting was Amanda, she explored occasionally, one of the killers that seemed to have no fear about it. Despite having her own realm.

He watched her as she visited Ana, deciding to take the Huntress and also after she visited the Twins and the Spirit. He hesitated on the Spirit but decided to take her. As for Charlotte she was an alright candidate but he wasn’t sure he wanted to include the brother. For obvious reasons, the entities loud voice calling the two one though solved that debate. Charlotte and Victor would be counted as one Entity.

With that he claimed them before deciding he had watched the Pig for long enough and taking her along as well. Again he felt the Entities impatience so sighing he figured he would grab the last of the killers chosen and looking around he decided on: Deathslinger aka Caleb, the young vampire Arius, the brute Kazan, the Hillbilly in the corn, the therapist Eradius, the cult leader Finch, the screaming Nurse Sally, the star Ji-Woon,  cannibalistic Lisa who they would attempt to cut through to who she once was. The last one she decided on was Talbot, who they also would allow to return to slightly more normal, not even the Entity could fix the damage that was done to this man.

The Observer was about to leave the Killers realm and return back to the survivors when he paused, staring at the cloaked figure of Danny. The killer exploring the MacMacmillian Estate before he just seemed to sit down a soft sigh escaping him. Another moment of watching the Male and he decided to bring him along as well.

And with that he returned to the survivors realms, this one he decided just to grab the last they needed, these ones being the surfer Haskell, the architect Felix, the cult girl Elodie, the quiet one Cheryl, the brave cop Cybil, the biker Yui, Yun-Jin who he was sure was going to make it interesting with her counterpart, and finally the gamer Feng. With that settled they all were dragged into the fog.

A few had been living at the little area for a few weeks. The killers mostly avoiding the survivors which was amusing for the Observer to see. Still for the first time in a long time with the fog around him he approached everyone being given the thought to come to the temple. The ones just grabbed simply awakening in said temple. Once everyone was gathered and looking quite confused did the Observer step out into view.

“Greetings Children of the Entity.” He called, the entity seemingly pleased at the name he gave them, “The time of killing and death is over. You have all been chosen to be apart of a new step in the Entities Realm.” Someone went to speak but the fog quickly silenced anyone who dare say anything. “This will now be your new home, for one whole year starting from today, you can live, laugh, rebuild whatever you humans desire.” He assured. “However there is a catch, we want to feel something new in this realm, another powerful emotion, love.” He explained. “If you can feel true pure love by the end of this year, you will be allowed to stay indefinitely in this new world. If you do not, you will simply disappear.” He stated being purposely vague on that point.

“You may also get the Entities favor by praying in this temple. Good luck Children, and enjoy your new world.” With that the fog swallowed the Observer up as he returned to his own area. Observing the immediate aftermath of his announcement with a grin. This truly was going to be an interesting chapter in the Entities Realm.

#danny johnson #dead by daylight #frank morrison #dwight fairfield #jake park #david king

[shenglingyuan]

title: the second chance we didn't ask for (ao3) pairing: gojo satoru/geto suguru both satoru and suguru are free from the prisons that bound them, but returning to life is another matter entirely.

The Zen’in estate boasts of its wide space and multiple residences, a feature Satoru is able to take advantage of. After being released from the Prison Realm with a death sentence hanging over his head, there really isn’t anywhere he can go. Suguru’s case is worse, of course, this death sentence is his second one. He might have been able to take back control of his body, but it doesn’t erase the crimes he and that ancient sorcerer did while residing inside him.

If it was up to Satoru, he wouldn’t drag Megumi into this any further. The boy — now the undisputed leader of the prominent Zen’in Clan — insisted, owing it to the fact that Satoru kept him and his sister under his care when they had no place to go to.

“Sorry for troubling you, Clan Leader Zen’in.”

“Please, Gojo-sensei, you should be the last person calling me that. Besides, I’m an accomplice anyway.” With the passing of the years came Megumi’s mastery of the Ten Shadows Technique, granting Satoru this freedom. “The last place they’d look for is their own backyard, won’t they?”

“That’s smart. Your teacher must be really great.”

Megumi ignores his lousy attempt at a façade and jabs directly at the issue at hand, “How is he?”

For a moment, Satoru’s shoulders seem to drop, but he immediately straightens up, as if that moment of small weakness was but an illusion.

“I don’t know, but I’m working on it. No worries, he’s no threat with me around.”

“I’m not worried about him.”

Time didn’t pass for Satoru inside the Prison Realm, but the world has moved on without waiting for him. He looks at Megumi without having to lower his gaze, smiles genuinely, and reaches out to ruffle the boy’s hair, “So responsible already. Don’t worry about me, either. I can handle this.”

-

Though the Zen’in estate is big, Satoru and Suguru had to reside in one of its smaller, unused quarters, leaving them with a small space with the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, and the bedroom altogether. At least, the bathroom was a separate structure on its own, albeit it’s not big enough for comfort. Satoru thinks this is still better than none, besides, with this arrangement, he can keep an eye on Suguru all the time.

Suguru isn’t too keen on the fact that he’s being guarded, but it’s not like he can put up a fight either way. That ancient sorcerer’s plan released all the curses he had so far collected and left him with very basic ones. He did try to resist before, almost at the cost of their small quarters, but without his previous arsenal, he isn’t much of a match for Satoru.

“Keeping me here is pointless.”

It was the first conversational sentence Suguru drops several days after they have settled in the Zen’in estate, spoken over a lukewarm cup of black coffee. The television blares unintelligibly on the corner, its volume never loud enough to be heard beyond the walls of their small room.

Satoru looks up from his own cup, just having dropped the fourth cube of sugar in it.

“The world is after my head,” Suguru adds.

“They are after me, too, don’t think you’re so special.”

“You’re a vital member of the Gojo clan… No matter how the higher-ups seem to hate you, if you just bring my head to them, they’ll have to forgive your previous offenses. There’s no use in keeping me here, I’m a criminal.”

“I need no forgiveness. Not from them.”

Suguru ignores the implication. “Just kill me already.”

“Death is not the only path. You’re just being a coward, Suguru.”

“What? Do you want me to spend this second life repenting for all the lives I took? I still don’t care about them, Satoru.”

“Repentance? Both of us…we’re beyond that. You’ve killed people. I’ve brought people to their deaths. There’s already too much blood in our hands.”

“Then should we die together?” Suguru smiles — it is anything but sincere. Satoru has almost forgotten what his real smile looks like.

Satoru drops another cube of sugar. “We will, but not anytime soon.”

-

Satoru sleeps next to Suguru, not because he hopes to form some intimacy through contact, nor to make sure he will not run away in the middle of the night, but because there are times where terrors unseen haunt Suguru’s slumber, Satoru would need to hold him down lest he ends up hurting himself. He used to keep the distance as well, sleeping on the couch, but after one close call, Satoru didn’t want to take another chance.

It was also during these moments where Suguru’s walls are at their lowest, and they could have a semblance of a proper and civil conversation.

“What is it this time?” Satoru asks, almost an involuntary response at this point, his hand already smoothing Suguru’s hair, rubbing circles down his back.

“He’s trying to creep in again.” His voice is hoarse, low, almost inaudible, as if in fear that when he speaks loud enough, the nightmare will turn into reality. “He says…this brain is his…and he can return anytime he wants…”

When Suguru is like this, Satoru can hold him close without being pushed away, and so Satoru does, wrapping Suguru tightly between his arms.

“You’re stronger than him, you took over him. That bastard won’t own you again.”

“If I die, it’ll finally be over.”

“You won’t die. Not on my watch.”

-

With the small space and bare minimum mode of entertainment, Satoru resorts to watching movies with Suguru to pass the time.

Well, to call it ‘watching with’ is too much of a stretch.

“What do you want to watch today?” Satoru asks, as usual.

Suguru doesn’t respond, as usual too, remaining seated on the corner of the bed, always seemingly creating as much physical distance he could between the two of them. Whatever closeness they would have during Suguru’s nightmares dissipates as if it never existed in the first place.

Satoru eventually gives up with a sigh, picking a 2008 horror movie from the selection this time.

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen this yet.”

He loads the disc onto the player, then settles himself on the end of the small couch. It’s some sort of an unspoken invitation, one that Suguru never entertains.

The film plays, the film ends.

It’s a daily cycle.

-

Every now and then, Megumi drops by personally, providing them with their daily necessities. In this situation, his Ten Shadow Techniques are particularly useful for hiding the things he brings them, only pulling it out once he is within the four walls of the small quarters. They can’t be too careless, after all. Whenever Megumi arrives, Satoru takes it upon himself to do the cooking and even sets aside a portion for Megumi himself.

“How is it outside?”

“Curses are still running rampant,” Megumi says, his tone as if still a student reporting to his teacher. Nevertheless, his bearing has become more and more that of a clan leader, “There’s quite a lot, so it will really take some time.”

The responsible person is quietly laying down the bed — whether he is truly asleep or just pretending, Satoru just lets him be. The sizzle of the oil as he pours the ingredients onto the pan fills in the momentary silence.

“And how is being a clan leader?”

“I think I can understand why the late elder Naobito was drinking all the time.”

“Haha, now don’t go picking up his habit. You’ve got a former clan head before you here, just ask for my help if you need it.”

“I feel like Kamo-san would know more about being a clan head than you.”

“Was never one to deal with family politics anyway.”

“Don’t worry about the affairs of the Gojo family. Okkotsu-san is making sure your family won’t lose its place.”

“I knew I could always rely on the new generation.”

“But Gojo-sensei, many of us still do rely on you.”

“A habit that must be changed.” Satoru turns off the stove and transfers the food onto the prepared bowl. “It’s for this very reason the incident at Shibuya became possible.”

His eyes wander to Suguru’s figure then, and he notices how tense the other man’s shoulders are. In fact, they really haven’t talked much about that time. The ancient sorcerer knew of Satoru’s weakness; Satoru wonders if Suguru himself came to realize it.

“No, I mean...,” Megumi seems to want to say something else, but in the end, he just sighs in defeat, “Never mind.”

“Don’t be thinking too much. Here, have this,” Satoru gives him a bowl of the freshly cooked stir fry, “Added some extra ginger especially for you.”

He takes another look at Suguru —— he doesn’t seem to be planning in joining them. In the end, Satoru decides to eat dinner with Megumi. It’s only when Megumi bid his farewell and left the room did Suguru finally move, only catching a glimpse of his retreating figure.

“Your dinner’s ready,” Satoru tells him, “It’s still a bit warm.”

Suguru stays seated on the bed, his eyes still at the door. “Megumi, that kid, he looks oddly familiar.”

“Remember Zen’in Toji?” A frown forms on Suguru’s forehead, his lips pursing rather unhappily. Satoru immediately quips, “Well, Megumi’s his son. Megumi didn’t know anything about his father’s shady business, and they were left without parents, too, so I took him under my care.”

“He seems to be quite dependent on you.”

“Is he? That kid hates asking me for help.”

“When he said many of them still rely on you, he was probably referring to himself. I know that tone.”

“From where? The two kids you had with you?”

Suguru suddenly stops responding. It’s apparent that the topic of the two girls is something he didn’t want to talk about. Though Suguru never told him about what happened, Satoru has been able to connect the dots from the first report of Suguru’s crime to the time he showed up in Jujutsu Tech to declare war.

But still, he wished that Suguru can tell it to him in his own words. There’s so much that happened in the last decade, cleaving an immeasurable distance in the space between them — an emptiness about the people and things and circumstances that shaped them to be the people that they are now.

“It’s funny though,” Satoru tests the waters, trying to fill the gap starting from his own side, “Back then, we said we’d run away together with Amanai if she wanted to. We failed on that part, but—”

“We still ended up babysitting,” Suguru continues for him, the tension on his shoulders replaced by a sudden weight, “I guess Riko-chan got the best deal out of that incident.”

“The girls—”

“I’m not hungry.” Suguru cuts him off immediately, lays back on the bed, and turns around, covering himself with a blanket. He obviously didn’t want to talk about his own share of babysitting, so Satoru lets the conversation go.

For now, Satoru bottles his many questions —

Why did you run away?

Why didn’t you force me to come with you?

Why didn’t you tell me all the things that have bothered you?

Why did you suffer with your thoughts in silence?

If I tried a little harder, would you have come with me?

There are so many things to talk about, many things that can’t be talked about. Patience is one of Satoru’s virtues, and when it comes to Suguru, it becomes the greatest.

-

Many times, he catches Suguru staring at his own reflection in the mirror…no, not at his reflection, but the wound lining his forehead. Satoru isn’t as skilled as Shoko in terms of healing others — the skull is intact, the wound is gone, but the scar remains, a reminder to them both every single day.

“Does it bother you?” he asks.

It takes a while before Suguru replies. “A bit.”

“A full bangs will hide the scars.”

A small smile starts to form on the edges of Suguru’s lips, but it disappears in a flash, replaced by a melancholy look on his face, “Mimiko and Nanako would have loved to see that.”

“Are those…their names?”

“…Yes.”

The girls he saved and raised throughout these years, to whom he exchanged his status as a sorcerer to be a curse user, just so he can provide them a better life. After all that’s happened, their place is still big in his heart. Not a single ash could be recovered in the ruins left by Sukuna, and so Suguru mourns with only the memories the girls have left him, memories his body was able to keep despite death.

Later in bed, Suguru weeps quietly. Satoru holds him. In between them, there is silence.

-

Satoru loads a 2009 suspense thriller this time, one that he himself hasn’t had the chance to watch yet for some reason. With a bowl of popcorn in tow, he settles himself at the end of the couch.

The film starts.

Just as the title appears, he feels the couch shift.

Satoru holds his breath, turns to look —— Suguru sits next to him, his legs already crossed comfortably.

“Mind if I watch with you?” he asks.

Satoru smiles, offering him the bowl, “Not at all.”

The film plays. The film ends.

And by the time it does, Suguru’s head is already resting Satoru’s shoulder, and Satoru’s head on Suguru’s. The positions are so familiar even though it has been over ten years since they were last together like this. The credits roll and neither of them moves.

“It sucked.” Suguru is the first one to speak.

“Sure did,” Satoru lets out a laugh, “Want to watch another one?”

“Let me pick this time.”

“Your call.”

-

“Satoru.”

Suguru calls out his name in the dark, certain that he is still awake. Satoru turns. In the dim light, he finds Suguru staring up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. His nightmares have been recurring less and less, and at times they can go a whole night with a peaceful rest.

“Can’t sleep again?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something —— Why didn’t you chase after me?”

Memories of Shinjuku are still vivid in Satoru’s mind, especially the view of Suguru’s back getting further and further away from him, his own outstretched fingers curling into a fist. Looking back at all his years, it’s the only time he has ever felt so helpless. Shibuya can’t even compare.

“You didn’t seem to be the type to be swayed if I held you back.”

“And after that? You’re a jujutsu sorcerer. You have the responsibility to clean up curse users like me. Why didn’t you chase after me?”

“I didn’t want to be the one who kills you.”

Suguru turns to face him then, his expression solemn, “Yet you did.”

Satoru can’t help but reach out, running a hand over Suguru’s left arm. If there’s one thing he’d give that ancient sorcerer credit for, he fixed up Suguru quite well. “It was beyond me already. You declared war. I was under orders.”

Suguru doesn’t shy away from the touch, but neither does he reciprocate. “And what about now?”

“You and I are both fugitives. No need to follow some stupid higher-ups.”

“Freedom?”

“As free as we can be in this small quarters, yes.”

Ironic as it is, what Satoru just said was true. Step out and their tails will be chased by jujutsu sorcerers, stay in and they can maintain this pretense of liberty. In any case, it can’t be worse than staying inside the Prison Realm or being controlled by some ancient being.

“Back in Shibuya, many people died.”

“Trying to make me feel guilty?”

“Not at all. I just wanted to ask what you think of it now.”

Satoru ponders for a while, then with a sigh he says, “Can’t be helped. It’s regrettable, but it’s not like I’m a god. That brain knew me too well —— Do you still hate them? Non-sorcerers?”

“I don’t know. It used to be my fuel, but I’ve spent it all. Now I’m just…drifting.”

“Drifting isn’t bad. We can drift together over this sea of blood beneath us.”

A small laugh escapes Suguru’s lips. “Satoru, you really are so foolish. Because of me, you got sealed. Because of me, there’s a death penalty over your head. Why do you even still stay with me?”

What value does one Geto Suguru hold that the great Gojo Satoru can turn his back on the world just to be by this person’s side? Shouldn’t have it been obvious by now? Satoru can’t put all his heart’s contents into words, and so he reaches for Suguru’s hand instead and places a soft kiss on his palm.

“I’ve let you go twice,” he whispers, his breath warming Suguru’s cold hands, “and they both turned out to be very bad decisions.” Satoru looks up, meeting Suguru’s astonished gaze in the dim light, “I’m not letting you go again.”

-

Despite the chaos unleashed in the world, humanity still observed festivities, especially something like Setsubun as it concerns the cleansing of evil spirits. It also happens to be Suguru’s birthday. Upon Satoru’s request, Megumi drops by their small quarters and brings them food apt for the occasion. Satoru takes it from him with much gratitude and prepares the table, inviting him to eat with them.

It is a bit awkward, after all, Suguru has never really interacted with this young Zen’in clan head. His uncanny resemblance with Fushiguro Toji also rails up his fight-or-flight tendency, as if his body remembers the person who quite turned his world upside down.

“What?” Megumi suddenly asks him, the boy’s own shoulders tense, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” Suguru offers a weak smile, “I was just reminiscing — I fought your father once.”

Megumi visibly relaxes, very much unlike when he asked the same question to Satoru over a decade ago. “Apparently, I did, too.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know he was my father at that time. I just came to know recently.”

“He’s crazy strong.”

“That he was.”

“Satoru looked after you?”

“He occasionally dropped by, but he’s no more a parent than my negligent father.”

“Hey—,” Satoru tries to butt in the conversation and save his reputation—

“No wonder. I thought you’re too good of a person to have been brought up by this nuisance.”

It’s useless.

“I heard that.”

“I was only speaking the truth —— Fushiguro Megumi, isn’t it? I apologize for imposing on you,” Suguru’s tone shifts, his fingers wrung together on top of his knees, “I don’t have anything to offer in return, I even had your sister caught up in all this mess. I can only thank you for letting me stay here unnoticed.”

“I’m no saint, I also have my personal biases. And I didn’t do this for you. Since Gojo-sensei asked for it, it’s nothing I can’t do. Besides, my sister’s issue has already been resolved, no need to hold onto things that are past. Just…whatever your issue is, please deal with it yourselves.”

Just in time, Satoru finishes laying down the food on the table, a small cake with a single candle lit on top taking the center spot. His eyes meet Suguru’s, his lips curving up in a soft smile. “Don’t worry, we’re already working on it.”

-

“We can be like…I don’t know…rogue jujutsu sorcerers or something. There are too many curses running about, I’m sure they won’t notice us if we do clean up some. We'll be doing them a great favor, too, you know?”

In the end, the two of them decided they can’t stay in the Zen’in estate forever. Sprawled on the bed, they’ve been discussing how to move forward with limited resources and a death penalty over their heads.

“You’re too noticeable for us to keep lowkey.”

Satoru suddenly stops, not failing to hear Suguru’s use of the word “us”. A sudden warmth blossomed in his chest, like the first ray of sunshine after a long, arduous, winter. It’s the onset of spring within his reach.

“Maybe if we eliminate all the released curses, they’d provide us both amnesties.”

“I released them, remember? The moment anyone from the jujutsu society sees me, I’m as good as dead.”

“I won’t allow that, of course.”

“No need to be so gallant. We can just run away after.”

“Where to?”

Suguru doesn’t even miss a beat when he replies, “Anywhere.”

-

“Gojo-sensei, are you sure about this?”

Under the cover of the night, three silhouettes huddle in an obscure corner of the Zen’in estate.

“We don’t want to overstay our welcome either,” Satoru smiles.

“You won’t,” Megumi assures him, “You’ve taken care of me for nine years, after all.”

“Then I’ll come back to settle the rest of your debt when things calm down, okay?” Satoru reaches out to pat Megumi’s hair one last time, “For now, we’ll have to deal with our lives on our own.”

“Please don’t die,” Megumi says with a stern look. “And please don’t get yourself sealed again.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?”

With a final farewell, Megumi retreats back into the Zen’in estate.

It’s only until his figure disappears that Satoru finally turns around and faces Suguru. He stretches out an arm, reaching for him. The weak moonlight brings an almost glittery sheen over his hair, reflecting the galaxy on his eyes. The sight is so beautiful it’s almost breathtaking — they haven’t been out for a while, and now, in just a few steps, it will be the road to freedom.

Together.

“Let’s go?”

Suguru takes his hand.

#satosugu #goge #jujukai #i write sometimes #au where megumi is clan head wwwww #also a few years time skip

[arysthaeniru]

aAAA the joy of seeing an update on your current favorite fanfic is just aAAA

I always felt that kiwami 1s Nishiki was just a bit too,, I dont know how to describe it; but essentially he just felt off, granted yakuza 1 is a product of its time and therefore the plot is a bit dated and whack as all hell

The way you write Nishiki just feels so much better and realistic; in the original he just seems so uncaring towards Kiryu? which just feels kinda OOC? You'd think he still cares about Kiryu despite it all, especially when you take Yakuza 0 into consideration; and i feel like you portray Nishiki much more accurately

I never thought much about Yumi, because honestly, in the original she was kinda just, there? You actually made her a very interesting person! like I'm actually invested in her in your story! (side note you ever think about her clone who got tortued and died? yeah who WAS that???? thats never brought up is it??)

Theres so much more to talk about but in short; This is the best fix it/rewrite of a game plot I have read to date and it brings me joy in my current stressful school life. and no I will not stop praising it or the author, because this work has made me very happy. ;)

I just have a gift for picking favorites that end up dying,,aand another favorite of mine is Mine

imo theres a lack of soft, reassuring Minedai, i just feel like he'd need a reminder that people love him as a person and not just for the money he can provide, even if its obvious

I'd love to see how you'd write them, but I understand if theres more interesting/appealing drabble requests!

- Carp

CARP, thank you for this <3 this is so sweet!!!!! I’m so happy you enjoy my Nishiki! I had fun playing with what Yakuza 0/the Kiwami additions gave us about Nishiki’s personality and outlook on the world, and trying to reconcile that with the plot that Yakuza 1 initially had. Ultimately, I fell on the side that you did: even if Nishiki’s ambition took him down a monstrous path, I don’t think he’s the sort of person who neglects to pay back his debts. And he’s aware of the huge debt he owes Kiryu. Not to mention, their bonds of trust and love vanishing completely because of jealousy felt unreal to me. Their relationship becoming twisted or strange? Yes, but vanishing entirely felt unsatsifying to me. 

And Yumi!! I had so much fun excavating her character from the clues we get of her in canon. I worry sometimes, that she’s unrecognizable, because you know, I’ve given her a college education, and a whole bunch of interests beyond hostessing alone, but people seem to like it and like her, which is great!! I hate fridging women characters, so keeping her and Reina alive was important to me, hahaha. (RE: fake!Mizuki, there’s this substory in Kiwami that actually addresses who she was, BUT IT’S EVEN MORE HORRIFYING. So that’s why Yumi in my fic is the one captured and tortured by Nishiki’s men, because the thought of this poor innocent woman getting dragged into the mess was just untenable to me.)  

Anyway, thank you for your support and kind words, and I hope you’ll continue to read and that my fic can continue to relieve stress. I--tried to write this about Mine, but Daigo kind of stole the spotlight a little??? I hope you still like it--if not, I will try a ficlet from Mine’s perspective too. I enjoy minedai a lot, but I haven’t had room to think out their dynamic yet, so this took me a while. 

Daigo’s no stranger to being desired. He’s attractive, he knows this—his mother’s beauty lives in his veins, and he’s always had the money to look after himself. Fancy soaps to wash his face, the invisible retainers to keep his teeth straight, fancy suits and skin-tight shirts to show off his frame. For all that Kiryu insists his charisma is something that comes from the soul, Daigo knows it wouldn’t be able to draw the sort of attention he does without being attractive.

Which is to say that Daigo’s not especially thrown off by the intensity of Mine’s gaze. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. The thing that surprises him is how much he relishes in being seen by Mine.

Maybe it’s because Mine’s an island in a stormy sea, one of the only yakuza his age who’s sensible and level-headed enough to make it big. Maybe it’s because Mine’s gaze is always so reserved, polite, never overly lusty or overstaying its welcome, and Daigo has so rarely been desired so quietly. Or maybe it’s because Majima and Kashiwagi so clearly disapprove of him—Daigo’s always been something of a rebel, and he hasn’t shaken that off, even now he’s in his thirties and is the arbiter of rules for the Tojo Clan.

Daigo can’t quite put a pin on why he’s so comfortable with Mine’s yearning looks, but he’s never been one to hold back when he wants to indulge in something good. Not exactly a hedonist, not by yakuza standards, but Daigo has never kept himself from enjoying life, in the name of some dubious ‘honour.’

Which is why, in an after-hours meeting with Mine, as they eat cheap takeout sushi together, Daigo takes his chance. A momentary slip, the slightest hint of wasabi left at the corners of Mine’s lips and Daigo swoops in, rubs a thumb over the corner of Mine’s lips. Mine stutters to a stop, mid-sentence through a rundown of the real-estate that the Hakuho Clan’s been purchasing up, and stares at Daigo, eyes bewildered.

“Sixth Chairman?” he asks, his voice still remarkably composed.

“Wasabi.” Daigo says, nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing, and sticks his thumb into his mouth, slowly licking it off with a lingering lave of his tongue. He feels a sharp stab of satisfaction as Mine’s eyes turn darker, and his gaze follows Daigo’s hand down.  

Daigo straightens up, languidly, and cracks his neck, casually. At this point in the day, he’s untucked his shirt, and he knows that a slight strip of his stomach will be visible when he stretches out his arms towards the ceiling. And as predictably as clockwork, Mine’s gaze darts downwards, to that pale expanse, to catch that brief second of skin. Daigo can’t help but feel warm. Something about being watched by Mine is exhilarating.

“Smoke?” offers Daigo, but as usual, Mine refuses, with a polite shake of his head.

Daigo knows from hearsay that Mine’s something a health-freak, so he’s not entirely surprised. It’s already too late for Daigo to preserve his health—he knows that his liver’s already been pretty ruined from long nights of binge-drinking as a youth, and this job’s too stressful to withhold from vices like smoking and drinking, without an optimal end-goal. So he walks over to the window, cracks it open a little, and lights up.

The breath of nicotine curls over his body, a tender caress, and Daigo feels his shoulders drop, as the relaxation hits. He pulls off his cufflinks, tosses them into his pockets and rolls up his sleeves. He takes it slow, runs his fingers over his skin a little more than strictly necessary. Surreptitiously checking the reflection in the window, Daigo watches Mine watch him, and smirks at how intense that gaze is, how Mine’s mouth has opened, and Daigo can just see the soft pink of his tongue.

“Dojima’s just fine, you know. When it’s just us two.” Daigo says, turning over his shoulder. He smiles, one of those charming smiles that had always gotten him whatever he wanted as a child, “We’re same-aged friends, after all.”

“Dojima-san.” Mine acknowledges, after a brief pause.

Daigo turns around, to properly look at Mine and lifts an eyebrow. “Dojima. Or Daigo, preferably. Dojima-san’s always my father in my head.”

Mine nods, face impassive. Daigo can’t read him like this. Maybe that’s why he likes when Mine stares at him, filled with longing. At least then, Daigo feels like he knows him. In moments like these, his implacable gazes might as well be a brick wall. “Right. Your Father was also in the Tojo Clan.”

Daigo smiles, wryly, and blows out a puff of smoke. “One of the most horrible men I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting—and I had to call him Father. But damn if he wasn’t good at the job.” He sighs and stubs the cigarette out against the ashtray. “...sometimes feel like I’m competing with his dead spirit. Everybody’s looking at me and wondering if this is what my Father would do. Or what Kiryu-san would do.”

“You’re doing better than any of them.” Mine says, immediately, with a vicious ferocity that Daigo wasn’t expecting. He can’t quite stop his eyebrows rising in surprise, and Mine straightens upwards, looking self-conscious immediately. Daigo regrets his instinctual reaction, immediately. “That is to say, Dojima, that I think that you’ve pulled this Clan into somewhere far more respectable. From what I’ve heard of your Father, he didn’t have the temperament to do proper business on this level—too insistent on formal obeisance and unable to be flexible as the times require. And Kiryu-san might be very honourable, but we are yakuza. There are certain things you have to do as a Chairman, that he couldn’t bring himself to do. But you are practical and do what is necessary, while also not overstepping into excessive violence. You are uniquely suited for this job, Dojima.”

...he’s taken aback a little, he can’t deny it. Daigo wonders if his cheeks are colouring, wonders if his obvious shock is offputting, wonders if this is how Mine feels every time Daigo teases him lightly about his obvious attraction. A startling warmth spreads through his chest, and Daigo can’t stop the slight smile that touches his face. Has anybody ever said something so unreservedly kind and measured about Daigo before?

Maybe this is the difference between everybody else’s gazes on him, and Mine’s gaze. It’s based on something more than desire alone. Respect.

Daigo runs a hand over his slicked-back hair and ruffles it free, with a rueful smile, a smile that he couldn’t take away from his face, even if he tried. “I appreciate that. You know I couldn’t do it without you, right?”

He’d never really believed himself capable of attraction to a man like Mine. All of his previous childhood crushes had been on bright, cheerful conversational, pure-hearted people. Daigo had always figured they would balance out his sardonic cynicism. He’d never thought someone as reserved and principled as Mine would ever make his heart flutter. But then, there was something about that deep hunger and passion that Daigo craved. Perhaps it was because he was no longer the gloomy punk of his youth. Maybe his tastes have changed towards tall, dark and handsome. Maybe Mine’s just that special.

“Dojima—” Mine says, clearly trying to refute it, but Daigo cuts him off.

“I mean it. Everybody in this fucking Clan wants me to do something or be somebody else. Kashiwagi-san wants me to be my mother. Majima-san wants me to be Kiryu-san. Everybody else expects my Father. But not you. You deal with me honestly, and with candour, and never hold any expectations against me except success. I appreciate your faith in me.” Daigo takes a couple of steps forward, until his shoes almost brush up against Mine’s own. He leans down over Mine’s chair. “I could not do this without your backing and help. Truly. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone like you in my life. A true friend.”

Mine tilts his chin up to meet Daigo’s gaze, a hungry devotion in his eyes, and Daigo, for a moment, wonders if this is wrong. If he should hold back, like Kiryu would. But Daigo is Daigo, and Mine clearly wants him anyway, so he leans down and kisses him.

Mine’s mouth is velvety smooth and wet and hot and it is oh-so satisfying a feeling to put his hand against Mine’s broad neck and feel his warmth up against Daigo. He pulls back, with a satisfied sigh, and feels the burn of wasabi across his lips, a final parting kick.

#minedai #mine yoshitaka #dojima daigo #spiraling downhill fic tag #yakuza #rgg

[passable-talent]

Hi yes so I just finished the anakin punk au and it was uh perfect? And you should 100% please write more in that au it doesn’t even have to be in some coherent storyline, just more punk anakin please I am hooked

say no more my dear

I write this. and I think to myself “punks. they like weed. they drink. I should talk about that.”

and then I don’t. because I have a,,, responsibility to promote good health I guess?

don’t do drugs kids. most of them arent worth it i promise

and yes just like i mentioned wattpad in the last one tumblr is coming up on this one we’re breaking the FUCKING fourth wall

part one here

You passed out on his shoulder, exactly as he predicted, at about 2:00 AM.

He didn’t notice for a few minutes, and once he had, he had to make a very hard decision. 

He knew you were leaving in the morning, you had other places to be. And he had to get home, Cliegg was going to be pissed he’d been out this late as it was. But- just like you, he never wanted the night to end.

At 2:15, he shimmied out from under you, finding your room key quickly. Once he’d slipped it into his pocket, he picked you up, carrying you all the way back to your room. The door seemed to scream as it opened, but none of the girls were awake. He laid you onto the only empty bed, leaving your room key on the dresser, and kneeled at your beside, for just a moment. 

A night he wasn’t going to forget. One he wasn’t willing to leave behind. 

He found the notepad left by the hotel for guests and its nearby pen, scribbling his phone number onto it before smacking it onto your room key so that he knew you’d see it. 

He wasn’t taking any chances. He did everything he could to make sure that you were safe, that you’d sleep soundly, that he’d see you again. It was a bit of a walk back to where he’d left his car, at the venue, but it was worth it- he shrugged his jacket up around his neck against the cold and kept going, remembering how it’d felt to hold you. 

But, in all of his kindness, he had made one mistake. You didn’t get to say goodbye. 

You woke up in the hotel room the next morning, for a moment thinking that maybe you’d dreamed the whole thing. But then you realized you still had your shoes on, and you were laying on top of the sheets, why the hell would I do that, and you phone hadn’t been plugged in, and- 

And there was a phone number on the dresser. 

You weren’t really ‘dating’- you shouldn’t call it that. If you were going to call it that, then there would inevitably be a post on someone’s tumblr that you had a boyfriend, and who was he, where was he from, yada yada... that damn website already had half the internet convinced you were dating Padme, you didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire. 

So no, you weren’t dating. But you were texting every day. You learned so much about him, about how he was raised by his mom and worked at her friend Watto’s auto shop, about his step-brother and future step-sister-in-law, how his mom died when he was nineteen, about how he’d tried to move to California with his friend Obi-Wan a few years ago, but it fell through. In return, you told him about your life- living in the outskirts of San Francisco, being pushed into ballet lessons as a kid (as he said- ‘that’s why you look weightless on stage!’), being cut out from your family for quitting college to pursue music. 

You texted every day and every night, sent him videos from gigs, and he sent dumb little snapchats from underneath whatever car he was working on. You expected that to be it, probably for a long time- neither of you had the money nor the time to see each other more often. So you held onto the connection you had, the night you’d spent together. 

And you thought that’d be it. But- the universe has a funny way of surprising you. 

Your record label was based in LA, so you lived in Salta Ana, about thirty miles away, where the real estate was way cheaper. The band lived together, close as four friends could be, so they knew all about how you’d fallen for Anakin. Ahsoka would notice you glued to your phone, and ask snarkily “texting skyguy?” to which you always scolded her that his name was Skywalker. 

Living so close to LA made it easy to do gigs at any venue that would take you- bars, clubs, a particularly anarchist biker hall. A bar- such was the case for tonight. 

Like usual with a gig like this, Aayla had taken to instagram and called any fan in the area, so the bar was mostly filled with people who knew the music, but there were regulars, too. People who couldn’t be damned to listen to the lyrics, and just let the atmosphere move them. 

The setlist changed, when you were at a place like this. You didn’t necessarily rely on the hundred voice chorus that you loved so much, and so couldn’t include some of those songs. Your music strayed a little more to the rock end of the spectrum, when you played in places like this. With that high energy came faster music, more running around the stage, more movement, but you weren’t tired, when the set ended at 11:25. You were more energized than usual, in fact.

“Pads, I’ve never heard you solo like that!” You said, a bright smile on your face as you pushed out of the employee entrance of the bar. She gave you thanks, but not a moment later stopped dead, not saying a word, staring at you. You paused, looking at her, then Ahsoka and Aayla, who’d both stopped, too. 

“What?” Ahsoka and Aayla, though, were looking at something past you, which made you realize that Padme was, too. You turned, and leaning against the wall was- was Anakin. 

“Oh my god,” you said under your breath, dropping into a run toward him immediately. “Anakin!” He shoved himself off of the wall, letting you run into his arms, and just held you. You pulled away to look at him, amazed that after months, here he was, right in front of you, real. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, bewildered, surprised, ecstatic. 

“Visiting Obi-Wan,” he said, and he lifted his hand to your face, giving you a good look at that tattoo you hadn’t quite forgotten, dark lines reaching from his elbow to his palm. 

“And you,” he added. You couldn’t help it- you hadn’t seen him in so long, you couldn’t help the way you leaned into it when he pulled you into a kiss, and this time you weren’t exhausted, and you could let yourself feel it, you could pay attention to his chapped lips and the way he slid them over yours, still soft, even after waiting in the cold. You never wanted to leave this moment, like so many of the others that you spent with him, his hands on your face keeping away the January air. 

“Yeah, I’m heading home,” Ahsoka said, making you break the kiss. “Coming, or not?” You looked back at her with a bit of a glare, letting Anakin’s hands fall to your neck. 

“You guys go ahead,” you said, checking your jacket pocket for the essentials- wallet, phone, house keys. “I think I have a tradition to uphold.” 

The bar you’d played at tonight was a bit far away from the place you wanted to take Anakin, but you didn’t mind the walk, since it was with him. You’d been texting every day, and yet it felt different, there was so much more to talk about now. 

Apparently, Anakin hadn’t seen Obi-Wan since he’d left to move to LA, so it was a visit to an old friend as much as it was an excuse to see you again. 

“So you’re staying with him?” You asked, leading him by the arm down the street. 

“Yeah,” he said, hooking his elbow into yours, which let him keep his hands in his pockets. “He’s got an apartment in east LA, it’s got a nice couch.”

“East LA, not bad. What’s he do?” 

“He’s a talent manager, actually. Went to business school and everything.” Anakin paused, suppressing a chuckle. “He told me that he’d love to represent you, if you didn’t already have someone.” 

“Sadly, we do,” you said, playful, “but I’ll keep him in mind.” 

You’d pretend it was the winter chill that brought the flush to your cheeks- he’d told his friend about you. That had to mean you were important to him, right?

“Where are we heading, anyway?” He asked, and you, luckily, could channel your inner dramatic and turn toward the doorway you’d been heading toward all along. 

“Right here,” you said, and you took him inside. 

This was your recording studio- it was always open, so that any artist could stop in and get out whatever creativity they had. You showed your ID card to the lobby clerk, who approved it and called the elevator. Anakin followed your lead until the door closed, and just like you had on the night you met him, you pressed the button for the highest floor. 

“This is one of the buildings for our record company,” you said, the elevator so familiar. 

“Which would explain why he let you in,” Anakin said, a slight teasing tone to his voice. All you could do was chuckle, waiting for the elevator to reach the top floor.

From there, you lead him to a glass door, and swiped your ID card through a reader near its frame so you could step outside. 

“This is the rooftop set,” you said, gesturing to the wide space, “It’s where we film a lot of music videos.” This close to the door, it was hard to see over the side of the building, and so you took Anakin’s hand.

“The city lights keep us from stargazing,” you said with a smile, and brought him to the guardrail at the edge of the roof. “So I thought I’d show you the city’s version of the night sky.” Looking out across the city, there were a thousand orange sparkles, windows illuminated in buildings stretching as far as the eye could see. Criss-crossed between them were lines of red and white, LA traffic clogging the city streets even so late at night. 

No matter how many times you came up here, you’d never get tired of the view. Fifty-five stories up, there were other buildings that dwarfed this tower, but the west was free of them, so your view to the horizon was clear, even in the LA overcast. 

“Wow,” he said, looking out over it all beside you. “I’ve never- I don’t think I’ve ever been up this high.” You fixed him with a surprised expression, leaning your elbows down onto the banister. 

“No? Really?”

“I didn’t grow up in a city, like you,” he said, settling in beside you, his arm pressed to yours. You let your head rest onto his shoulder, remembering the night you met. 

“I’m glad you came out to LA,” you said, “though I’m hoping you’ll stay a while. I  want to go on an actual date with you.” You heard him exhale.

“You don’t call this a date?” he asked, and you lifted your head, looking at him, the lights of the city giving his face the slightest, golden glow. 

“Well, I mean-” If this was a date, then so had been the one after the show, back in October. Which meant this was your second date, and you’d technically been ‘dating’ this whole time, which kinda made him your- boyfriend? 

“Is it?” Anakin slipped his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together.

“This is better than any dinner and movie we could’ve gone to, I think.” He turned over your hand, tracing his first finger over the skyline tattoo that bisected your forearm. “Especially since it seems like this means a lot to you.” You couldn’t believe he’d noticed that tattoo- it meant he really was paying attention to you. 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile, lifting your arm up, his hand still held in yours, aligning the tattoo with the skyline you were looking at. “I got this done after we did our first video.” Silently, he examined the ink and compared it to the sky, seeing what you meant. 

“That’s really cool,” he said, bringing your hand back down, since his fingers were getting cold in the wind, and he had to assume yours were too. 

“How long are you going to be in town?” You asked, resting your temple down onto his shoulder again. 

“A week, or so. Watto says he needs me to work on a mustang that we’re getting- I think Cliegg told him to say that since he doesn’t want me in the city.” 

“Well, I don’t want to undermine your dad,” you said, “But I wouldn’t complain if you stayed here a lot longer than that.” You ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “It’s really nice to actually have you with me, and not over the phone.” Anakin turned to kiss the top of your head.

“Tell me about it. It’s worse for me, I promise- I listen to your music all the time, and it just makes me want to see you.” 

“Sometimes I forget that you were once just a fan,” you said with a laugh, “listening to our music.” 

“The luckiest one in the world,” Anakin added, and you almost wondered how you’d ever lived without him. 

You let a moment pass, in silence. 

“I’m twenty five,” you started, wondering if you had the courage to finish, “do you think I’m too young to be in love?” Anakin didn’t respond, at first. He turned to you, lifting his furthest hand to your face, making you look up at him. You could never get over those blue eyes- you’d forgotten how intense they were. 

“I guess it depends on the guy,” Anakin said, his teeth quickly catching his lower lip. “Do you think you are?” You reached up past his arm to his face, your first finger tracing his eyebrow before your palm came to rest on the ridge of his cheekbone.

“No,” you said, and you rushed forward to meet his lips. 

-🦌 Roe

#reader insert #imagines #anakin x reader insert #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #punk!anakin #singer!reader #modern au #musician au #star wars #fics

[starshipsofstarlord]

Chaos After the Storm

There had been a storm which came crashing down on all, with a name to make the destruction feel that much more humane. The kooks were lucky, they had generators which could reboot their power, dousing their houses back into the light with electricity and keeping them cool by the air conditioning. If you did not live on Figure Eight however, you were residing in the Cut. You were a pogue.

And you were, a pogue that was. The definition was that you did not have masses of money like the wealthy families that lived in luxury. It meant if a storm hit, like Agatha, it took longer than an hour to recover from the after affects. Weeks, sometimes even months it would be before you had to stop using candles as a source and could revert back to the lights that hung from the ceilings.

Currently, you were pulling fallen branches off of the driveway, removing them from the roof of your parents’ car. They were heavier than they looked, and as you discarded another from on top of the vehicle, you noticed a crack in one of the back windows. It was only small, but to cut expenses, it probably wouldn’t be repaired until the damage became worse.

You turned your head as you heard the riveting of a bike. A red bike was driving towards you, its engine slowing before it came to a stop at the start of your drive. JJ dismounted it, not needing to remove his helmet as he never wore one, and in an instant you dropped your duties and ran to him.

Concern was the reason, the day the storm hit, hours prior to its interference, his face had been bare of injury. But now, there was a purple bruise covering almost half of it.                

“That son of a bitch.” You muttered as you let him wrap his arms around you and burrow his head in your hair. It disgusted you that a father could treat his son in such a way. Sure, JJ was a troublemaker, and loud, and liked to smoke and drink despite being underage, but none of that made him deserve such treatment.

“It’s fine.” This wasn’t the first time you had witnessed this behaviour from him. JJ would always try to play the incident as though it was no big deal, but he was wrong every time. It mattered, because he was in pain, and you feared one day his father would go too far, not that he wasn’t already, and kill him.

Pulling away from his desperate embrace, you winced as you studied his face. There was a fearful depth to his eyes, and they reflected that he needed you. And he did, you were his protector, his safe place, his fellow pogue. You were also his girlfriend, but that bit was the least bit relevant right now.

“Don’t say that.” It was not fine, and you could see that as clear as day. “We need to do something JJ, this can’t keep happening. I’m ready as soon as you are to stand up against that man, but only when you give your go ahead.”

To take action against his father, you needed his consent. It was vital. He had to want it just as much as you did, it was his father and it pained you to see how much JJ suffered. If it wasn’t for the storm, you were sure the boy would have snuck into your room that evening or the two of you would have stayed in John B’s spare bedroom. But both of your parents wanted you home, clearly for very different reasons.

“They won’t believe me, the sheriff’s department think of me as a liar.” There were tears collecting in his ocean eyes, and it made your own water in response. A 16 year old should not have been so accustomed to the scolding of pain at such a young age, but here he was, on the verge of crying from the torment he received.

Frowning, you grabbed his hand, squeezing it for the search of giving him reassurance. “There’s evidence.” You looked sadly at his face. He was such a strong guy for how much he went through. You knew he liked to shut it off, but if he gave in he would never have to again. He’d never have to pretend the fading marks meant nothing in front of you and the rest of the pogues, or feel like he meant so little that he could throw his whole life on the line. “And witnesses. You’re a victim JJ, and that’s okay. Don’t be strong for me, okay, be strong for yourself. I know you, and I know that you can do this.”

In response, his bottom lip trembled, a sob wracking through the parting of it. Once again, he attached his body onto yours, needing to be comforted by the contact. On instinct, you allowed your hand to stroke up his back and play with the bottom of his hair. It really was an honour and a curse to be able to see JJ at his most vulnerable.

….

JJ had been in the room for almost an hour. You had kept checking the time on your phone as you sat in the waiting room, nervous for him. The officers hadn’t allowed you in there with him, and you were aware that had made it that bit more difficult for him.

John B sat beside you, wringing his hands and fiddling with the bracelets on his wrist. JJ had asked him to be here with him, he needed the support of the two people closest to him in this scenario. You looked over at the boy, giving him a small smile. He could see right through your minor façade, he sensed you were scared. If Will Maybank was not brought in and punished by the authorities, JJ would suffer more than ever before. Neither of you wanted that, but now he had been willing to take the risk.

That itself indicated that his time with his dad inside during the storm had been different. Worse would be a better word. You didn’t want to imagine what ways JJ had been pained, not only with fists but words. That man had a poisonous mouth, toxic from all of the alcohol that ran through it and tainted his speech.

You felt a hand reach for your own. It belonged to John, and he allowed you to hold it. It reminded you of the old times long before the treasure hunt, or his relationship with Sarah, or even before Pope and Kiara joined your little group. In those ancient times, it had just been you, JJ and John B, and to this day you were all as strong as thieves.

“I’m so proud of him.” The boy spoke, tapping his converse covered shoe against the leg of his seat. The shoes had seen better days, they were still stained from when he was dropped down into the murky water of the well at Crain Estate.

“As we should be.” You kicked his foot with your own to stop the irritating habit he was coercing. Biting your lip, you dipped your own foot ahead of you, deciding whether or not to let your thoughts out. It would be okay if you did, you were speaking to the thoughtful, adventurous, kind John B after all. “The only thing that scares me is what will happen after. Say theoretically Will gets busted for this, what will happen to JJ? We don’t know if he can be as persuasive as you were and avoid child services.”

“No matter what happens,” he began, swallowing in thought for a second, “we’ll be there for him. We’ll fight for him and whatever he wants to do after he’s free.”

“It’s weird.” You spoke. “No matter how many times I’ve came here to try and bail him out, which obviously doesn’t work because of my age and dodgy IDs, I always dreamed of being here for the right reason. This reason.”

JJ had definitely became less afraid of his father after he had fought him for the money that he had stolen, but something had changed during the storm. He had become stronger, and realised how he could really adapt to survive.

As John was about to speak, the door to the room JJ had been taken into opened, and the pair of you quickly stood. The officer exited first and JJ was behind him, looking as though he had seen a ghost. The thought that he had reflect to all of the times he had been hurt made you feel guilty, but as your mutual friend had said, proud altogether. It even made you fear that the plan had not worked, and that there would be no possibility of charges pinned against the abuser.

He spoke to the officer quickly, nodding and then began his route over to you and John. Hope melded into your skin, and you even went as far as crossing your fingers behind your back. JJ gave a small smile, putting his arms around one of your shoulders and the same with John B, pulling the two of you into a group hug.

“They’re going to want to speak to you two, is that okay?” It was the first time that you had seen JJ appear so small in himself, almost as if he was concerned that you would not be willing to do such a thing. That was ridiculous, you would do anything for the boy, and so would John B.

“That’s good with me.” You kissed him on the cheek, noticing how that cheered him up a little. “Now how about we take a little break from this for the day, and go celebrate?”

…..

It had been organised beforehand, that everyone would be waiting at John B’s place, no matter the outcome. If it went sideways, it would cheer him up, if it went good like it did, it was a celebration.

As you all sat around the fire, JJ stood, with a beer in his hand.

“I want to say a toast.” It was very different from one that a kook would do, and that was what made it so special. “Thankyou to everyone that is here, you are the best friends I could have, and Sarah.” He tipped his beer in her direction. “We’re pogues, our thing is living shitty and doing stupid things to get money.”

“You can amen to that.” Pope said, kicking the rock that the little bit of gold left was buried under.

You sipped on your beer, looking up at your boyfriend and taking in every word he said. “I know my life had been pretty shit, but you guys are the good part of it. I never would have done what I did today if you hadn’t been there for me all these years. You guys are my family, my real family. None of you would ever hurt me, instead you will and have helped me heal. And this girl here,” he looked down at you, “has been my rock. We broke the no pogue on pogue rule long ago, and that was the best thing I ever did. But she’s more than a broken rule to me, she’s my shelter, my home, the love of my life.”

Sarah couldn’t help but aw at this and leaned back into her boyfriend as a blush rose up from your neck and onto your face. “She’s the real hidden treasure, she’s worth so much more than gold. If it wasn’t for you (Y/N/N), I’d be searching for something that I would never find. Okay, that’s it.”

He sat back down, frowning at Kiara as she shook her head at him. “What?” He asked, slinging his arm around your shoulder.

“You ruined that beautiful speech, you might want to come up with a better ending.” Even though the initial end to his toast was not as sweet and heartfelt as the rest of it, Kiara did notice how even then you did not stop looking with adoration at the boy. It was good to see the two of you so hassle free and happy.

JJ turned his head to you, worried. “So no macking?” You couldn’t help but laugh. The boy sure knew how to ruin a moment and make one at the same time. You were just glad that was what the chaos after the storm had diminished to, for now at least.

#jj x reader #jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot #outer banks x you #outer banks x reader #jj imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x oc #rudy pankow x y/n #rudy pankow imagine #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow x you #jj

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #244: "AND THE ROCKET'S RED GLARE!"

June, 1984

The Wraiths walk among us!

Actually, the Dire Wraiths would be a good answer for what the imposters in Among Us are. They're imposters, they can shapeshift, and they have deadly tongues.

I think I've cracked this case wide open.

Anyway, we go straight from Secret Wars into another event, although this is a crossover called Wraith War and mostly a story arc in the ROM book but with tie-ins to Avengers, X-Men, and Fantastic Four. In fairness, we were told the Avengers would be getting involved with the Dire Wraiths before Secret Wars went on sale.

That's the life of a superhero. One day, getting raptured to a toy commercial and the next, fighting alien shapeshifters who aren't Skrulls or Space Phantoms.

Last time: half the Avengers were involved in the Secret Wars, the other Avengers hung around and had small adventures. Then the first half of the Avengers returned. And Wasp quit as chairperson so Vision could take over with his big plans like establishing a second Avengers team.

This time: a nice boat.

The nice boat is chilling on the Banana River outside the John F. Kennedy Space Center when a ball of light swoops down on it.

But with Captain Marvel on the Avengers, sometimes a ball of light is her and not the Beyonder bodyjacking people.

Monica returns from patrol to report no suspicious activity at the space center and also to compliment this sweet boat.

Remember how she was in the market for a boat as part of whatever new job she’s cooking up for when she’s not Avengersing.

Well, this is Wasp’s yacht and it’s real nice.

Vision pops up through the deck to tell the two to join everyone else below for a strategy sesh.

It’s kind of a casual strategy session. Half the Avengers are dressed down.

Wasp is in a bathing suit with a neckerchief around her neck. Wanda took off the body stocking part of her costume so looks like she’s wearing a swimsuit despite the boots. And Starfox decides when in Rome and takes his shirt off.

Wasp isn’t even chairperson anymore and she’s still telling some men to undress and this time its Steve Rogers. She only gets him to take off the civilian clothes that he’s wearing above his costume though.

And only as a concession to the heat. They’re in FLORIDA and he’s dressed in layers. I live in Florida and sometimes one layer is too many layers.

Also, Steve America muses on how they were only back from Secret Wars a few hours when Wasp stepped down as chairperson in favor of Vision but he describes Secret Wars as “our confrontation with that... that Beyonder” which is technically accurate but not really how I would describe Secret Wars.

But that’s the hazard of writing about something in the past that hasn’t come out yet. Can’t really have Steve say “that confrontation with the most recent time Doom swallowed an energy field bigger than his head” because that would spoil the game and also maybe that plot point didn’t exist yet. Although the seeds are there from the start.

I would have just had Steve say “back from that Secret War TM” or “back from being kidnapped by the Beyonder.” Go with what’s clear and obvious from issue 1.

New Chairman The Vision summarizes the plot.

New Chairman The Vision: “All right, Avengers... just as a review, we’ll be meeting at the cape with General Bridges within the hour to discuss a number of supposed accidents... Accidents which Washington suspects may be sabotage caused by alien creatures known as Dire Wraiths. The government has managed to suppress information of most wraith activities -- but the space center is too much in the public eye. Eventually, word will leak out. We must do something!”

Captain America: “You’re right on that count, Vision! If an alien life-form attacked the space-center, there could be worldwide panic!”

And as soon as he says this, there’s an explosion on the test-pad.

Talk about timing!

The Avengers leap immediately into action!

Wasp just heads into action in her swimsuit because its not the first time she’s had an adventure in her swimsuit. Her powers are entirely internalized by this point. But its impressive for Wanda because she puts the bodysuit part of her outfit back on without seemingly taking off the leotard part.

Chaos magic? Chaos magic.

Also, they leave Wanda to anchor the yacht and then follow in a skiff so its not like she needed to get dressed magically between panels. She just decided to.

When the Avengers arrive there’s a massive cloud of smoke covering the launchpad and they spot some men dashing into the smoke instead of away from it.

Captain Marvel returns from scouting and mentions that the damage is confined to the test-pad gantries and that there’s not all that much damage.

But then there’s a loud KROOM second explosion which takes down the main supports. The rocket booster on the test-pad starts tipping over so Starfox, Captain Marvel, and Vision rush to try to stop it.

One of the attackers, the Rocketeers, says a few more mini missiles will take the launch-pad out of commission but exposition isn’t a free action and he gets WHUNK’d by Captain America’s mighty shield.

And if that weren’t enough to make him yield, Wasp shoots him in the nipple.

Wasp: “Let’s have no complaints out of you! I can make my Wasp-stings a lot nastier than that!”

Yeah, that guy is lucky she didn’t use one of her patented ‘can blow up a small house’ Wasp-stings. His nipple would never have been the same.

Vision and Starfox catch the rocket booster before it smashes into the ground but Captain Marvel zips around it and spots major fuel leaks.

Since it’s going to explode even if they gently set it down, the two huck it into the Atlantic.

Then the three start lifting rubble and rescuing those injured from any of the mini-missile explosions.

Over at Cap(tain America) and Wasp, they’ve beaten up all the Rocketeers but one. Good job you two! By some accounts the two least powerful among the Avengers present and yet you’ve kicked some ass.

The Last Rocketeer: “You may have stopped my buddies, but you won’t stop me!”

Wasp: “Oh, brother! If you only knew how many times we’ve heard those words -- !”

Captain America: “Don’t embarrass the man, Wasp! He’s in enough trouble as it is!”

Wow, if its not enough that they’ve beaten up all his friends and are about to beat him up, they just burned him so bad that I don’t know if he’ll survive.

The guy throws a lawn dart bomb at Cap and the Wasp. Cap tells Wasp to get behind his shield but the bomblet sharply veers up with a ninety degree turn.

Wow, how improbable!

If you guessed that Wanda showed up after parking the yacht, you guessed right.

And then Wasp shoots the Last Rocketeer in the eyes. His goggles did nothing.

Even though the Rocketeers were wrapped up pretty easily, Vision suggests that they had help since they knew exactly when and where to strike.

But a Dire Wraith shaped silhouette watching this fight from afar reflects that the Avengers are skilled and decides to unleash THE MISTS OF THE DARK NEBULA.

Which is a thick fog. But wait! There’s more! The fog is like a mind-numbing gas and makes the Avengers slow to respond, even Vision who only breathes out of social obligation. And it rouses the Rocketeers who escape into the fog.

Vision follows after them, less affected than the others, but he gets bowled over by the Rocketeers taking off with their rocket packs which presumably given them their names.

As soon as the Rocketeers escape, the fog conveniently disperses.

The Avengers go around making sure they’re all alright but when Cap(tain America) asks Vision, he claims that he is a lot more resilient than “an organic man” and tells Cap not to waste concern on him when there are injured people to be helped.

Wasp, in her thoughts: “Sounds like the only thing wounded was his pride!”

While the Avengers carry injured people to arrived ambulances, Vision castigates himself for the failure.

Vision: “We failed! My first official battle as Avengers leader, and the enemy got away! I suppose I should find solace in the knowledge that the sabotage was cut short and lives were saved... but I cannot!”

“I must not allow myself to be satisfied by anything less than total victory... Not if my long-range plans are to succeed! The Avengers must ferret out the power behind the Rocketeers and bring it down! The trust of the world could depend on it!”

That’s a completely non-ominous thing to think, Vizh.

Also, maybe you could help?

Meanwhile, over at Los Angeles International Airport, Hawkeye and Mockingbird arrive traveling as a perfectly normal couple. Hawkeye wanted to bring his arrows on as carry-on but yeah. Hard to explain that to the TSA.

... Wait, did the Avengers not have a spare Quinjet to send Hawkeye in?

Anyway, Bill Foster meets them at the airport. He’s local to LA and has been checking out some real estate leads for the West Coast Avengers base.

WEST COAST AVENGERS!

It continues to be approaching.

Are we going to get Bill Foster on the team? We haven’t seen him in Avengers for what feels like ever.

But enough of West Coast Avengers, there’s more Dire Wraiths plot to do.

Back at the Cape of Canaveral, General Bridges introduces the Avengers to the very high-strung Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist.

Cather flips out on seeing the Avengers and asks why they’re here. I guess nobody debrief him on all the explosions.

General Bridges has a slideshow for just this instance and activates a projector to show everyone a Dire Wraith.

The ROM Space Knight and Dire Wraiths plot has been going on for about fifty issues in ROM’s own book by this point so there’s some amount of exposition that just shotgunned in one page.

The Dire Wraiths are an offshoot of the Skrulls, apparently. Except instead of just shapeshifting they have a more predatory method of camouflage. They attack a victim with a drill-like tongue, eat their brains, and assume their forms while the original person is reduced to ashes.

At least, that’s how female Dire Wraiths work.

The Dire Wraiths are like the Badoon in having some truly wild sexual dimorphism and a high degree of hostility between the sexes. The female Dire Wraiths prefer sorcery and the males SCIENCE. Except there was a war of the sexes over differences in their plans for conquering Earth and the women Wraiths won and became the dominant Wraiths.

The Rocketeers that attacked the launchpad today are similar to a group of male SCIENCE Wraiths who also called themselves Rocketeers and attacked Clairton, West Virginia.

So Vision suspects that a group of male Wraiths survived the war of the sexes and are up to Something.

General Bridges isn’t really concerned with the nuances of who and how people are attacking the launch site. He just wants it all to stop.

Dr. Cather is leading the ion-drive project and its already in trouble because most funds have been diverted to the space shuttle program.

General Bridges doesn’t think the ion drive is a target, OR worth attacking (ouch), because none of the sabotage has struck it yet. Bridges thinks the Space Shuttle should get priority attention and decides he’ll call a full battalion to help the Avengers guard it.

Vision disagrees.

He pulls rank and forbids calling in any backup.

Captain America: “You’ll have to excuse us, gentlemen! Our chairman... has plans of his own!”

I BET HE DOES!

Meanwhile, continuing the Quicksilver subplot, it’s Quicksilver.

He Lockjaws down to Transia, Earth to go recruit Bova to be nursemaid for his baby but to his startlement he finds that her cabin has been destroyed.

Big mystery for Quicksilver but followers of this going-slightly-above-and-beyond liveblog will know that Magneto trashed it while interrogating Bova for information about his children.

Wanda and Pietro already rejected Magneto as their dad for being a jerk plus the jerky way he’s treated them. I imagine learning he terrorized a poor cow woman won’t soften their hearts to him.

Anyway, back to the Dire Wraiths plot.

The Rocketeer Dire Wraiths are sitting around and complaining about how the Avengers kicked their butts and they didn’t know humans could be so strong. But what they’re really concerned about is the Dark Nebula Mist.

That’s clearly the sign of the Dire Wraith sisterhood but why would they help the science Wraiths if not some weird mind game to flush them out.

One of the Rocketeers declares that the sisterhood’s intervention gives them a chance to complete their work. Sure, overt sabotage will be hard with the Avengers hanging around like they don’t have anything better to do. And sure, they’ll set up detection equipment. But the Avengers won’t suspect that the Rocketeers will have jamming watches that’ll let them avoid detection.

That’s why Science Wraithing is so rad.

The next morning, the Avengers are spread out throughout the Space Center.

Captain Marvel is standing sentry on top of the vehicle assembly building. Starfox is at launch complex 39A thinking patronizing thoughts about the Space Shuttle.

Starfox: “They call this a space ship? Charming.”

And Wasp watches over the ion-drive rocket.

Meanwhile, Vision, Captain America, and Scarlet Witch are in the security command post watching the cameras with the special detection systems.

If I remember Linkara’s Romtrospective, the special detection systems are probably based on Rom’s Analyzer, which he let SHIELD examine.

Anyway, Scarlet Witch switches to a random monitor to demonstrate that so far so good, pointing at monitor three and its entirely unsuspicious group of technicians.

Vision: “No problem?!? There’s a very big problem!! Can’t you see?!”

Turns out that Vision has better vision, hah, than a human. And with his special eyes he sees that those four technicians are NOT WHAT THEY SEEM.

He immediately grabs the microphone to the PA and announces DANGEROUS INTRUDERS and for everyone to evacuate the area immediately.

The four intruders make a mad dash to the ion-drive ship but Starfox does them a drive by punching.

Starfox: “Good morning, gentlemen! Since you aren’t evacuating the premises, might I assume that you’re our intruders? Hmmm?”

I’ll reveal a cursed secret. If it weren’t for Starfox’s special pleasure beam powers, I wouldn’t have a problem with him. He can be pretty fun sometimes.

Captain Marvel also zips over in light form and then re-assumes her meat form.

One of the Dire Wraiths: “Strike while she is helpless in her corporeal form!”

Captain Marvel: “Helpless?”

Never assume Captain Monica Marvel is helpless just because she’s made of meat. She was a boat cop, dammit.

Its a well known fact that all boat cops that get superpowers and join the Avengers, know how to flip a jerk.

Anyway, Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist, also runs towards the ion-drive rocket despite the evacuation order.

Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist: No need to worry soldier! I won’t be long at all... Once I’ve cut my ship off from ground control! I’m glad I returned to the test bunker last night. Otherwise, I might have been found like that the others! Their sabotage missions brought them to a bad end, just as I’d hoped! Now, their capture should be all the diversion I need -- to get away scot free!

Gasp! Dr. Woodrow Cather, the guy who was alarmed to see the Avengers involved is one of the Dire Wraiths and he’s dicking over his alien invader associates!

Is there no honor among alien invaders?

Scarlet Witch and Cap(tain America) arrive in Jeep to where Starfox and Cap(tain Marvel) are kicking the Dire Wraith ass. Scarlet Witch uses her do-anything powers to force the Dire Wraiths to assume their natural lumpy orange forms.

But then Dr. Woodrow Cather blasts off in the ion-drive rocket, luckily managing not to either blind nor burn to death anyone on the ground.

Captain Marvel zips after the rocket because speed of rocket is still way slower than the speed of light.

God, I love Monica’s powers.

The Dire Wraiths start bemoaning how they’ve been abandoned and betrayed but worse than that DOOOOOOOMED.

Cap(tain America) is like ‘come again?’

The Dire Wraiths explain that the ion-drive is actually a secret star-drive, that they cobbled together using whatever ‘backward technology’ they could get and sometimes just steal from other projects (I guess thats what the sabotage was? Covering the thefts?). But uh the red glow from the not-ion-drive exhaust is a bad sign.

It means that the engine is unstable and could explode like an anti-matter bomb at any time.

And to complete the hat trick of ‘rocket stolen’ and ‘rocket gonna explode and destroy a chunk of Earth’, Wasp was watching the rocket and is now trapped inside the command module, squashed against the bulkhead from the acceleration.

THE WORLD IS IN DANGER BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, THE WASP IS!

DAMN YOU DR. WOODROW CATHER, IF THATS YOUR REAL NAME!

Follow @essential-avengers​ because we like Wasp here. Wasp should be in more stuff in modern comics. Like and reblog as well but only if you think that the post is likeable and slash or rebloggable.

#Avengers #Dire Wraiths #the Vision #Scarlet Witch #Captain America #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #Starfox #the Wasp #i miss she hulk #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #the avengers are doing pretty well this issue #they got to chill out on a yacht and were pretty effective at dealing with the Wraiths #but still another issue to go

[frogmentarii]

QUESTIONS FOR OC CREATORS

Haaaa ok so I am doing this cause i saw @fallout-lou-begas steal it from @tarberrymentats and they both looked like they were havin hella fun so i am commandeering this for my own purposes. So lucky for yall its Emi time (art by the dearest @yesjejunus because yall need to see more of her work)

A) Why are you excited about this character?

Because she's an older woman (57) that breaks a lot of moulds and I love to see it. Aside from just enjoying older characters, Emi isn't a sweet old lady and she isn't here to try and mother anyone. Her drives are entirely her own and while she prioratizes herself and her sister before anyone else, its not always due to complete selfishness and just due to growing up in the wastes (I try to keep her character true to a fend for yourself setting as possible). I think Ill go into detail in another question with this, but I went through a lot of concepts and personalities for Emi before settling on someone who was seasoned and very much a product of the wastes. I think after seeing a lot of other couriers I finally figured out what I wanted to do differently, and that sort of helped guide her to become what she is today.

B) What inspired you to create them?

I think my last line there sort of short answers this. I wanted someone different from the other couriers I saw, and wanted to make one that was distinct or even juxtaposed against some tropes. She's a woman in her late 50s that doesnt try and play mom/granny to the companions, she very much has no stake in what happens to the Mojave, she doesnt care about Benny or that he shot her in the head (such is life in the Mojave, but she did have a job to complete so ripperoni him), and a lot of her motivations are selfish or exist to benefit her sister. She doesnt act 'old' in the fact that she isn't a wise caring soul or a grumpy old man, but rather her age is shown through her experience, and this also shapes her personality. She's never had to formally 'grow up' so she can come off as immature and irritating for her own entertainment, but she doesn't have youthful ignorance for how the world works. She knows how to be responsible but she doesnt have to act like it outwardly, even with her Tragic Caregiver Backstory.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

To a large degree in the beginning, yes, and to specific degrees now, also yes. Writing in general isnt my strong point though I did know what I wanted for her. The main image is there but the details are funky, and Ive been slowly hammering those out as I work along with her and Camila's stories. There's been some huge changes along the way that help push both of them towards an ending I like and that fits them, and even if it takes forever and I never actually write a fic, I'll be happy when she finally feels completed in New Vegas.

Aside from that, she kind of fits in anywhere in regards to AUs. My friend @yesjejunus and I have probably like 40000 fucking aus for our OCs and all of them feel just as organic and their canon stories.

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

So I know I have an 'original concept Emilia' art on here where she looked like Laura Croft and had aviators but that wasnt even her first concept. I had originally wanted to make a petite southern belle type from Louisiana who used a shot gun and had a mean streak, but as I kept playing with concepts Emi really started to lean other places. Another huge change was her personality. Even when her concept got settled as a sniper from Mexico, she was suppose to be an early 30s caravan guard who was way too sure of herself. While there are reminents of that concept still in her, she has a lot more experience in the wastes and in think-on-your-feet situations to back up her attitude. Another thing she required was dropping her "take me seriously" personality with more goofy "i do what i want cause why not" traits.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

Emi can get along with anyone at a surface level, for a small while, if it will benefit her or she wants to pass time. She really doesn't have interest in folks who arent interesting or beneficial in some way. Since I don't really offer her much, and am a bit of a wet bag, she might yank my chain for her own funsies or she'd have no interest.

And while I did indeed give Emi my go with the flow attitude, I think I wouldn't be able to keep up with her. Emi is very fast paced and doesnt necessarily have regard for those she decides to pick up as drinking buddies for the night. Def dont trust her with my life, and knowing the shit she gets into I'd def want to steer clear of it....like a trainwreck its much better to watch her from a safe distance, lol.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

A lot of affection from a meta standpoint? I've worked with Emi and Cam a lot since creating them, and they've def come a long way since their original concepts. I wouldn't say their story is quite where I want it yet, but I am quite happy with it overall.

That, and Ive met so many awesome writers along the way with Emi. Not all of my friends have posted fic but the amount of world building and having our characters interact and talking OCs ive done with them has placed both Emi and their OCs in a special place for me. Sure her having her own story is fun but I much more prefer the bonds Ive created with people over OCs and I think thats a bit more of a cherished component to character creation for me.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Literally? That she likes to be irritating if she feels she can get away with it (or even if she cant). Actually? That she has a very "I shelter you and feed you therefore I make the rules, period." stance on how she takes care of her charge. She lets a lot of shit slide with Camila but things get very Rapunzel-esque at times.

H) What trait do you admire most?

How sure of herself she is. Even if its to a fault, she trusts herself and her judgements. That sort of confidence is something I strive to have haha.

To a lesser degree, and more of a meta point I wanted to make with her, just...her appearance I suppose? To me she's attractive, but she also has a lot of traits that aren't conventionally attractive and that's played a lot into how Ive wanted her to be. Again she's 57 years old. She has age to her body, her skin wrinkles and droops, her tits sag, she has the body of someone who uses chems, and yet despite her age and breaking of beauty standards ive made it a point to show that she is desired or thought of as attractive in non fetish specific circumstances. She herself, while aro, also still has an active sex drive and I really wanted this to be a backseat part of her character, as I feel like fandom in general shafts older women in this department (this also goes for a lot of her non 'old lady' traits I give her too). She still has sexual needs and is still very much sexually active, and she is still found to be a regular sort of attractive and is desired by those she gets involved with.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

Yes? Ish, to a degree. I didnt have to but I wanted to. I also did a lot of headcanoning with post Mexico for her early life which, afaik is free real estate for lore/nothing super detailed has been given in canon.

Given that she and Camila both shape their stories as individuals, I did have to split up some canon elements to follow two seperate characters, but other than that I really just had to make sure Emilia's story wasnt "boring" in the fact that she again, has no real stake in what happens to Vegas/the Mojave.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Cackles in 'which au will I obsess with today'

For the most part yes, however I love placing her in new things or different stories. She may be 'my courier' but really shes just the frog granny that goes into whatever au I am feeling at the time.

#courier six #emilia #emi #emilia vazquez #fnv