#Steel and Cement Shop

[abbasicreation01]

Paint Shop

Sanitary Wholesalers

RCC Pole Manufacturers

Building Contractors

Architecture Consultants

RCC Door Frame Manufacturers

Paver Blocks Manufacturers

Steel and Cement Shop

[pit-and-the-pen]

How to Melt Steel

Summary: Short little fic Azriel being totally whipped for a badass reader

*Something something insert male sword/knife joke here*

Azriel x f reader

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: Slight Sexual innuendos but nothing graphic.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Azriel cursed to himself when he saw the small chip in Truth Teller. He had kept it in almost immaculate condition for as long as he’s had it. The metal scraped from near constant sharpening but that little crack in the tip had him shedding a silent tear. It had been during a sparring session with Cassian of all things. The blade was knocked out of his hand and bounced against the cement. His sixth sense told him of the damages before he had even looked.

“She’s the best in town. Will have you in and out in less than an hour.” Cassian told him when Azriel delivered a heavy blow to his chin at the sight of his damaged weapon.

“I hope for your sake she is.” He muttered to his brother. Truth Teller was an extension of himself. It was as recognizable as his wings in his opinion. And that exact thinking is how he found himself outside of your shop. The heat from the forge could be felt the moment he stepped through the door. A small light went off as the door opened, and when he heard the sound of metal on metal, he could see why you opted for that over a bell.

The sound seemed to bounce off of his skull, shaking his brain. He looked and saw you hunched over an anvil. The hammer in your hand repeatedly striking a red hot blade.

The light lashed again and you paused mid swing. Eyes going wide as you took him in. His cheeks heated slightly in embarrassment at the way you seemed to instantly fear him.

He took in the black soot across your cheeks, the distinct goggle marks when you placed them on the top of your head. It was a sight that almost made him laugh.

“The infamous shadowsinger. What do I owe the pleasure?” Your voice was light, teasing him he realized with a start.

You seemed to steal the words from his mouth, only able to open and close his mouth like an idiot.

“Earth to shadowsinger?” You waved a hand in front of his face.

“Azriel.” He blurted out. You cocked a crooked smile at him.

“Okay. Azriel,” You said his name slowly, like you were weighting it on your tongue. “What can I do for you?”

He gathered his wits enough to pull out the blade from its seeth on his side.

“Chipped it in training.” He watched your eyes go large again as he placed it on the counter. You looked at the blade, then back to him. You repeated the movement a few times. He wanted to shrink in on himself until he caught the gleam of, not fear as he expected, but excitement.

“Is that really?” Your voice raised half an octave, “I’ve only heard rumors of it. But seeing it up close. Can I-” You tentatively reached a hand out for it. Azriel only nodded. A small male pride weld up in his chest as you wrapped your hand around the hilt of the dagger. He pulled back the shadows that jetted towards you. It was silly really. It was just a dagger after all but he found his cheeks heating up as you inspected it nonetheless.

You twisted it in your hand, shifting it from one hand to the other.

“Perfectly balanced,” You scraped a finger over the edge of the blade, “Sharp as shit.” You said mostly to yourself. Your eyebrows pulled together as you saw the small knick at the top of the blade.

“Well, you’re lucky. It’s a brittle fracture. I should be able to buff it out in about half an hour.” You spoke directly to the blade, not taking your eyes away from it for a second.

“Perfect.”

“You can stay if you want. Like I said, I should be quick.” You turned your back to him before he could answer and he felt the heat in the room ramp up.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you stuck the small blade in the forging die, letting it heat up before you pulled it out and took it out to the anvil. He flinched when you brought your hammer down the first time. He noticed it was far gentler than your movements from when he first entered the shop. He took note of the way you seemed to almost sculpt the tip back together. Treating it with the same reverence as a potter would their clay. He cursed under his breath as he saw one of his shadows curling around your wrist. You looked down slightly before taking a glance at him. You didn’t say anything, just continued on with your work. A faint smile ghosting your face.

You were muttering to yourself as you worked. Words that he couldn’t make out no matter how hard his ears strained. He was transfixed by the speed and accuracy that you worked. It was impressive to say the least, the way the muscles in your arms flexed as you worked. He found himself watching you closer than he should have and if you weren’t so caught up in your work, he might have found himself embarrassed. He was gawking but couldn’t find it in himself to stop.

The hissing as you put the blade into a cold pot of water had him jumping slightly. He almost spoke up when he saw the charred tip of his dagger.

“Calm down.” You laughed, it took him a second to realize he had leaned further over the counter at the sight, shadows following without his command. “I still have to polish it.”

He just nodded and took a step back from the counter. He watched as you spread some strong smelling paste on the blade, it seemed to bring the color back to normal. A loud whirring filled the shop and you pulled up a small stool to the grinding wheel. Stroke after stroke had sparks flying towards your face. You didn’t even flinch as he saw the flecks land on your arms. His hands tightened into fists as he saw the small pink marks appear on your skin where they landed. Disappearing so quickly he would have missed them if he wasn’t watching so closely.

You pushed your goggles on your head again, turning the blade in between your hands. Searching for something he didn’t see. You must have found it because you gave a small nod before turning to the polishing block beside you, another paste was smeared on the blade before you started up the next wheel. Once again, he was captivated by the care you seemed to take with the blade. Examining it every couple of strokes. Azriel tried not to let his mind drift to other things your steady hands could handle.

“All done.” You said and it pulled Azriel back from whatever daydreams he had. You held out the dagger to him, point facing the ground. He took it from your hand, his fingers brushing yours slightly. He might have been imagining it but he swore he saw a light blush appear across your cheeks. But it was probably just from the heat of the forge.

“You can test it out before you leave.” You said, slightly out of breath. “I have some targets in the back you can use.”

Azriel knew just by looking at it that it was perfect. But he found himself agreeing to the offer anyway. You lifted the small gate on the counter and he followed you to a small patio off the shop. There were a few wooden targets hanging and some burlap training dummies. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest.

“I don’t think I need to explain to you how to use it.” You teased again. Head tilting towards the targets. Azriel smirked.

“You’d be surprised what I can do with it.” He shot a wink your way and knew for a fact that was a blush spreading across your cheeks, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

He slashed the air a few times before spinning and throwing the blade over his shoulder. It made a satisfying arc before sticking in the dead center of the target.

You gave a small clap as he went to collect the dagger.

“How does it feel?” You ask and his brain blanked for a moment. He looked at you, head slightly cocked. “The dagger?”

“Oh. Yeah,” He shook his head lightly, running a hand over the back of his neck, “Good as new. Better even.” He looked down the edge of the blade, noticing the way it seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.

“Perfect.”

“How much do I owe you.” He looked up and you only waved a hand at him.

“Consider it a favor. It was payment enough to even be able to touch the damn thing. It’s legendary if you can believe it.” You winked at him again. He went to argue with you but you held up your hand. “If you’re that determined. Then maybe you can take me out to dinner. Next tuesday? 7pm.”

Azriel was shocked by your boldness. He floundered, looking for the words to say yes without seeming too eager.

“That blade isn’t the only thing that has legends a mile long.” You turned on your heel and walked back into the shop. Azriel just stood there, absolutely dumbfounded. His shadows swirled around his feet, almost pulling him towards you. His heartbeat was far too fast for a male of his age. Here he was whimpering behind you like a teenager. His brain suddenly remembered how to work and he was following behind you. He grabbed your wrist gently in his hand and spun you around to face him.

“Does 6pm work?” He asked. You gave me a small smile and nodded.

“Don’t be late.” Was all you said before you turned away from him again and pulled a chord that fired up the forge again.

Azriel walked back to the house of wind in a daze. He felt like he got run over by a horse in the best way. You were not at all what he was expecting and he found himself already searching for a reason to head back to the shop.

“She take it well?” Cassian called over his shoulder when Azriel walked back into the house. He froze midstep.

“Take it?” Azriel questioned.

“Fix it, I mean.” He laughed when Azriel failed to school his expression.

“Oh yeah, good as new. You get to keep your favorite parts this time, Cas.” He joked and Cassian let out a low whistle.

“She’s got you bad already. Knew you would like her.”

“What do you mean?”

“It might as well be written all over you, you reek of whatever happened.”

“Nothing-” Cassian held up hand.

“Lie to me all you want.”

“I mean it, nothing happened. Well she told me I’m taking her to dinner next week.”

“Told you?” Cassian Laughed. “About time someone put you in your place.”

“Shut up you overgrown bat.”

“Ouch. Keep it up and I’ll run and tell her all your secrets.” He ducked out of the way as Azriel sent a vase flying his direction.

“Butt out of it.”

“Bit touchy?”

Azriel just muttered a quiet shut up under his breath before he walked into his room.

Tag list: @sarawritestories @ninthcircleofprythian @prythianpages @lady-of-tearshed @daycourtofficial @readychilledwine @tadpolesonalgae @nocasdatsgay

[rafescherie]

SALT IN THE SUGAR BOWL — RAFE CAMERON

pogue!rafe decides to end things before either of you get too attached — but it's already passed that point, for the both of you.

salt in the sugar bowl miniseries | you are currently on part one — part two - part three |

cherie's note — heavily inspired by letthespiceflow on c.ai c: been using that bot a bit, and wanted to write a fic based off of the intro of the bot! press here for the link to the bot!

rafe had never been one for the kook life — fancy boats, and stupid polo shirt outfits. more than one hundred spent on an outfit and it became one for 'special occasions', otherwise it would be covered in the filth of the garage floor, and deep obsidian motor oil. his hands were already stained, not something unusual for his line of work. despite his resentment for the kook life, and everyone on the other side of the island, they paid him a hell of a lot of money for the work he did — and he did it well. it had only been a few years since he had opened his own mechanic garage, months worth of projects to work on since the very first day. he was always kept busy — whether it was with upgrading a vehicle, or fixing somebody else's, he always had his hands full.

that's how he met you. so generously, he had offered to tow your vehicle back to the shop upon discovering it moiling the smoke from under it's hood — like your guardian angel sent from heaven, it was the least he could do for a pretty girl. his mother had taught him better, always trying to be a gentleman where he could be.

until today. this morning was different — the air hung thick with the aftermath of the hurricane in his brain from the night prior. he knew he needed to act on his thoughts, and do what was best. but he absolutely dreaded seeing the look on your face, and watching it completely shatter your heart.

"need the wrench, angel." he requested from beneath the heavy vehicle, grease smothered hand appearing from below to extend an open palm. bounding almost excitedly off of his leather-worn workbench, you placed the cold steel tool in his hand.

"so uh, listen," a grunt escaping his lips, absentmindedly going back to working on the vehicle. his muscles tensed with every torque of the wrench, biceps shining with a mixture of grease and sweat. the unmistakable sound of heavy bolts hitting the cold cement of the locally-owned garage rang through the bay, the hum of rock music playing throughout the shop.

his heart thundered against his chest — he felt like such a dickhead. it had only been a few months since the both of you had started seeing one another, and he was already planning on ending things. it wasn't something he wanted to do: it was something he needed to do. he hated knowing he was the reason you held yourself back from the possibility of college. no matter how much he had stressed to you that your schooling was important, especially given the opportunity of growing up on figure eight, it never seemed to stick with you. all you wanted was to be around him, and as much as he adored having you tag along every day, he didn't want to be the reason you would ruin your future.

"been thinking... maybe we should, cool things off, a bit."

the words stuck in your head for a minute, heart racing over the sentence. had you heard him right? there was certainly the possibility you had misunderstood. "what is that supposed to mean?"

rafe sighs, audible even from beneath the heavy vehicle he had been working on the last few months. the last thing he wanted to do was look at you, speak directly to you — the hurt in your eyes would eat him alive like no other, as if the guilt wasn't already working towards that alone.

"you know.." he starts, voice tame despite the race of his emotions, "you an' me."

you furrow your eyebrows, confused on the sudden shift. he had been so sweet just yesterday — peppering you with so much love you were sure you would have fainted on the spot. but maybe that was his attempt at sweethearting you — trying to help soothe the mental turmoil he was experiencing for ending things so suddenly with you. "what, why?"

he shakes his head, wishing you'd just drop it. but an explanation was what you deserved, after all. it was the least he could do. he drops the wrench onto the cement beneath the car, sliding out from underneath to kneel in front of you. he runs his tainted hand over his buzzed hair, another deep sigh falling from his nostrils.

"you're a smart girl, sweetheart. think about it — you're a kook, and i'm a pogue. you come from the rich side of the island, and i come from the cut. it wouldn't work," he starts, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around your fragile body, reassuring you it wasn't your fault, "besides, last thing you need in your life is someone who dropped out of high school, 'specially since you're headed to college in the fall."

ouch.

"rafe..." you trail on, biting the inside of your cheek in any sort of control against the tears that threatened to spill onto your flushed cheeks. "i- i thought you didn't care for all that?"

"i don't," he replies, ocean blue eyes looking around the shop in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact.

"so where is this coming from?" you ask, heart thundering against your ribcage. desperation was laced within your voice, soft and trembling at the realization of the news you were being hit with.

he let out a sigh, hesitating before he opened his mouth to speak. there was no easy way to say this, so he opted for brutal honesty. his eyes never left yours as he said the words he dreaded most.

“it’s dangerous,” he started, his voice low as he slowly stood up in front of you. “it’s just asking for trouble. people would have my head. not to mention what your parents would say. we just…we can’t do this anymore.”

none of this was fair — neither to you, or to him. but there was no turning back now, the words had already popped out of his mouth, and the inevitable damage was already done. the look on your face was like a gut punch to his stomach, making him feel dizzy and sick all at the same time. he hated himself — really, he did.

one thing you knew for sure about rafe — he either didn’t care at all, or he cared too much. he always told you it didn’t matter what your parents thought or how anyone else would react; he promised he’d always take care of you. but as reality crashed down on you like a ton of bricks, that promise felt like a slap in the face. you hadn’t even realized you were crying until the hot tears streaked down your flushed cheeks, landing on the bare skin of your shoulders, exposed by your tank top.

"it's for the best, baby."

the oil on his hands smudges onto the cotton fabric of his wrinkled, disheveled shirt before he lifts them to cup your face in his palms. his blue eyes search yours, the sting of salty tears making it harder to hold his gaze. but you don’t let him linger — you swat his hands away and turn for the exit, your footsteps heavy against the garage floor.

you stupidly wish to hear his footsteps trailing behind you as you walk back to your parked car — but they never come. how foolish, how naive, to think he would follow. even after he fell in love with you. even after he let you fall in love with him.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Well, the $65m brutalist/industrial house of Beverly Hills, CA has been on the market since June and still counting. 5bds, 10ba, 18,000 sq ft of pure concrete. Let's refresh our memories, and if you haven't seen it before, you're in for a treat. Oh, it's called a work of art that will never be duplicated (who would want to?) and only pre-qualified buyers can make an appt. to see it. No lookie-loos who don't have $65m to spend.

The front doors.

The only color you will see in this house is thru the windows. I wonder if the bike conveys. So, here we are in the living room.

Here we have the view from the living room. Such harsh lighting, though.

We're looking out at the pool. Would colorful furniture kill the vibe, do you think?

The fireplace is a work of art. It looks like an industrial furnace to me.

You can't really tell how deep this pool is.

The view of the living room from outside.

Here, you've got a dining table and a very cool looking bar. Look at the size of the foot rail. I guess stools would ruin the view.

Very large stainless steel kitchen. The only wood counter is on the island, and only 2 other little pops of color.

Curved cement walls lead around to the primary bedroom. Notice the lights around the bottom.

The primary bedroom is so large, it makes that piano look small. There's a wall of glass with a great view and doors to the patio.

Very industrial ensuite. Everything must've been custom made in this home. You can't go to Home Depot and pick up a sink like that.

Check out the tub. It looks like some kind of chemical vat. Murder tub vibes.

The home office has a warmer look b/c it incorporates wood into the decor. I like the desk. Is that a cat perch by the window?

Here we have the home theater. Looks like they have acoustic panels between the cement columns and in the ceiling.

This bar matches the other one. I guess guests have to stand.

More curved hallway walls.

Down here they have some sort of an art shop. I guess that this room could be a studio or rec room.

Very large center courtyard looks like an arena. There are small lights in the floor, but I can't tell what that circle in the middle is.

Looks almost like a space ship or military building from above. The lot is 1.99 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/410-Trousdale-Pl-Beverly-Hills-CA-90210/20534468_zpid/

[communist-ojou-sama]

China’s PPP GDP is only 25% larger than that of the US? Come on people… who are we kidding? Last year, China generated twice as much electricity as the US, produced 12.6 times as much steel and 22 times as much cement. China’s shipyards accounted for over 50% of the world’s output while US production was negligible. In 2023, China produced 30.2 million vehicles, almost three times more than the 10.6 million made in the US. On the demand side, 26 million vehicles were sold in China last year, 68% more than the 15.5 million sold in the US. Chinese consumers bought 434 million smartphones, three times the 144 million sold in the US. As a country, China consumes twice as much meat and eight times as much seafood as the US. Chinese shoppers spent twice as much on luxury goods as American shoppers. With the exception of luxury goods, all of the above are volume or unit measurements and need to be adjusted for quality/features to be comparable apple-to-apples. It would be highly presumptuous of us to discount the 16,000 shop visits conducted by the World Bank and accuse them of grossly lowballing China’s PPP GDP. But that is exactly what we are going to do. It is prima facie ridiculous that China’s production and consumption, at multiples of US levels, can be realistically discounted for lower quality/features to arrive at a mere 125% of US PPP GDP.   It’s not that we think the World Bank has done a bad job. It’s that we believe China’s NBS, contrary to popular opinion, has been lowballing GDP for decades and the World Bank has to work within the confines of the NBS’s reported data. This was politically important decades ago for WTO concessions and it is politically important today to maintain developing economy status as China makes a play for leadership of the Global South. We believe China’s GDP and PPP GDP are lowballed by an incomplete transition from the Material Product System (MPS) of national accounts, which excludes services by design. The World Bank is likely dutifully doing its sums with goods consumption in China multiples of the US but measuring services consumption as a fraction of the US.

...

China’s NBS stood its ground on a conceptual level. Rightly or wrongly, the Leninist MPS considers services necessary costs of material production rather than real value creation. In China’s first attempt at converting MPS to SNA in 1985, it tacked on a ludicrously low 13% to the MPS number and called it China’s services GDP.

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“take it off”

A/N: so yesterday I was talking to @itsokbbygrl about how Joel would react if baby love ever wore a piece of Brazzers merch around him and well…😵‍💫

~word count: 960~

Summary: Joel catches you wearing a pair of Brazzers spandex shorts 🤭

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, established relationship, punishment, teasing, dom!joel, meanish!joel, possessive!joel (reader is into it) spanking, sir kink, praise kink, language, Joel calls the reader a naughty dirty little slut in a non derogatory way, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical descriptions (outside of having a big ass and thighs) +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

It’s laundry day, and you’re faced with an unfortunate problem on your hands. The only pair of clean shorts that you could find in your drawer happened to be a pair of black spandex shorts with a BRAZZERS decal stretching all the way across the stretched fabric. Why was this such an unfortunate dilemma you may be asking yourselves? Well, you already had a feeling that Joel was gonna lose his shit if he saw you wearing these shorts…

Fuck it, we ball!

And oh, did he lose his mind alright.

All afternoon he had been working on fixing an issue he was having with his truck, and with Tommy’s generous help after refusing to take it into the shop. No, the Miller brothers were the kings of DIY. Joel came striding into the kitchen to grab two more beers, shirtless and reeking of car oil and grease, he was frozen on the spot when he saw you bent over the sink, working through the dishes in the tightest pair of spandex shorts he had ever seen. Your cheeks and thighs were practically spilling out from under the strained fabric.

Then he saw the familiar logo that was once the bane of his existence, and his eyes narrowed into slits, grease stained fists clenching at his sides, teeth grinding together and jaw ticking.

Fuck no. Not on my watch.

His boots were heavy on the tile as he approached you and before you could even turn around, his heavy set palm was making harsh contact with one of your cheeks, smacking your ass so hard, you swore you saw stars for a second as your body lurched forward against the sink and a soft surprised yelp slipped past your lips.

“The fuck are these, baby love?” He growled against the shell of your ear, crowding over your back like a cloak made of pure cement from how hard he was pressing into you. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the stench of car grease flooding your senses, dizzying your brain. Your covered cunt pulsed around nothing but the prospect of him punishing you just for wearing these damn shorts.

“It’s laundry day, baby. And I’m all out of clean shorts…” you let out a sigh of faux disappointment when he began to rub the plush flesh of your ass with his big meaty palm, “it’s a million degrees outside, and I found these in my back drawer and probably just never got rid of them when I moved in.”

He smacked your ass again, watching the way it recoiled against his palm, “Yeah?” He rasped, “well, baby love, they ain’t it.” He shook his head, grasping the hem of the spandex and yanked them right down your ass and thighs and all the way down to your ankles.

He dragged his hand right back down between your cheeks, spreading you open just enough that he could slip just the tip of his thumb into your already sopping tight cunt. “And you ain’t ever gonna wear them again, we clear?”

“Y-yes sir!” You squeaked out, arching your back into his hand so his thumb would slip in further.

“Good girl.” He chuffed a laugh as he retracted his hand despite your soft protests for him to continue, “Sorry I had to do that, baby love. I’ll get you a pair of mine, okay?”

You laughed it off, steeling your racing heart in your rib cage as you looked over your shoulder at him, “it’s okay, baby. You’ll just have to get me a better pair to strut around in.” You responded with a wink.

“‘Suppose I can arrange that.” He stalked off to the laundry room, grabbing you a fresh pair of his boxers and he even helped you step into them before he bent down and snatched up the Brazzers shorts and shoved them deep into the pocket of his jean cut offs. “Think Tommy and I are gonna go out for some burgers soon. Y’want anythin’, baby love?”

“Mmm, yeah I’ll take some meat.” You said with a giggle, turning around with your arms crossed against your chest in a challenging stare, “preferably the kind of meat that is shaped like your cock. Think you can deliver on that, baby?”

He closed the gap between you once more, looking even taller and broader than usual when he crowded you against the counter. His brow was cocked in amusement, lips spreading into a deep set grin. “Sorry, baby love.” He tutted softly, bringing his hand down between your thighs and pressed the heel of his palm directly against your covered cunt as he leaned in, “naughty dirty little sluts don’t get rewarded that easily.”

You leaned into his hand immediately, trying to pull him in for a kiss but he was being stubborn and nipped at your jawline instead while you let out a pathetic whine.

“Joel, baby, c’mon, please?” You nearly begged him.

“Nuh uh.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips before retreating out of your grasp.

Joel: 2 | baby love: 0

A week has gone by since the little incident and when you wake up late one morning and head downstairs to make a cup of coffee, you find a pink box on the countertop next to your mug. The box is wrapped in a pretty pink bow, and there’s a note under the ribbon addressed to you.

To my naughty little baby love,

Here’s a better pair ;)

-Joel x.

You untie the bow and lift the cover from the box and beneath the perfectly crisp wrapping paper is a pair of black spandex shorts. Upon further inspection, you find that the back of the shorts have a decal stretched across the fabric as well. However, instead of Brazzers, it reads Miller-Co in bold lettering.

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[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-two of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon.

Kon makes the softest little sound Tim has ever heard and kisses him back. His mouth doesn’t give like it should–at least, not like a fully human mouth would–but Tim doesn’t know if that’s the TTK or the Kryptonian physiology coming in. He really can’t figure it out right now, though, because his every single synapse is busy being obsessed with Kon in close and warm and kissing him so softly, and maybe that’s just because he has super-strength and doesn’t want to bruise the civilian but it feels . . . 

Tim doesn’t even have a sentence there. It just feels. 

Kon’s lips aren’t any more chapped than his hands were. His mouth feels like velvet over steel, like satin wrapped around a weapon, and the dichotomy is really, really doing it for Tim. 

So is literally everything about Kon right now, of course. 

Tim, clinically, wonders what TTK feels like. If that’s the soft velvet-satin sensation he’s feeling, or . . . 

Maybe Kon let his TTK down for this, he thinks, and then nearly burns alive at the thought. Maybe Kon trusted him enough to kiss him without it in the way, though: his strongest defense, his best trick, that whole sense. 

Kon leans back just enough to separate their lips, and Tim exhales raggedly. He thinks he can feel the shape of Kon’s smile against his mouth when the other takes a breath of his own. 

“You can take some pictures, if you want,” Kon murmurs lowly. Tim, again, nearly falls off the bench. “If you’re into that.” 

Tim actually does not even have the words for how “into that” he is, honestly. Like not even slightly. Not even a little bit. 

“Maybe a couple,” he manages. His voice is a little strangled, but more or less coherent, so he figures that’s–fine. Yeah. It’s fine. 

“Cool,” Kon hums, then presses one last chaste little peck to his lips before straightening back up and flicking open the button of his pants. “But close your eyes for a sec first, okay?” 

Tim considers spontaneously combusting, but just puts a hand over his eyes instead. Sure. Why not. He’s already doomed; might as well really commit. 

He hears Kon’s zipper go down. 

Christ on a cracker, he thinks only a little bit hysterically. This was not in any way whatsoever in the plan. Not even a little bit was this in the plan. Ever. At all. Ever. 

He should stop him. He doesn't even know what Kon's doing, but he should definitely stop him.

He does not. 

He hears Kon moving. Hears fabric rustle. Feels a lot of things, including the terrible and mortifying realization that actually the shopping bag currently in his lap is probably doing jack all for him because Kon has TTK and therefore doesn't actually need to see him to know that he's getting–

Never mind. 

Fuck, Tim is in so far over his head. He's definitely in over his head. He is in over his head and wearing cement shoes and the water level is rising. 

“Hey,” Kon says after a few more moments of rustling fabric, and Tim can hear the grin in the bastard's voice as clear as he heard that goddamn zipper. “Look what I found.” 

Tim opens his eyes with thrilled dread and horrified delight, bracing himself for the worst. 

It turns out to be worse than that. 

“Fuck,” Tim says, staring dumbfounded at Kon, whose cheeks are flushed and mouth is smirking and pose is casually merciless and . . . and oh fucking hell. 

Tim has no idea when, where, or how, but Kon has somehow dug up the tiniest pair of denim shorts he has ever seen in real life and a stretchy, loose-fit crop top T-shirt with a big bright S-shield that fits implausibly tightly across his pecs and exposes every inch of his abs and way too much of his Adonis belt and oh, okay, yeah, Tim was in no way braced enough. No way whatsoever. Not even slightly.  

He is suddenly mortifyingly aware of Kon having thighs. Like, he's noticed Kon's arms before–it would be physically impossible not to have, even through the leather jacket–but somehow he never noticed his thighs. 

Terrible oversight on his part, there. 

Tim swallows. 

“Oh, so you, uh . . . remember that conversation, huh,” he manages weakly, and Kon's smirk goes sly again and he makes a point of shifting into a stupid come-hither teen-zine pose that has Tim silently praying for mercy.

“I definitely remember that conversation,” Kon says. 

Tim honestly did not expect him to. Like . . . why would Kon remember that conversation? Just flirting around a little shouldn’t necessitate . . . 

It occurs to Tim that Kon might’ve remembered that conversation because he’d made the effort to. That he might’ve tried to. Tim had said there was something he’d like to see him in, and Kon had made it a point to remember that. And then a point to go and find it. 

Fuck, Tim thinks in near-hysteria, and only doesn’t burst into literal flames of mortification by the mercy of the multiverse. He told Kon he was into something and Kon went to the effort to make it happen for him. Because Kon . . . wants to do that, apparently. Wants to do things Tim is into. 

“Oh,” Tim croaks, and Kon bites his lip around a wider smirk and then just sort of steps back into his space a little and then . . . 

Then he plucks up the shopping bag in Tim’s lap by the handles, sets it aside, and replaces it. 

Replaces it with himself, to be clear. 

Tim blinks, very slowly, and every fucking drop of blood in his brain abandons ship to fly south for the summer. Kon’s arms are braced against the wall on either side of Tim’s head and Kon’s thighs are on either side of Tim’s thighs, and Kon is kneeling over Tim’s lap. Tim’s actual literal lap.

If there was any chance of Tim coming up with something coherent to say about that, the way Kon leans down into “close enough to kiss” territory would absolutely and entirely vaporize it. 

“Does it look as good as you thought it would?” Kon asks, his eyes warm and heated and bluer than anything and his voice a low and shameless purr. Tim continues to lack a coherent vocabulary to answer him with. “Tim?” 

“Asdfghjk,” Tim manages, which might be sort of like words or might just be the verbal equivalent of a literal keyboard smash, maybe, and then does the stupidest possible thing he could do, which is grab Kon’s hips and kiss him again. Kon makes that same soft little sound into it, going loose and liquid in his lap, and then wraps his arms around his neck and tries to eat him alive. 

Tim is in no way complaining about that, for the record. 

Bragging, maybe. Maybe he’s technically more bragging, in this scenario. In his defense, Kon is filling up his entire lap with an infinite expanse of smooth muscle and bare skin and a fucking S-shield crop top, which Tim would really have expected people to have more respect for Superman than to make and sell commercially but really should’ve known better than to, in fact, expect people to have more respect for Superman than to make and sell commercially. 

"Kon–" he chokes out unthinkingly as Kon drops his mouth down behind his ear to kiss him there, brain all fried out on Kon's weight pressing down into his lap and Kon's body against his body and Kon's mouth high up his throat, on Kon's bare thighs and exposed stomach and the stretch of fabric across his muscles and his–and then he very abruptly remembers that Kon never actually told "Tim Drake" his name and his eyes flare in alarm and he panics and Kon–

Laughs? 

"Wow, you really did do your research," he observes in amusement, leaning back just enough to grin down at him. 

Tim is the luckiest son of a bitch alive. 

Also the stupidest, but that goes without saying. 

"Um," he says weakly. "Sorry?" 

"It's cool, babe, I'm starting to think scary stalker tendencies are just a Gotham thing at this point," Kon teases with another easy laugh, squeezing his arms around Tim's neck. They are unspeakably nice arms and Tim frankly does not deserve their presence. "To say nothing of the control freak stuff. I dunno, is there something in the water around here, or does it all just mean 'I like you' in Gothamite?" 

"So sorry," Tim stresses feebly, and Kon just smiles at him. 

"It's cool," he repeats quietly, ducking his head a little. "Seriously. I actually kinda like hearing you say my name. Or . . . okay, I really like it. It's still pretty new, to be honest, so I don't really hear it all that much. Shoulda told you it to begin with, I just . . . haven't had many people to tell, I guess.  But it's not like it's a secret or anything." 

"Ah," Tim says, his gut twisting with totally, totally inappropriate heat. 

"Wanna say it again, maybe?" Kon asks softly, leaning back in with just the faintest trace of glitter and warmth in his eyes. "Wanna say it all the time?" 

Tim definitely wants to do that, yes. 

"Kon-El," he says, and Kon smiles.

[absolutedaisy]

Stubbornly Sick - Nischa

I KNOW I SAID I WASN’T GONNA DO NISCHA ANYMORE BUT I CANT GET THEM OUT OF MY HEAD SORRY

A oneshot in which Mischa is sick and refuses to admit it. Noel takes matters into his own hands.

Mischa rolled over on his thin-as-paper mattress, feeling his sweat seep into his pillowcase. He groaned, staring at the cement wall beside his lousy excuse for a bed. His whole body felt hot, and not in the way that meant people swoon over you. Beads of sweat rolled down from his hairline, his skin blotchy and red. His stomach growled, but he didn’t even want to get up and eat.

He fished his phone out from the comforter beside him, flipping it over to check the time: 9:30. He’d slept in later than ever, as if his body knew it needed rest. However, it was Sunday, meaning the choir was getting together for their weekly outing. 

Ever since the 6 of them had miraculously survived a roller coaster accident together, Ocean had been taking initiative to get the group together. Some weeks it was shopping and walking around downtown at whatever little shops remained, some weeks it was the mall, but today they’d planned a little hiking expedition. 

Mischa was almost never the biggest fan of these get togethers. First of all, it meant being stuck in the same vicinity as Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg for at least three hours. Secondly, it meant listening to Ocean for at least three hours. And lastly and probably worst, it meant not complaining about the little ginger scumbag for the entire time, or all hell would break loose. 

The real reason Mischa went at all was to spend time with his boyfriend, Noel. The two of them had grown close as they recovered from their accident, and Noel had been there for every step of Mischa’s growing musical career. Most of the time, Noel’s work schedule made it difficult for the boys to spend time together. Taco Bell execs didn’t really take “need time to make out with my boyfriend” as a valid excuse for missing shifts. However, “mandated outdoor socialization” was acceptable, apparently, so choir outings were fair game. 

Mischa ran his hands through his greasy, matted hair, yawning. His eyelids felt like they were made of steel, weighing him down and just wanting to close, keel over, and sleep. Even the way he carried himself, usually with his chest puffed out like a lion on the hunt, was different; slouched over and painful to even move. 

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his sweatpants, evidence of a text message coming through. 

Noel: babe where r u! u said u would pick me up @ 9:15

He winced. Shit…

Noel set his phone down on his desk, turning back to the mirror to look at his makeup: on point as usual. Slumping back in his chair, he wondered where Mischa was. 

It’s not super unlike him to sleep through his alarm…he can sleep through my snoring after all. Maybe he stayed up late? Which is weird, because usually when he stays up late it’s because he and I are texting or something…Is he ignoring me? Shit, am I gonna have to ask Ocean for a ride? Damn it…

He picked up the phone again and dialed Mischa’s number, and to Noel’s delight and relief, Mischa picked up. 

“Hey babe…You alright?”

Mischa, at that moment, let out just about the loudest cough Noel had ever heard, hacking into the phone. 

“Sorry, I slept through my-” he paused to yawn, “-alarm. I will be there in ten minutes, Poet.” 

Noel’s heart absolutely melted at the sound of his partner’s voice. He sounded hoarse and just all around awful.

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you sound like shit. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Just fine, honey. You wait and I’ll- ACHOO”

The sneeze just about made Noel have a heart attack with the sheer volume of it. He wasn’t so sure he loved the idea of Mischa even leaving the house in this condition, but he also knew how much of a stubborn asshole his boyfriend could be. Talking Mischa into staying home was not going to be easy in the slightest.

“Mischa…are you sure it’s the best idea for you to come get me? I can ask Ocean for a ride if you’re sick, you need rest…” Initially, he was going to scold Mischa, but his ‘loving boyfriend’ mode took over in a heartbeat. “I don’t even have to go today! Just get back to bed, drink lots of-”

“No, no.” Mischa waved him off. “I am going to go get dressed, and then I will come get my special boy, okay? I love you, Noel.”

“I love you too, which is why I want you to-”

He hung up. He fucking hung up. 

This was gonna be a long day.

Mischa had taken driver’s education. He knew that driving while sick could lead to accidents, because being sick made you drowsy, right? But Mischa wasn’t sick, he couldn’t be. Mischa didn’t get sick, at least that’s what he’d gaslit himself into believing. He got into the driver’s seat, rearing on the gas and speeding out of the driveway, almost slamming into his foster parents’ mailbox on his way out. 

Noel’s house wasn’t too far away from his, nowhere in Uranium City was very far away from any other place, to be honest. That was just how small towns worked. He turned onto Noel’s street and pulled up in front of the house. He parked, slightly crooked in the driveway, and trudged to the front step. 

“Noel!” He croaked out, his voice cracking. He rang the doorbell. 

The shorter male opened the door and looked Mischa up and down with a satisfied smirk on his face. “As expected, you look like someone pushed you out of a car window and then ran you over with a pickup truck. Bed, now.” 

“What? No! We have the hike-”

“I already texted Ocean and let her know that you’re sick and thus will not be attending. Now please go lay down, you know where my room is.”

“But…that just means I am going to get you sick! “So what? You’re the love of my life, I think I can handle your cooties.”

For once, it was Noel being the stubborn one. It was clear he wasn’t going to hear another word about it. Mischa allowed himself to be escorted (read: dragged by the collar of his shirt) upstairs to Noel’s bedroom. 

“Get your ass under the covers.” Noel demanded playfully. “Mom’s working another late shift, but I don’t have to work again until Monday afternoon. We could spend all day and night right here if it would make you feel better.” 

Mischa yawned and plopped down on Noel’s bed, having made the decision to be cooperative for once. “And do what? Talk about how shitty I feel? Because I feel like…big…bleh.”

“I know you do, darling.” Noel kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, giggling. “If you would lay down like I told you to and rest up, you might feel a little bit less bleh. Have you eaten today?”

“No.” He admitted. “I was not hungry.”

Noel sighed. “I’ll go get you some toast or something. You really gotta start taking care of yourself when you’re sick.”

“I am not sick.” Mischa protested. “Just a little tired.”

“Either way, you need rest.” Noel pressed his boyfriend down, hand splayed out over his chest. “Lay down, Mischa. Spare me my sanity.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “I do not need to lay down, poet. Sleep is for the weak.”

“No, dumbfuck, sleep is for the idiot boyfriend who won’t admit that he feels like he was hit point blank with a sack of bricks!”

Mischa pondered Noel’s innate ability to know exactly how he felt, because the sack of bricks thing was fairly accurate. He felt like he was going to topple over onto the floor, but would his cocky ass admit that? When pigs fly.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He repeated instead, sitting back up. If he was going to get in bed he was not going to lay down and he was also going to make it everyone’s problem. 

“Whatever you say, dickwad,” Noel sighed. He was ever so creative with the pet names. “Sit still and don’t, I don’t know, set the house on fire. What do you want to eat?”

“I told you I am not hun—” he started, but he knew there was no winning this argument. “I guess…toast?”

Noel went downstairs and fished a loaf of bread and the toaster out, tossed a slice in, and promised himself he would not scream when the toast popped up. 

He broke the promise.

Anyway, he took out the golden brown bread and slathered it in butter, taking it back upstairs to Mischa. 

In the time it took Noel to make a piece of toast, Mischa had flopped over and fallen asleep. Noel made a soft tsk tsk sound, setting the plate of toast on the nightstand. He gently climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over both Mischa and himself. Rolling onto his side, he came face to face with a peacefully dozing Mischa and a pool of drool already staining the pillow (not that Noel really minded). He brushed Mischa’s chestnut curls out of his eyes, giggling softly.

“Yeah, rest easy, tough guy.” He whispered. “My fucking idiot.” He snuck a quick kiss onto Mischa’s forehead. “I love you.

[justcallmesakira]

Dazai x reader valentines

Dancing under the rain after valentines dinner. The reader isn't good of a dancer and doesn't like getting drenched in the rain.

"SET LOVE TO THE RAIN"

Sypnosis: You hated the rain and getting drenched and you were not really a good dancer until you lover forcefully brought you out to have a quick dance.

Dazai x reader

Genre: fluff, romance

A/N: hi there I am rlly sorry it took me so much time I know it's past Valentines but yeah yk mental health heehe♥️

You and dazai were on a date at a nice cafe for valentines

It was cloudy all day but the atmosphere was filled with love and cheesy couples. You could smell coffee and cheescakes too.

Both of you talked for a long while. None of you could care less about what was happening around.

"Say say, Bella! Do you like dancing?" Dazai asks you with a childish tone, one containing flirt and excitement.

You paused for a moment.

"No not really, I am not that good fo a dancer" you non chalantly speak out. You never liked those cheesy romantic waltz moments. Especially since you were not a great dancer.

If anything, you would question why they do those childish acts especially in public.

"Awwwh why donna'? It's so romantic! Plus I am sure you can dance with those amazing leather boots. Hah like that one girl from titanic"

Osamu exclaims and make a fake put, he probably knew why and the reasons but of course like the man you knew he will question you about it.

You shot him a small glare as much as you wanted him to have a nice dinner date on this day you prefer staying put in your comfort zone.

The weather soon started to deteriote even more. The moons dimness was also starting to hide behind large sets of clouds.

The evening clouds still looked pleasing. The heaviness of the blocks of soft clouds hovering over the lit buildings of yokohama and the light breeze brushing past your clothed skin made the scenary even more appealing.

It seemed that it will start drizzling soon.

"Oh god i forgot my umbrella...Though we are not going anytime soon" you spoke your thoughts out aloud as your coat shifts with you leaning against the chair to check whether it was really raining or not.

You brought back your head inside the shade of the coffee shop, the spalshing of water was reaching both of your shoes and creating a puddle to which your lips ticked.

Dazai noticed this and instantly arised from his seat with a big smile.

"Osamu?.." you called out when all of a sudden he grabs your wrists and brings out of the shade and out to the airy night.

You could only yelp in surprise as dazai takes your hand in his and grabs your waist tight.

The njght street barely had anyone present except a few lights on here and there which also turned off. The whole crossroad was empty.

The rain splished and sploshed on the footpaths and tall architectures it was hard to hear almost anything except clattering and the sound of water droplets hiting steel cold iron bars.

The thunder made sounds like a piano falling from wooden stairs as the rain poured like steel rods. Even so Dazais body moved along with yours.

What a beautiful and eternal moment but you didn`t like this, getting drenched in the rain and all of this.

As you wear taking in the natures features, completly mesmerized you sensed back to the scenery in front of you as Dazais bandaged arms guided your waist and body creating smooth movements of a dance.

''Samu! Calm down!!" you had to scream out because of the sound of both of your shoes clacking against the road cement mixing up with the clatter of the down pour.

"I wont belladonna! Just keep following my steps" he shouted back with a smile as he twists you around with a spin, your wet body moving itself with each sound of thunder. He danced with you and you did too, like a marionette.

Your head was slightly dizzy because of your wet hair and you hated this but seeing that smile on his face as he clasps your hand tighter and guides your foot to each side of the road just feels...so warm even though your soaked in water.

With each step you could feel your body adjusting to his craziness.

Finally after you swallowed your own spit you took a brave step and moved along with him, grasping his body for slight support.

A step over there, Another over there... A clack over there, Another thunder there... With two hands held together swifting here and there...

Your feet and hands felt elated.

"Dazai.." you huffed loudly as you tried to keep up with his energy. "This is stupid, why are we even continuing this?"

You questioned him even though you were starting to get the hang of it.

To which dazai only chuckled "But.. "

"I set fire to the rain! And i wanna watch it burn on your face!!"

He shouted out loud with his caramel voice echoing the hidden moon and skies. Such a soothing and melodic voice...

He twirled you around round and round, brought you close to his cold body and spun you again, clasped your hands and let them go only to bring it back.

The street lights flickered the weather only turning darker and gloomier but the thunders didn`t bother the two lovers dancing crazily in the middle of the road.

You only heaved a sigh as you put your whole energy on your steps and danced with him.

A dance under the rain wasn`t so bad after all especially one with your boyfriend.

A/N: if this flops i am going down the stairs like the piano :/

Divider crds!: @plutism

Tag!: +@riiwritesz @elizais @biscuits-spooky-corner @silverbladexyz @darling--angst-archived @saelique @ruanais @chuuyasboner @tojifile @yosanosboner @lanterndove @extemporeies @atlasnessie @heartsfourdazai

[xxwitchylanexx]

From the Keys to Your Heart

Rebirth Retold Chapter 6

The parade in Junon isn't until the end of the week so maybe a little side quest to Crow's Nest to kill the time.

This is my longest chapter yet, and you should reread chapter 7 cause the beginning has changed a bit to fit in this new chapter. Thanks everyone for reading! Feel free to comment and let me know what you liked, and if you feel like this fits our Cloud <3

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Side quest spoilers

*~*

Under Junon didn’t exactly embrace your group with open arms, but you’d take what you could get especially since the members were labeled as eco-terrorists. The mayor, a hardened woman from years being crushed under Shinra’s boot, turned a blind eye and pointed you in the direction of a cozy inn in the heart of the fishing town. You had your reservations: the glint in her stare were practically made of dollar signs, and how she sat at the entrance like she was waiting for them, not to mention the bounty on your companions heads could drastically increase the quality of life for her residents. But who were you to turn down her hospitality when the prospect of a real bed outweigh your reservations.

You were eager to walk along the uneven cement pathways, the stone was so worn down from decades of traffic that the path was nearly just gravel now, as you imagined what these houses, warehouses, and businesses looked like before they deteriorated to the crumbling patchwork structures they were now. The town was probably charming, maybe gentle, before Shinra installed gaudy support structures and the big steel plate above their heads, what once gave hope for a city metropolis now sucked the life and sunlight from the very heart of the under city. You could almost see it in your mind, cute vintage houses made of the finest dark wood, with olive shutters on the windows. Aesthetically pleasing open verandas that connected right to a shopkeeper’s house so they could run their mom n’ pop shop right outside their homes. An intricately designed harbor that really gave the town its spirit with top of the line boats to fish, after all Junon was known for its fishing.

Now those darling houses were patched with driftwood and corrugated tin, most houses had spiderweb cracks in more than half of the windows, and the shutters were long since abandoned. The shops were still open but the owners eyes were hollow and shaky on their feet, too weary from the day to day fight to keep breathing. The docks were in shambles, the planks throughout its entirety had more holes than wood and what was patched was half assed with whatever material they had on hand, but the most devastating aspect of Under Junon was the ships and the sea. Each vessel was anchored on the shore under Shinra’s order. The nets were moth eaten and moss grew along the sides where the boat met the water. The sea was polluted and greenish yellow particles floated within it, the air was smoggy and thick. Without their boats you assumed the people were going hungry. What once was a bustling port town was now the slums 2.0. Meanwhile Shinra turned a blind eye, the only ones hearing the townsfolk’s protests were the foot soldiers who operated the elevator.

You sat in the town square on the circular benches near the anchor they immortalized when they first founded Junon, it was the very first anchor they dropped on their first deep sea fishing voyage, that's what the plaque says anyway. Your inquiring eyes moved over to the colossal skeletal fossil of the towns greatest rival, The Terror of the Deep. Its maw hung open and its empty sockets bore into your own. Funny how their symbol of liberation, now foreshadowed their impending doom.

The sun had set beyond the horizon an hour or two ago. The others split apart to gather any potential info on where the guys in robes were going next or any details on the big event that Shinra was preparing for at the end of this week. You heard whispers, but nothing solid. However one thing seemed pretty clear from a rumor that everyone seemed to be repeating. Rufus Shinra was coming to town, and where the president goes the Turks follow.

A shrill scream pierced through the evening chill, and panic followed. “Help! Priscilla is in trouble!” You seen Cloud dart out of the inn, a hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The others soon joined him in a circle, hovering over the narrow stone stairway that led to the docks. Please…. just don’t get involved… Your inner voice pleaded. Your head wasn’t in the game. Aerith’s teasing and Gabe’s implications weighed you down significantly. Your body was sore and tired from falling down a mine, sleeping on a rough rocky terrain, and riding chocoback for a whole day. Overall your head was foggy and sluggish, your edge was dulled and your instincts lagged behind.

But of course they were going to help, they always did, and despite every muscle in your body begging for relief, you hauled yourself off of the bench to follow them into danger.

*~* Who would’ve thought you’d save two people from drowning within two days, and why on this floating rock through space does no one else know CPR? You groaned, your shoulders slumping with the breath that left your body, as you stalked back up the stairs from the utter disaster of battle. You reeked of fish, and brine. Your clothes were wet from the slimy terror splashing in and out of the too warm sea. Your back ached from bending so far back that you almost fell over, all to avoid being smacked by a fish tail. You only wished you’d stabbed the overgrown goldfish harder. The only thing reigning in your fiery temper was the free room, all to yourself, with a shower and a laundry facility.

The inn was one of the only buildings that still held a calming warmth. You traced the pattern of the sage green wallpaper with a fingertip as you passed through the halls, taking time to admire the paintings of sea creatures cased in handcrafted golden frames.

You ascended the staircase to the next floor and rounded the corner at the top, walking right past a door that was left ajar thinking nothing of it before stopping in your tracks just past the frame as Cloud’s voice filtered past the doorway. His words were dry, almost emotionless, but if not for that underlying sadness you would’ve thought nothing of it and carried on.

“Was that another test?” You braced your weight alongside the wall, your palm brushing against the ridges and dips along the surface.

“What? No!” Tifa sputtered, her voice high and defensive, before heaving in defeat. “Why try to deny it. I guess it was. I’m sorry.” Your pulse quickened as the room remained silent the only thing to be heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You didn’t need to be inside to feel the thick tension that built between the two much like the twisting nausea that crawled inside your stomach. >Just how close are they?

Cloud huffed. “We’ll find time to talk, just the two of us. Figure things out.” Your nostrils flared, your esophagus began to burn as the bile worked its way up. This was none of your business.

Your feet carried you swiftly away from there, much like a mouse running from a cat, past the next door and stopped in front of the room designated to you. Your vision tunneled and your surrounding grew hazy as his voice replayed ‘just the two of us’ in your head. Your eyes stared blankly at the 203 on the doorplate. You could faintly hear your name being called, but you were unsure if it was real or just the quiet yearning of your heart that you were struggling to accept.

You closed your eyes and propped your head against the door, inhaling deeply to calm your rapid heart beat, and turned the handle of the door and slipped into the comfort of the rooms closed walls. Your lungs expanded freely without the eyes of your friends around, as you sagged against the door frame. It's none of your business. You reminded yourself as you tilted your head towards the ceiling letting your eyelids slide close.

You slowly peeled your eyes open to look around. This room was similar to the rest of the inn as far as wall style went, only this one was a rich red instead of earthy green. A queen bed, all done up in blankets of cream and tan, was pushed right up to the right side of the room. It was well lit with a square fixture on the ceiling overhead and a few table lamps. A round rug covered the wood and provided a layer of insulation from the cold creaking floor.

With a strangled groan you pushed yourself off the door and shrugged off your equipment, leaving it to fall haphazardly to the floor. Every muscle in your body burned as you lumbered over to the bed, your clumsy feet catching on the rug a few too many times. But every moment of pain was worth the relief you felt as your face nuzzled into the plush mattress and warmth flooded you as you buried yourself under the blankets.

Regardless of the pure exhaustion that plagued you, sleep had continued to evade you. Your head swam with the event of the day and thanks to Aerith’s little accusation yesterday you came to the conclusion this horrendous feeling must be jealousy, though if you admitted it you’d have to accept the fear and anger that’s welling inside you too. Gods you angry. Not at her, or Cloud, or Tifa, but yourself. How the hell did this happen? You don’t do feelings, and you certainly didn’t do romance. Seduction and infatuation, sure, but never love. It was a liability, a weakness, one could exploit if they wished. So where did it all go wrong?

It didn’t help that his room was right next to yours. Only the thin drywall between your two headboards separated you, and his thumped against the plaster rhythmically, his raspy grunts muffling through to keep your rapid thoughts circling the thought of him. Were those reps he was counting? Leave it to him to have a nightly workout.

You sighed, and mentally imagined as the conflicting emotions, the jealousy, the wishful thinking, the ghost of possible feelings, all the warmth and comfort, and pushed them all into a tiny metal chest at the deepest and darkest place that house all the other memories you kept locked away. You can’t be jealous because you don't care. You just needed to keep your distance and in a couple weeks you’ll be at the saucer and can put this whole fiasco to bed. A tiny murmur of sadness shined from the useless organ in your chest, which you quickly stamped down too. This will pass. After all you’ve gotten rather good at separating your mind from pain. You don't see how this was any different.

Once you did finally achieve the sweet release of unconsciousness you were submerged into the hideous atrocities of your childhood. Usually your subconscious could identify when you were reliving one, and change the course of the dream world, but after all of the challenges today- and yesterday- brought, your body and mind were just to exhausted. Your collective presence was pulled down into the sedation of lethargy.

It started back in the saucer. You had just won the last race, beating out the slimy asshole Chuck, and now you stood in the glamorous stables, a brush in hand and a treat in the other. It felt as if your head, or eyes, was vibrating as you ran the brush through your silver chocobo’s feathers. You heard sniffling, but kept your eyes on your bird. The last thing you wanted was to catch his attention. “No…please, stop…” Your pulse spiked, and blood ran white hot with fury. You set your brush down calmly, and assured the bird in front of you that everything would be okay.

But when you turned around to beat the shit out of the guy, you were suddenly clawing desperately at the gritty ground. Adrenaline flooded your brain as pure desperation clutched at your chest and constricted your airways. No… not here… Not again… Footsteps dug into the gravel and the ground under you vibrated. A group of men circled around you, four at least. The one closest to you gripped your ankle hard enough that it would bruise and began to drag you back into their makeshift circle. Tears fell rapidly, and your nose ran like crazy. You tried to focus on the taste of your own tears to distance yourself from the burning pain in your fingers as your nails cracked against the tiny pebbles and pieces of cement as you clawed at anything to get away.

You found that escaping was futile, so changed gears trying to kick frantically to open a chance to escape, all you needed was an ounce leverage. A small part of you just wanted to stop. Your lungs burned. Your fingers were bleeding. Your vision blurred. Your ears rang. Why fight it? There was no hope. You will die here.

A sick sadistic cackle seeped through the static. His gravelly voice, like an old muffler that rusted through where it should’ve connected to the carburetor, told the others to stop. You couldn’t make out his words, your consciousness was distorted like you were being held just beneath the surface of water, but his tone sparked fear in every fiber of your being. And like a match the embers of your resolve caught flame and blazed brightly once again. You kicked and screamed and scratched and even bit, as the other men shuffled around trying to grab whatever they could get their hands around to hold you down, but the moment you heard the clicking and shuffling of a belt coming undone you crumbled.

Your eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. Your mouth felt dry and your own cries, pleas, and begging sounded funny to your own ears. You searched for anyone, anything that might help. You knew hope was lost when your frantic gaze landed on the nosy middle aged woman in the window across the street. She held her silk curtains open with her fan, her cold impenetrable chocolate eyes watching you like it was the best entertainment she’d seen that night with no intent or sense of urgency to help.

Darkness pressed in on you until everything faded to nothing. Whether it be that you didn’t remember exactly what happened or if it was just so horrible that even your unconscious mind didn’t want to relive it, you would never know, but when you came to everything was red. No matter how many times you’ve relived this nightmare it always returns here. Your vision was streaked in crimson, bodies lay in piles around you. Some were intact, others were heavily injured, the rest were in pieces scattered around you. All of them in pools of their collected blood. Their eyes wide, still, and lifeless. Their expressions frozen as if they were screaming for their lives that never reached your cotton filled ears.

You caught an image of yourself in the rippling reflection in the puddle around your bare feet. You looked like an emissary of Odin himself. S/c skin smeared with blood, and every fiber of your awkwardly torn clothes soaked as well, and dripping down the planes of your thighs. Your sunken eyes were hollow, and lifeless beyond the flicker of wrath held within. Sobs convulsed through your tiny malnourished body and the rusted knife shook violently in your hand. A scream pierced your ear drums and everything began to shake violently. Pressure began to build and squeezed and—

You shot up from the mattress like you were struck with magic, gasping for a clear breath and clawing at the clothes that clung to your form. Loud knocking rattled the door, and a voice you weren’t entirely familiar with yelled at you from the other side. Your thoughts were far away when you stumbled to the door. You took a deep breath and collection your carefully collected facade before pulling the wretched door open. The ninja girl that you saved yesterday smiled widely at you, her lips moving a mile a minute but nothing reached your ears. You weren’t sure if you should consider her a bad omen or a breath of fresh air.

She barely gave you enough time to fix your hair and put your boots on before she herded you into Cloud’s room for weird introductions and strategy planning. Only to find out that the mayor did, in fact, rat you out. You couldn’t find it you to be angry with her though.

An engine roared to life just outside the inn, as Yuffie escaped out the rattling window. The obnoxious revving made your ears ring again and your head throb behind your eye. You’ve met some weird people while traveling with the gang but you never would’ve guessed Cloud had a biker stalker, and surprise surprise hes another soldier. You’ve been awake for all of an hour, and you were so weary you nearly said your goodbyes and parted there. If it wasn’t for that small masochistic part of you that was comforted by the chaos you would’ve been on the first chocobo home.

Once you all regrouped you discussed what you should do now. Shinra wouldn’t arrive until the end of the week when the parade was scheduled to begin. You had three days to kill, and it didn’t seem like a smart move to go topside until the day of. Barret and Cloud didn’t exactly blend into a crowd. So Barret sought out the mayor with a bone to pick as you kept to the back. You just felt so out of place. You didn’t belong with these people. Every piece of you just fought to stay upwards under the immense pressure.

Though here you were, listening as the mayor explained why she did it. She even gave him a portion of their bounty in exchange for the trouble, and the argument stopped there. She pulled her dry brown hair back into a tighter pony before returning her gloved hand to her hip. “Well, since you clearly didn’t have anything better to do, think I could out source you to work?” The mayor, Rhonda, spoke. Barrett nudged Cloud’s shoulder before shuffling in front of him. “The remainder of your bounty- I need it delivered to someone. I’ve already got a porter picked out too.” She whistled and a gray whippet dog came running before sitting back on his haunches at her feet. “This here’s Salmon. Since he’ll be the one making the drop, it’s your job to get him there safe.”

“Doesn’t seem like too much if a hassle, but… who exactly is this money for?” Barret rasped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My son. Haven’t seen him in a spell, not since he left town… and never looked back. This gil is me washing my hands of him.” She mimicked hand washing to accentuate her point. “He’s a grown man. Can’t be clingin’ to his mom’s skirts- or her pocket book.”

“We’ll take the job, for a price.” Cloud said as he shifted his weight.

“Much obliged. Once you make it to the Crows nest, find Toby. He’ll make sure you get the reward. But if I find a single hair outta place on Sam, you won’t live to enjoy it. You keep my boy safe.” She said with a finger pointed at his chest. You scoffed, you hardly doubt that she would last a minute against Cloud, let alone you.

*~*

You decided that Barret was just a man made up of intense contradictions. He was loud, brash, quick to jump the gun, yet could be incredibly gentle, and cautious. He was as stubborn as he was loud and nearly six feet and four inches of hulking muscle. A walking intimidation, yet the first to go to bat for his people. His face, while moderately attractive, was made of sharp lines, and a strong jaw. His glare struck in many through the dark lenses of his shades, and his resting bitch face had people running for the hills. Not to mention the gargantuan canon grafted to his arm. He was both a fierce, loving, and protective father, and the paragon of terrorism- something Shinra monopolized on that.

So the scene unfolding just before you really struck a chord in you. You were never intimated by him personally, you had nerves of steel and skills to back you up, but to see all that muscle, all that bark, hunched over this white and grey mutt scratching behind an ear and cooing his promises to keep him safe with puckered lips like he was speaking to an actual child really dispelled all illusions of his tough guy persona.

“Don’t you worry. Any monster that wants to getcha is gonna have to go through me.” He gave one more scratch under the dogs chin then straightened out to his full height. Salmon, the dog, turned on his heels and scurried down the beaten and barren path that led away from the rotting stench of the sea town. You followed along at the back like a captured spy now held hostage.

There was no joy right now, your circumstances and inner mockery only intensified the emptiness that lingered, but you tried your hardest to focus on the changing terrain, the rocky footpaths slowly fading into something a little more green. There wasn’t much of point you discovered as the back of Tifa’s head beckoned your scrutiny. Every swish of her perfect brown hair ticked like a bomb under your skin just waiting for the clock to hit zero. Her motherly nature shined brightly and lessened Aerith’s concerns, and in that moment you wished you were more like her. Tifa could easily validate someone’s feelings while providing a soothing direction. You actually envied her ability to connect with people, something you struggled with, and it occurred to you that this may have been the first time you’ve ever viewed someone as competition, and the notion left you uncomfortable especially since you truly did enjoy Tifa’s company.

There was still hours of hiking left, and you didn’t want to stare daggers at her back for the remainder of it, so you picked up your pace and slipped between the two of them until you took up a place between the guys at the front. Out of sight out of mind, right? Thankfully for you, Barret was loud enough to drown them out, although being up here came with it’s own challenges. You tried to subdue the rapid thoughts that created the lingering weight that plagued your body, and resisted the deep seeded temptation to sneak a peak at the blonde man to your right. You kept telling yourself that this new stubborn obsession stemmed from curiosity, that’s why, no matter how many times you swiped away the words that formed behind your eyelids, the question always circled back to the forefront of your mind. Was Cloud and Tifa an item? A wistful sigh slipped past your bow shaped lips. You didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were on you, searching for a reason for your distress.

You saw his mouth open to say something out of your peripheral, but before he had a chance to voice his concern Barret was barking out a question, and his heavy gaze finally moved on both giving you a sense of relief and longing. “Hey, Cloud! Remind me, how old were you when you left home?” Fortunately, or maybe not, Barret’s inquiry also piqued your curiosity. You certainly didn’t need to know anymore about him, but the topic was a good distraction from the chaos brewing in your head.

“Fourteen.” He answered simply, his attention returning to the trail in front of you. “No, wait, it was spring so thirteen.”

Barret sucked his teeth a moment in thought. “Suppose that’s usual for small town boys like you. What’d your mom have to say?” As if you didn’t have enough problems rattling inside your skull, as the word mom hit your ears your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. You didn’t think about mothers a whole lot, specifically cause you didn’t really have one. Though now that you were thinking about it, it was hard not to wonder what his mother was like. She must have been a strong woman to have raised such a stubborn man. What would you have been like if your own mother had survived?

“Not much.” The words left his lips so casually as he shrugged. “Didn’t try to stop me- like you said nothing unusual about it. But…”

“But?” Barret badgered.

“Two-thousand gil. She offered me that. ‘Make a fresh start’.” You looked to your shoes to hide the yearning look on your face.

“Guess mom’s are the same, all over.” You scoffed inwardly. Yeah, if only that was true. The mother-like figure you had to endure was a far cry from a good role model. She hadn’t even provided the basic safety and shelter, at least not for free. In her eyes you were just a cash cow, and the debt you racked up just living with her was enough to keep you there forever if not for Sam.

“I turned the money down though. Didn’t need it. I was planning to enlist straight away.” You raised your head to sneak a glance at him for the first time since yesterday. The slant of his mouth inched upwards, a ghost of a smile, like he was recalling the memory. You wonder, did she worry about him? Was she sad to see him go? Was she lonely? It might be sick to wish someone to be sad, but for his sake you did. What kind of mother would she be if his absence didn’t bother her?

“But you still can’t help settin’ your price at two grand. Sentimental ain’t cha?” Barret wiggled his eyebrows at him, Cloud’s lack of response answered his question.

About two hours in your party approached the coast line, and your inner turmoil seemed to mellow out like the slow crashing waves against the rocky shoreline. You held your hand above your eyes as a make shift visor as you looked up at the scorching high noon sun. Something course rubbed along your calf had you casting your stormy e/c eyes down to the source. Red’s large golden eyes, albeit spotted with burning circles that swam as your eyes readjusted, peered up at you as his fur brushed lightly against your skin.

“Are you alright?” He asked, the timbre of his voice so smooth it did put your heart at ease, maybe a litter bittersweet but it was something nonetheless.

“Yeah.” You lowered a hand to ruffle the fur on his head. “I appreciate your concern, but I'm okay. I didn’t get much sleep.” Your gaze wavered from Red to Barret briefly as Barret belted on a “Okay, hear me out.” which usually meant trouble for the rest of you.

“What?” Cloud snapped, his patience for the hulking man nearly spent already. You cocked an eyebrow at Red as you gave him a toothy grin. You angled your head towards the men hoping that Red caught your drift. You sincerely enjoyed the banter and nitpicking between the two.

“Ya know how some parents stop their kids from leavin’ the nest? Claimin’ ‘it’s too soon’ or ‘they’re not ready’” Barret ranted waving his arms here and there to make a point. “Any excuse to keep them at home.”

“What about it?” The crease between Cloud’s eyes returned and his frown deepened.

“Loads of parents’re like that, but I told myself I’d be different.” His big meaty palm thumped at his chest right above his heart. “I’d never keep my little girl from flyin’! I don’t wanna clip her wings! I want ‘er to soar!” Both arms raised through the air, flapping childishly like a bird. Cloud scoffed with an exaggerated eye roll, the barely noticeable smirk not going unnoticed. Barret swirled around to get into his space. “I hear you scoffin’. You think I can’t do it?! You think I’ll keep er all to myself!”

Cloud stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms, his baby blues amusedly gazing over the hulking man. “Oh yeah.” You snickered.

“And that’s what scares me!” Barret erupted, his arms falling heavily to his sides. The two of them moving their feet once again. “As much as I wanna let ‘er fly, I dunno if I’ll be able to let go when the time comes! Maybe I’ll panic- get in her way, hold her down, all to keep her safe! Oh, Marlene! I wish you could be my baby girl forever!” You stared wide eyed at his hysterics. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at. Is he crying? You shot a look at Red to see if he was seeing this shit too. He heaved a heavy sigh, and shaking his head. He wasn’t nearly as entertained as you.

Soon the coast line faded and the path led you higher up hills, and up a rocky cliff past an old decaying boat, an old weather worn flag still lamely adorned the mast. The crumbling brittle ferns were replaced with lush leafy plants and full swaying trees the farther you got from Junon. It wasn't until you passed one of Chadley’s information towers that the gravel path ended and you came across patches of little yellow flowers. Each patch bloomed with different shades of yellow; some light like the sun, others deeper like the hues in Red’s eyes and your favorites were pale and light like the color of a Woodland chocobo or the spikes of his wild hair.

“Oh my sweet baby girl!” His cries took you by surprise, but the tears streaming down his cheeks really left you dumbfounded. This can’t be the same guy who blew up a reactor. It just can’t.

“What now?” Cloud snapped, his steady loss of patience over the day coming to it’s end.

“Your daddy… your silly daddy… he’s gonna…” Barret’s sobs were briefly interrupted as he sniffled wetly between deep shaky breaths. “He’s gonna fail you! Oh, I can’t let you go! I just can’t!”

“Barret, get your shit together!” Cloud snarled. “Marlene’s barely out of diapers. You got time!”

“Right, right. I’m just getting worked up over nothing! Yeah! She won’t be leaving me for awhile!” His sentence started a bit crestfallen before perking up towards the end.

That seemingly was the end of the conversation, but then a few minutes later as you were passing one of the beaten down chocobo rest stops you seen a wicked smirk form on Cloud’s face from the corner of your eye. “Then again…” He trailed off in a mocking tone. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Barret chastised him with a stern ‘Hey’ then the two of them turned to look at you as you doubled over in hysterics. It just caught you so off guard. You hadn’t seen Cloud really joke around, but this fucker was turning out to be a mischievous little shit just like Aerith.

You straightened up and took a deep breath to compose yourself. You reached out and pushed against Cloud’s arm with a wide smile on your face. “You’re such an ass!” His smile faltered as the light force made him take a step back before it changed into something more gentle, more intimate, and you quickly turned to Barret. He stood there frozen and quiet which you didn’t actually think was possible. The girls giggled along behind you, Aerith giving you a pat on the back and then you started moving again. “I wouldn’t worry Barret. After all you clearly know what’s best for her.”

“You mean it?” he asked. You nodded.

“Just look at now. You left her behind to keep her safe, even though I’m sure you’re missing her.”

“You’re right!”

“Also…” you snuck a glance over at Cloud before finishing your train of thought, “Just like Cloud’s mom when she offered him money, you can let her fly and still be the air under her wings. Support is everything.” You heard him sniffle again and you rolled your eyes. Gods he was so unexpectedly emotional. His steps thundered loud against the ground was your only warning to the crushing hug he enveloped you in.

He wrapped his arm around you from behind and squeezed you to his body, picking you up off your feet in the process. You squirmed in his embrace, kicking your feet trying to free yourself before you submitted to your fate. The girls came to your rescue, and tried to pull you free, each pulling on an arm. Aerith even tried to tickle him to get him to release you. When he finally set you down your eyes caught Cloud’s again. The gentle smile, and softened eyes made your chest warm and fluttery. You swallowed it down, and chalked it out to be lingering exhaustion, and stretched out your now sore back.

Salmon started barking from up ahead, and your hand dropped to the hilt along your back out of habit. You couldn’t see anything, but your ears trained on a rhythmic flapping sound, and the hairs on your arm stood up. “There!” You yelled. The others looked up and seen the giant winged fiends. Sandstorm Drakes. “Take cover!” You ducked behind a giant red tank as one of them cast aerora, and you cursed under your breath. You peeked over the metal tank as Cloud grabbed your arm and pulled you back down to cover. Heavy winds soared above you as your chest heaved with adrenaline.

“You okay?” He asked looking no worse for wear.

“Yeah.” You let the quiet settle you as you thought out a plan. You weren’t bad at aerial fighting, but in this instance you didn’t have any long range weapons. You could jump, but you doubted you get a good enough range to land any hits. If you could time it right to use the tank for height you should be able to reach. Cloud shifted besides you and another idea formed in your head as you registered the sound of his sword clanking against the metal tank. You did have materia. You gaze flicked to his, and a sly grin spread across your face. “I can give you an opening.” You could hear Barret screaming at the flying creatures as he shot at them and chime like music of Aerith’s magic hitting its mark. The screeching of the drakes continuously got louder and louder along with the increase pressure of the wind whipping around the battlefield ringing in your ears.

He gave a curt nod before jumping back out there. You creeped around the side of the tank and clutched at the bangle around your wrist concentrating on the green materia slotted into one of the chambers. The orb began to glow before you released the spell and aerora was cast on the closest drake. Its wings beat heavily against the current, but its protective aura faltered and disappeared. You jumped into the fray and scurried behind Aerith’s shield clutching your bangle as you prepared another spell.

A sharp cry pierced the sky as one fell to the ground with an echoing thump as Cloud pierced it in a upward arc. Your second spell landed much like the first however as it’s shield flickered out it became enraged and locked its eyes on Cloud’s falling form. It began to swoop and before you could fully think it through you raced across the land and jumped. Of course you wouldn’t reach its height on your own but as Cloud descended he held his blade flat on its side. As you gained height you planted your feet firmly onto the blade and pushed upwards giving yourself more momentum to gain altitude.

You pulled your sword free from its scabbard and angled back. As soon as the you were in range you plunged the sword into its chest. It’s screech pierced your ears and made them ring painfully the proximity disorienting you for a moment. You firmly brought one foot to its chest and kicked with all your strength to free your sword the movement adding an extra distance between you and the carcass. As fell you realized the fiend was following the same path down only a few feet beside you and there was no way to change direction or move out of the way before it crushed you. You sheathed the sword, the weapon only to cause more harm if you were land on it, and turned you body so you would land sideways. The impact will painful, but you’ll be able to roll away before the drake’s crushing weight would flatten you like a pancake.

Here it comes. You thought as you tucked your arms in before your body met the unforgiving ground. You bit your lip to contain the scream that died in your throat as your arm took the brunt of the impact. You rolled three times before coming to a halt.

You flopped your head back for a second to just process the pain shooting through your body, a warm heat radiating from your forearm. You took a few shaky breathes as the intensity faded. Nothing that a simple cure spell wouldn’t heal. You propped yourself back on the uninjured elbow to make sure everyone else was okay. Aerith dusted of the bottom of her dress, Tifa was messing with the straps of gloves, Barret was adding extra bullets to one of the fiends, Red sat back licking a paw, and Cloud was faced away from you slotting his sword back onto his back. Looks like no one else is hurt.

As the fiends broke down and return to the lifestream in ribbons of twirling luminescent greens you tuned in to the way the Planet welcomed them home. You always wondered why humans didn’t return to the planet the same way. Souls, yes, but the bodies are usually sent out to sea or buried, sometimes even cremated. You weren’t sure if other people could feel it the way you do, but it felt different when the two species returned. Fiends are warm and accepting of the change as if that was what they were born to do. Humans felt more complex, though it could be because you were the one to send them ‘home’. Some fought it, other times the strands felt empty or sad, or extremely angry, but no matter the emotion the lifestream was there to accept them, leaving their empty husks behind. You could only hope that people who leave this life to cross to the next, who died of natural causes, went more peacefully.

Does Aerith feel them too? It was a valid question. As a Cetra you imagined she could feel the lifestream better than you. Could she hear them?

The hand that was outstretched towards you came into focus as you blinked yourself back to reality. “You good?” Cloud asked as you took his gloved hand in your own.

As he pulled you to your feet a sharp pain blazed across your forearm. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting though his blue eyes flicked down to the offending appendage. You huffed as you regained your footing cocking your good arm on your hip to mask the throbbing. Damn thing is probably broken. “Why does everyone keep asking me that today?”

“That wasn't an answer.” He shot back as he scratched at the back of his neck.

You huffed and poked his forehead with a finger. Your eyes narrowing as you studied him. “You’re to observant.” You spoke low and smooth, then retreated from where you wished to be.

Salmon barked down the road and if the windmills, and tattered fences were anything to go by you were close to Crow’s Nest.

*~*

Cloud followed after Toby into the wooden walls of Crow’s Nest and down the rocky trail that led into the fortress. Toby rambled on and on though it all went in one ear and out his other, you consumed every little thing that raced through his head right now. He’d taken his eyes off you for a second as seven of you entered and in that second you were gone, and if he was being honest he wasn’t sure if he’d find you again.

Walking in he couldn’t help but notice the sturdy structure, safety was always his top priority. It was smart that they used the rough rocky mountain as part of their defense, he’ll give them that, but they needed a much gate and guard system. Then there was these sand bags piled up along the left wall, and he could only hope they weren’t there to hold up the wall— it wouldn’t surprise him though.

At the bottom Tifa and Aerith also broke off the main group to take a look around, and with some luck one of them would run into you. The gravel under his feet turned to smooth stone, albeit uneven, as he descended into the heart of the town. He paused to scan his surroundings, that’s what his excuse was anyway, but really he was searching for you. He relented before climbing up the stairs to the bar after Toby, Barret and Red close behind him.

He caught the gist of what Toby wanted. Fiends at the lighthouse, and Kyrie causing more trouble. He huffed and rolled his eyes, a hand landing on his hip in irritation. With Red’s nose and his annoyance directed at the wannabe merc they decided they should probably deal with this. They could set out in the morning, take care of it, then make their way back to Junon in time for the big event.

He didn’t spend another minute taking about it though, he was already down the stairs and looking for their lodging for the night. With that injury he thought that’d be the best place to start his search.

When that came up empty, checked out the cliffs that overlooked the sea. More often that not he’d run into you- on purpose, but he’d never admit that- on your own away from their make shift camp for the night basking in the quiet of nature. He liked to think it was the privacy you craved, much like himself, though when you were asked you said you just felt more relaxed under the open sky. But, now as he stared out and the sunset over the cliff side you were nowhere in sight.

He seen the flow of the skirt of Aerith’s dress before he heard her. “Looking for Y/n?” He turned to see her better at the pier just up the staircase next to him. Both of her hands were clasped behind her back as she swayed along with the wind, the wood creaking beneath her feet as she moved.

He didn’t hesitate, or grow embarrassed, this time. “Have you seen her?”

She skipped down the steps her smile growing in diameter as she stepped up to him. She opened her mouth to tease him, he was sure of it, before her brows wrinkled and a frown replaced her smile. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since we came in.”

“Right.” He nodded and mumbled a quick ‘Thanks’ before stalking off, with just a bit more gusto, to resume his search.

You’ve been acting strange since last night- no-before that. Whatever Gabe said to you was the beginning. You distanced yourself from everyone leading your chocobo behind the rest of them. You masked it with a charming smile and deflected questions, but he noticed. He always notices. The light didn’t reach your eyes as you joked around, and you didn’t even try to scold Barret for being obnoxious. He seen the way your movements were sluggish, how you stumbled on your feet as you hacked at the Terror of the Deep. He waved it off as exhaustion, so much has happened in just two days. Even he was wearing down. He hoped a good nights sleep was all you needed.

But you looked worse than just exhausted as you slumped over the door in the inn. All worry and doubt he felt from his conversation with Tifa disappeared when he seen you. You looked so defeated. The door the only thing keeping you on your feet as you stared vacantly at it. His chest tightened and he stumbled closer. He didn’t know what to do. Comforting people wasn’t exactly his specialty though when called out to you that seemed to help. His heart dropped to his stomach when you just shrugged him off and slipped inside your room leaving him to stare where you were just moments before. He warred with him self for a moment between knocking on your door or leaving you be, ultimately he turning back to his down and going inside with a slump in his shoulders. Had you even noticed that he called out to you?

He couldn’t sleep of course, not that he ever did anymore. Even the tiniest of sounds were enough to have him stirring, but last night he was filled with a restless energy. Every time he closed his eyes your crestfallen expression appeared. He tossed and turned for upwards of an hour before giving up, settling on some sit ups until his muscles ached and his eyelids drooped.

When the first rays of sunlight filtered in through his window everyone was herded into the room, and that’s when he started to think he’d done something wrong. You lingered in the back, you didn't offer any suggestions, you wouldn’t look in his direction at all. Every time he checked on you you had that same far off look glued onto your pretty face. He couldn’t think of anything he did to upset you, unless he creeped you out in the mines- and honestly he wouldn’t blame you. The timing just didn’t make sense though. You got along fine until you left the ranch. He spent most of the day agonizing over how to mend the situation, and frustrated that he was too awkward to know what to say.

Then out of nowhere you brightened up again, your laugh as breathtaking as the radiant smile on your face. Pride swelled in his chest and a heat rushed to his cheeks. He made you laugh. His heart still throbbed when he thought about the way your hand felt so warm against his upper arm as you pushed him playfully. He didn’t think you’d been listening to Barret’s nonsense either, yet there you comparing the knucklehead to his mom.

He really thought that would be the end of whatever was going on with you, but now he thinks he may have overstepped. He was just going to tell you your fighting was good as always or maybe something less lame when he held out his hand to help you up. But he saw it. Your lips pushed together in a thin line, your eyes slid shut, and if it weren't for his enhanced senses he would’ve missed the sharp breath that you sucked in. His eyes flicked down to your arm. Your arm tensed creating an unnatural shift of bone underneath the skin. He just stared dumbly at it. “Why does everyone keep asking me that today?” Playful tone and a clever deflection once again. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed the issue. You clearly were hiding it from everyone, which made him irrationally angry. What you said next worried him. With a finger pressed to his forehead your whispered words cut sharply into him, “You’re too observant.” Your eyes cold and hardened, but he swears there was an underlying fear beneath the icy exterior and then he realized maybe you two weren’t that different.

You built this solid wall around yourself to keep everyone a safe distance around you never being aloud to cross the distance. You can’t get hurt if you never let anyone in but in reality you just cage yourself in. He did the same, only he used his broody nature and impassive strength. Until the plate fell he was able to do a job with no concern for the client, keeping a barrier between their problems and his feelings, now with this journey being so entwined with Sephiroth it was hard not care. Maybe that’s why he feels drawn to you. For the first time he wants be the one to reinforce your strengths. He was determined to reach you even if he had to break the damn doors down himself.

His hand threaded behind his neck up to scratch at his nape as he went re-climbed the steps to the bar taking two stairs at a time. He stalled at the top as a familiar remedy. The gentle and harmonious hum echoed through the open frame leading into the unfinished bar.

Melancholy and nostalgia filled him and constricted his chest like a vice. He ambled slowly to the wooden framing and settled himself against the smooth stone to watch the scene unfolding before him. He had expected Tifa to be the one playing this old song. Instead there you were. Sat straight on the black wooden bench your fingers gracefully pressing against the old piano keys creating the melody song he heard growing up in Nibelheim. The song took him back to his childhood bedroom listening intently to the girl, Tifa, next door practicing it at all hours of the day. You were the only one consuming his thoughts now, and what a vision you were. Your e/c irises were hidden behind closed eyelids. The smooth planes of your face looked relaxed, but dejected. His awestruck stare followed down the slope of your perfect button nose, and over the bow shape lines of your down-turned lips The low lighting from the lights strung above the both of your heads emphasized the highlight in your hair swayed back and forth around your bare shoulders in time with the glide of your fingers as you recalled each note meticulously from memory.

He glanced quickly around the bar finding nothing but empty seats around round tables. His legs brought him closer to you out of their own volition as if the very thought of you beckoned him closer. “Where’d you learn that?”

Your fingers faltered on the keys, and your body lurched in fear, a tiny squeak escaping your lips. Cute. “Son of a-” You took in a deep breath to calm yourself before the full weight of your glare was on him. “You’re the only one that has ever snuck up on me! Stop it!”

He laughed, the noise sounding odd to his own ears. “Sorry.” He scratched at his nape once again as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He propped Hardedge against the wall then closed the distance between you. He felt silly for lowering himself onto the narrow bench so slowly but he wanted to make sure you had no objections. The bench had just enough room to sit comfortably apart, but with a newfound sense of courage he slid closer to you, feigning ignorance to the available space, so the sides of your arms rest against one another. His pulse pounded in his ears and his hands grew clammy as they rested on his knees.

“I was at a ranch near Nibelheim. The owner’s daughter taught me the song.” You looked up at him with curious orbs. “You grew up in Nibelheim, right?” He nodded his head. “Tifa, too?”

His throat clenched at your inquiry. Nibelheim wasn’t something he usually talked about, the mere memories enough to dredge up a rapid river of intense emotions. Fear, hatred, devastation. He often found it to be a topic of great discomfort. It could've been the song that eased the wounds or possibly all the discussion of his mother this morning, but for the first time in a long time he wasn’t so hesitant to talk about home. “Yeah.”

You looked back down at your fingers that hovered over the keys. “You guys must’ve been close.” You mumbled.

He shrugged, “Not really.” He was hyper focused on the way your arm brushed against his as he readjusted. “I was… I’ve always been… like this.” Awkward, and unsociable. He wanted to say.

He hadn’t realized the difference in your height before now as he towered a head and half above you. His soft gaze falling down to your lips. It was enough that he’d have to lean down to—

“But, you guys seem really close now.” You peered back up at him through the loose strands of hair framing your face. He quickly turned his head to stare at the wall to hide the heat that was spreading under his skin.

“I guess…” His relationship with Tifa seemed to be rocky as of late, but he couldn’t deny she was important to him. “She’s like a sister.” His answered lamely as he turned his attention to the keys before him.

“Really?” The inclination of your voice pulled his eyes back to your own, the warm hue soothing the wave of anxious jitters he was experiencing. “I would’ve pegged you guys to be more than that.” You bumped the ball of your shoulder against his bicep.

“What? It’s not like that.” He quickly huffed. His reaction pulled another musical laugh from you, something he was slowly becoming addicted to he feared.

“If you say so.” You teased.

The tension in your body practically dissolved with his answer, and the sparkle in your eyes that he’d grown accustom to returned casting the once dull and emptiness back to the recesses from which they came. He relaxed and exhaled the bout of nerves that plagued him before he settled into the comfortable silence. You returned to playing the Nibelheim lullaby, the warmth of your arm rubbing against his taking precedence at the fore front of his mind, when he remembered why he was worried about you in the first place. He observed your facial expression at first looking for any signs of discomfort and when he saw none he moved his attention to the offending appendage. His frown deepened as he looked for any unnatural shift beneath your skin. It appeared to be fine. There was no bruising or swelling. Your movement was clean and precise. You must have snuck off to mend it in privacy, but even with healing materia it must be sore. “How’s your arm?”

Your e/c orbs narrowed slightly, your nostrils flaring as you exhaled sharply. He was actually beginning to like this side of you. You’ve been level headed and witty the entire time, along with being a good conversationalist and polite when speaking to anyone. So to see your temper flare and an attitude when this didn’t go your way was almost refreshing to him. Perhaps something was fundamentally wrong with him, or maybe a part of him took pleasure that he was the only one to see it. “Nothing materia couldn’t fix.”

He itched to press the issue further to see more of your fiery personality, but her erred on the side of caution. Your answer was satisfactory so he supposed he could drop it. He peeled his eyes from you, now slightly embarrassed he’d been staring for so long, and looked down to the keys on the old instrument. He let his own fingers slide over the naturals and pressing onto each note softly creating a different song he’d learned in Midgar. Your fingers slide off and landed in your lap. He could feel the way you gawked at him the weight of it nearly burning holes into the side of his head. He felt heat rush to the tips of his ears as you propped yourself up on an elbow to watch him.

“So Mr. Soldier, when on Gaia did you have the time to learn piano? Or was that part of your training too?”

He realized he never actually told anyone this, and the thought of sharing it with you made him feel exposed. Yet he wanted to share this piece of himself with you. “I got homesick… when i enlisted. I had a lot of time on my hands before I climbed the ranks.” Your bought your hands back to the ivory notes pressing down on a few to play a complementary part the song. The two of you sat together of upwards of an hour side by side playing a few different melodies you’d learned over the course of your travels.

You movements stilled and fingers hovered above the keyboard. You turned around, your back now facing the piano, and looked above to the sky through the holes in the ceiling. He too let the music die there and angled towards you. As you admired the sky he shamelessly stared at you. His chest tightening as his eyes trailed over the slope of your nose and glazing over the smooth strands of hair illuminated by the twinkling lights and rays of moonlight.

Your irises moved down to meet his own as a smile graced your lips. “Thank you.” You voice sounding smaller in comparison under the stars. “I feel lighter now.” His brows scrunched minutely as he briefly pondered your words. He didn’t have to chance to linger on the statement, though, your soft warm hand inched towards his. You gently laced your fingers through his and giving his a small squeeze before pulling away and standing up. With one more pat to his shoulder you walked towards the entrance. “Good night, soldier boy.”

He gazed up and the night sky hoping to find what you found so intoxicated by the moon, and he caught himself smiling. He didn’t know if your growing relationship was romantic or not, but he decided that he wasn’t going to shy away from it like he did with almost everyone. No, if he wanted to be the air under your wings then he too would bare his soul to you.

[mouthful-of-glass]

To Pick Up the Pieces Ch16 preview

Go read the story here: Link

Preview under the cut!

Jaime’s heart thundered against his chest. Not from exertion, Artemis and he hadn’t been running or fighting; they’d been walking at a lax pace. His heart was not beating from adrenaline in the classic sense. There was no fighting, no immediate danger. That was the keyword.

Immediate.

If Slade were to know he was being followed, then there’d be danger. Very much immediate and future. The thought that this decision might come back to bite his family in the ass was winding Jaime tighter than the steel cable of an anchor. He just hoped he wouldn’t snap under the pressure.

As if sensing his troubled mind, Artemis squeezed his hand. Their fingers were still entwined; and she pulled him this way and that, taking the brunt of the mental load of balancing distance from their target, and looking like a young couple out on the town.

Jaime was slightly unnerved by her ability to look like she was genuinely enjoying herself while tracking down the world’s best mercenary. She’d stop here and there, chatting with a clerk or a passerby as they advanced too slowly for Jaime’s taste.

Artemis showed him some knickknack from a stall, but his eyes were focused on Slade’s retreating form down the street. She exchanged words with the clerk, who perked up at the sight of customer who wasn’t brain dead. Slade was almost out of sight. Jaime’s hand tightened instinctively, and after maybe a minute Artemis was only now putting down the bauble she’d been holding.

“He always like this?” said the clerk, a woman between Jaime and Artemis in age.

“Oh, no. He caught me in bed with his brother,” Artemis replied deadpan, catching Jaime’s attention as she dragged him away to follow their target.

“What?!” Jaime and the clerk asked at the same time.

She picked up the pace, the two almost running down the street, noting the corner Slade took. Two streets down, on the left. Jaime slowed to a brisk walk, Artemis following suit and slowing down further as they neared the corner.

Jaime prayed to God that Slade wasn’t standing just around the corner, waiting for them. Knowing his luck, that’s exactly what would happen.

Artemis peeked around the red brick building. Her shoulders dropped a fraction, and Jaime panicked. Rushing around her, Jaime turned the corner.

“He’s gone!” Jaime swore. Gone… and worse, the scarab wasn’t pinging anything. No heat signatures. No cloaked vehicles. No digital trace. It was like Slade had never existed. 

Jaime clenched his jaw, muscles flexing painfully as he sent out a request to the scarab; look everywhere, he pleaded, and felt the fire in his nerves as the world twisted in the telltale fisheye distortion of the scarab’s full sight for a second.

A second was all he managed; without suiting up, the scarab had less of an interface to connect with to upgrade Jaime’s senses.

The street was empty. Not ‘empty’ as in Slade being gone, no; it was oddly devoid of life. Not a single person waiting for a bus that was late, a car burning a red light, or even a cab waiting for a customer. No stalls. Just a strip of cement with shops.

It looked like a movie set after hours.

“He must’ve known someone was trailing him,” Artemis mumbled, joining him. Her shoulders were tense, and Jaime could read wariness in her coiled muscles.

Alert.

Like they stepped into a trap.

Jaime’s blood ran cold. The hair on the back of neck rose with a shiver as his eyes scanned the street over and over, looking for a hint, a clue; anything. As if some spell had been broken by Artemis’ words, people rounded the corner behind them, and the street started filling up as normal. People exited the shops and a bus came from down the hill.

“You’re vibrating,” Artemis whispered to him.

Jaime’s eyes snapped into focus. “Of course I’m fucking vibrating!” he growled at her. “We lost him! He was right there!”

Artemis tugged at his hand to make him face her. Reluctantly, he turned. “Hey, it was lucky we even bumped into him. Nothing happened, and as far as Slade goes, that’s for the best.” Her words were kind, but her tone was tight; Jaime could tell she hated losing her prey just as much as Jaime, if not more.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Jaime replied darkly. “You’re not the one being hunted.”

She stepped closer. “You’re not alone in this, Jaime, you-“

“You’re right,” Jaime cut her off. “We don’t even know if he clocked us. My family could be in danger, because-“ He stopped himself.

“Do not blame yourself for this,” she chided him. “Aside from maybe Nightwing, I’m the best tracker on this team and he escaped me, too. We’ll find him and put a stop to this.” She inched closer, caressed his cheek with her free hand.

Jaime forced himself not to recoil. He couldn’t look at Artemis, let alone reply properly. Instead he just hummed a sound between a grunt of acknowledgment or a groan.

Mollified, or at least appearing to be, Artemis started walking, gently tugging him along. “Come on, let’s get you home. ‘S that sound good?”

“Sure,” he sighed, still not looking at her.

Jaime spent most of their walk with a dark cloud over him. Angry, scared thoughts echoing in his head, as the city soundscape was replaced by a piercing headache; not the usual vague buzzing, alert at every possibility, but rather a laser-focused ringing that pointed one way. Artemis. He hated himself for thinking this, but if she’d been tailing Slade properly instead of slowly meandering throughout the damn market, they would’ve caught him escaping around the corner.

If he’d been allowed to suit up, he could’ve used his sensors to track him.

Instead, what was supposed to be a fun afternoon with the girl he liked turned out to be a nightmare.

Artemis had tried to initiate conversation with him once or twice, but Jaime pointedly ignored her attempts to lighten the mood; his mind elsewhere, focused on his family’s safety.

“We should hurry,” he said at length, sounding more tired than he had in weeks. Picking up the pace, he slipped his fingers from Artemis’.

She slowed to a stop, Jaime didn’t.

“Jaime,” she called out to him, firmly but not unkindly.

Jaime slowed to a stop, hands shaking, she caught up to him. “I know you’re worried about your family,” she started, putting a hand on his chest. “I am too.” Her voice was so soft, so gentle. It sounded like a confession, like she shouldn’t be worried for them.

He looked away. “It’s not just that,” he mumbled.

“Tell me,” she asked.

Mulling it over, he led her over to a bench and sat down like a man who lost everything. He felt like it, like he was losing himself. Jaime was not an angry, vengeful person. He didn’t have hurtful thoughts. He chose not to, chose to follow in his parents’ footsteps. The Reyes were kind people, no matter how hard of a decision it was to be nice in the face of pain and anger.

So why did he feel like yelling at Artemis? He felt like making sure she knew he blamed her for losing Slade. More than the anger and fear, Jaime was confused and uneasy about even having those thoughts and emotions. They needed to come out.

Finally, he sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Earlier,” he began, voice deliberately soft. “When we… when you, uh…” He paused, trying to gather himself not to verbally bite her head off.

He felt her gentle hand on his back. She left a hot trail of desire and annoyance as she trailed circles that were supposed to calm him. His heartbeat picked up the speed.

“Jaime,” she said, cutting through his thoughts with her tone more than his name. “I’m… I’m sorry, I should’ve said something sooner.”

His head shot up to look at her. His mouth opened, then closed right away. He wanted to speak but wasn’t sure what to say. She was bathed in golden light, and her eyes were open in a way he hadn’t been privy to, not since their date.

Artemis was being vulnerable with him.

“Are you… a mind reader?” he asked at length, puzzled.

She offered a small, sad smile. “No, but it’s been on my mind since it happened.” Her eyes and her fingers trailed to his shoulder, where she picked at a loose thread. “I was actually hoping you would bring it up.”

That puzzled him further. “I didn’t even think you noticed,” he admitted, feeling ashamed. Of course she would be able to read him like that, to know he was angry at her; and that the anger was tormenting him.

Gentle, lithe fingers softly reached for his chin, nudging him to look at her. Their noses almost brushed against each other, and Jaime felt her breath on him. His sight was filled with her steely greys, her long eyelashes; eyes usually filled with fury were not open and gentle. Brittle, almost.

“How could I not notice?” she whispered, and Jaime’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “The sparks, the… heat.”

What? Heat? His eyes opened slowly, confused, searching hers for a hint. Her beautiful eyes were crinkled with her grin - not a smirk, and not those soft small smiles reserved for the quiet moments together. She looked almost… giddy.

Artemis was glowing, the pink hue on her cheeks deepening in the golden setting sun’s light. “Jaime, that kiss… It meant something to me, more than just a cover.”

Jaime’s breath hitched. Her fingers moved from his chin down to his neck, holding onto him with her thumb gently rubbing over his pulses; every motion shooting up his beats per minute. Blood rushed through his veins, and Jaime lost sight and sound of the world.

Rather, his world focused to her; everything else faded to a mere afterthought.

“Tell me,” she asked in a whisper, voice not quite pleading. Almost ordering, as if she knew what his reply would be already. “Tell me you feel the same, Jaime.”

The anger that was burning was replaced by another emotion, another fire that blazed much more hotly; wildfire in comparison to a sun flare.

Jaime’s mouth parted, but no words came out. His eyes were fixed to hers, and thoughts of his family faded for a moment. He knew this wasn’t the time. That thinking about Artemis like this, wanting this, was selfish. But… Just for now, he thought, pleading to himself, to the world. Just for now, let me have this.

His fingers twitched, halting once hesitantly as his hand made its way to cradle her cheek . Just a flicker of tension. He didn’t know if this would fix anything—or just make it worse.

[highoctanebelle]

— BASICS

Name: savannah "savvy" mcrae Age / D.O.B.: 30 & May 31st Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: cisfemale, she/her, bisexaul Hometown: birmingham, alabama Affiliation: civilian Job position: race car driver Education: some college Relationship status: single Children: n/a Positive traits: determined, charismatic, hardworking, resilient, & loyal Negative traits: stubborn, impulsive, risk taker, impatient, & reckless

— BIOGRAPHY

born and raised just outside birmingham, alabama, savannah mcrae came into the world with a V8 engine practically purring in her blood. her daddy ran the only garage in town worth a damn, and from the time she could walk, she was shadowing him through the shop like a grease-streaked shadow. while the other girls were playing dress-up, savvy was learning to tear down carburetors and rebuild engines. her southern charm was unmistakable — all soft smiles and sugar-sweet drawl — but so was her grit. she didn’t just inherit her father’s talent with machines, she inherited his unshakable fire to win. savvy started racing go-karts at 12, and by 16, she was sneaking onto dirt tracks with a fake ID and nerves of steel. at 20, she made her NASCAR debut — one of the youngest women to do so — and spent the next decade earning her place on the circuit. known for her aggressive racecraft and fierce determination, she clocked multiple wins and a reputation as the one to watch. sponsors loved her clean-cut looks and charisma, but on the track, she was anything but gentle. she raced like she was born to — fast, focused, and fearless. but now, at 30, savvy’s hunger isn’t satisfied by just turning left. she’s set her sights on IndyCar — sharper cars, tighter tracks, higher stakes. It’s not just a career shift; it’s a whole new game. she’s trading in stock car muscle for open-wheel precision, and she knows she can’t fake her way through it. that’s why she’s turning to heath — the man who just cemented his legacy with the triple crown of motorsport and a dominant Indy 500 win. if anyone can help her make the leap and thrive, it’s him. savvy’s never been afraid to be the only woman in the room, and she sure as hell isn’t scared to be the rookie again. what she lacks in IndyCar experience, she makes up for in adaptability and pure racing instinct. she doesn’t just want to keep up — she wants to lead the pack. and even though she’s stepping into heath’s world, she’s not coming in to ride coattails. she’s coming to compete, to learn, and eventually, to win. on the surface, she’s still got that southern belle polish — blonde curls, bright blue eyes, and a wardrobe that somehow mixes boots and fireproof suits — but underneath it all, she’s steel. she’s had to fight her way through every assumption, every patronizing pat on the head, every whispered doubt. And she’s done it all with a smile, a wink, and her foot hard on the gas. now standing on the edge of a new chapter, savannah mcrae is more than just a crossover story. she’s a racer with legacy in her hands, ambition in her heart, and a fire that refuses to burn out. IndyCar might be a different kind of battlefield, but make no mistake — she didn’t come to play. she came to take the checkered flag.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS ~~coming soon~~

[leatherstumps]

PENAL AMPUTATION PROCEDURE

My PENAL AMPUTATIONS were done in the Prison’s PUNITIVE SURGERY ROOM. The LEATHER Prisoners just call it “The Butcher Shop.” That’s all it is: a grimy room where meat’s cut up. You couldn’t hardly call it surgery. All they do is take prisoners in there an’ AMPUTATE their hands, feet, arms, legs, and penises as punishment. And, as far as bein’ refined about it, all they do is cut ‘em off, an’ stitch up the open STUMPS with rawhide LEATHER.

The work’s done on bare stainless steel tables, under bare fluorescent lights. The cement floor is slanted to a drain in the middle of the large, brick-walled room. At one end, there’s a door to a refrigerated room. Along the back wall, there’s a row of meat hooks over a trough with a drain. Your AMPUTATED meat’s hung on the hooks, open end down, to drain the blood out. At the other end of the room, there’s a door to an incinerator, where your AMPUTATED meat’s burned after they make you look at it and touch it, and they’re through scarin’ new LEATHERBOYS with it. There are some stainless carts with plastic tubs on ’em to roll around piles of ARMS, LEGS, HANDS, FEET, and PENISES. They can pile up on a busy morning, when things have to move fast ’cause there’s LEATHER PRISONERS waitin’ in line for their AMPUTATIONS. There’re three AMPUTATION tables.  There've been some mornings they’ve done 80 or 90 AMPUTATIONS, between 7:00 am and noon!

The tools are what you’d find in a butcher shop, but less extensive. Just large and small knives, hacksaws, a six-inch, course file, large scissors, very large sewing needles, branding irons, and iron pokers, heated red hot for burnin’ “bleeders.” Bleeders are the big blood vessels in your  STUMPS. Burnin’ ’em seals ’em so they stop bleedin’. There are also long, brown RAWHIDE LEATHER laces. They’re used with the big sewing needles for stitchin’ up your STUMPS. PENAL AMPUTATIONS are a lot simpler than Medical AMPUTATIONS, and don’t need as many tools, or as much care, as butchering.

For each PENAL AMPUTATION, the PENAL AMPUTATION TECH uses a small knife t’ peel back a flap of skin from the part of the limb just below the site of PENAL AMPUTATION. The flaps are pulled up, and stay attached, just above the site of PENAL AMPUTATION. Just below where the flaps are attached, the PENAL AMPUTATION TECH does a straight chop PENAL AMPUTATION, usin’ a long, knife t’ cut through muscle and tendons, down to the bone. This’ll take some effort, ‘cause the knife’s pretty dull.  When he’s though all that meat, he uses a hacksaw, t’ cut the bone. He grabs a red-hot iron poker to cauterize open blood vessels, and washes out the open STUMP with an antibiotic solution. The course file’s used to take the sharp edges off the STUMP bone. Then, the AMPUTATION TECH folds the flap back down over the raw, flat PENAL STUMP end, trims it t’ match the shape of the STUMP, an’ sews it to the skin around the open PENAL STUMP with RAWHIDE LEATHER LACES. The just-closed STUMP-FLAP is then branded,

“PUNITIVE STUMP–NO RE-AMPUTATION”.

Just enough local anethetic is used to keep you from passin’ out. It hurts a lot! I was kept fully conscious to watch and feel my PENAL AMPUTATIONS. To see my legs turned into PENAL STUMPS!

PENAL AMPUTEES aren’t allowed to wear prosthetics. That’s why PENAL AMPUTATIONS are done with a straight cut, to leave a prominent bone. That prevents the use of any artificial limb. Since the ends of the muscles surrounding the STUMP bone aren’t attached to anything, they atrophy and retract after the AMPUTATION, leaving the STUMP bone even more prominant after a couple of weeks. The brand on every PENAL AMPUTATION STUMP is to warn any outside surgeon not to RE-AMPUTATE to make a muscle-cushioned, weight-bearing STUMP, like you’d find in a Medical AMPUTATION. Because the ends of the bones in my PENAL STUMPS are only covered by thin PENAL STUMP-FLAPS, there’s no way I would ever be able t’ stand on my PENAL LEG STUMPS. I can’t use artificial LEGS because there’s no muscle cushion t’ keep the prominent STUMP bones from rubbin’ right through the PENAL STUMP-FLAPS against the LEATHER bucket of a prosthesis, causing an open wound.

[infantisimo]

on spotting an empty bench, i said to my friend let's get some back support. he said not the steel one, it'll be cold; let's take the cement one in front of the white police booth. the police booth is a big white rectangular cargo-type container. we took our plastic tea cups there and he was talking about facebook's brain scan research where the ai could almost accurately replicate what a person was thinking. a destitute child asked for tea, my friend caught the attention of rakesh the tea seller - no not rakesh; but his uncle and gestured to him. the boy went to get his tea. we talked a while more. we went to get another round of chai. on returning to our bench i noticed 4 men behind the glass window of the police booth. my friend and i sat down and we talked a while more.

suddenly, the white door flung open and out flew a young man, making a run for it, followed by the people inside the booth. someone in a yellow sweatshirt body checked him, thwarting his escape. faster than a blink, a mob had assembled. a mob of the same people who seconds ago, were hanging out drinking eating talking laughing; on a date, after office, killing time; all sorts of people. i noticed the uncle of the tea seller holding the lathi in the mob and at least 8 people trying to subdue the young man who dropped his entire body weight to the ground to prevent being taken back in. despite his resistance, they dragged him closer and closer to the white door of the police booth. as he approached the police booth, he tried again to resist. i noticed a mobile phone in his hand. as he approached us, my friend said let's leave, he's out of control. so we did. after a lot of struggle, they managed to bring him through the white door. i noticed the cop. he wore a leather jacket but his khaki pants and shoes gave him away. mind you, just a few paces away is a police station. i turned around to look through the mob gathered outside the white booth and saw them finally making the young man sit. my friend said let's get away, let's not be part of the mob so we went and sat near the parking lot. i could hear the sounds of the beating. i told my friend the same. we talked a while more.

my eyes kept going to the police booth. the steel benches had been turned to face the window of the police booth. people watching. many had returned to their pre-mob positions. back to hanging out, drinking eating laughing; on a date, after office, killing time. i saw the street performer gold glittered standing immobile, a case open with a few rupees and qr code. i could hear the music to which the dancing group perfomed. same: a case open with a few rupees and qr code. i could hear the strings of guitar and some group vocalising. i could hear the sound of beating and in particular saw a middle aged lady in a shalwar suit sitting cross legged on the bench. watching the booth... smiling. this is anupam saket shopping complex.

my friend and i, we talked a while more. after some time, i noticed the young man. he held his gut, his pants riding up his leg, trying to walk towards a paanwadi, then to a dhaba where he struggled to sit down, then the waiter cleared the steel tumbler and glasses; a sign that the young man was not welcome. i looked to the booth and saw in the distance the cop in the centre, two men i had seen earlier in the booth on either side of him. i told my friend he's out. he was surprised. they let him leave? they didn't book him? so he wasn't the thief? i said no. i saw him dial on his phone, as he did so a man surreptitiously recorded him on his phone. the beaten young man struggled to walked towards us, talking on his phone: bahut peeta hai, aiims jaa raha hoon. i saw him walk through the parking lot and disappear.

i told my friend i suspected this was casual violence. what is casual violence? why didn't you do anything? he mocked. why didn't you raise your arms and shield him? he mocked. i said i don't know. he said it's because you could not; there was a mob of at least 60 people surrounding him. they would have got you too. i thought out loud. it is always the same. the same people. the same situation. the same positions. playing out again and again. each one playing the same role. from the couples on dates to rakesh the tea seller and his uncle, to the balloon sellers to the destitute families, to you and me. it runs under the seams. this sudden, casual violence. always wanting the white door to fling open and the mob to sacrifice and kill the one fleeing. i didn't do anything about it. i just observed. i wish he had escaped. my friend said don't beat yourself over it now. he mocked. that guy has already gotten enough. he pointed. i saw the young man again. lingering around the police booth. the cop still talking to the two people on either side. not even noticing the young man.

[talisa-the-steel]

Who: @arr0s Where: The streets where celebration is When: Progress Day Celebration (Days 1 or 2) Notes: Let me know if you need any changes!

The crowds the Progress Day festivities drew in further attracted opportunists. Some were thieves, others pickpockets, and others yet trying to make an honest (or dishonest) copper. Of course, there were the formal exhibitions and the booths stocked to the brim with finery that merchants and traders had held onto for the last year to showcase at this most important event. Surely Talisa would comb through the wares on display to add to her horde. If she was feeling charitable enough, she might even select something as a gift for Fyren to try to lift his spirits regarding the fate of Falon’Din. But for now? For now she was far more interested in the street performers and those who set up shop to peddle some sort of service instead. 

The first of these smaller, service based vendors the Steel simply could not resist was a palmist. The mysticism and drama around a palm reading was the type of indulgent, preternatural activity that Talisa thought to be a lark. Of course, there was no way to intuit whether or not the palmist stationed in the shadows between the city’s structures was worth their salt without the risk of paying a few coins to a potential crook. But Talisa did also value a second opinion to help cement her opinion of whether or not the reading was genuine. She glanced at the person next to her clad in some armor she had seen around several times and likely wouldn’t have recognized if she wasn’t already familiar with the Legionnaire Hakon. “You wouldn’t happen to have any interest in finding out if that palmist is veritable, would you?” she asked the woman beside her. She lifted a hand, two glimmering gold coins affixed between her thin fingers rather than just one. “I’d be happy to pay in exchange for your judgement on their authenticity. It will be fun.” 

[divinely-ruled]

WAYS TO BECOME A TRUE ALPHA MALE 🐺 🔥 🥶

1. Only eat cement. 2. Train 25 hours a day, 9 days a week. 3. Hydrate with motor oil. 4. Sleep with your eyes open. 5. Fight gravity. 6. Shave with a chainsaw. 7. Wear steel-toed boots to bed. 8. Only cry when cutting rebar. 9. Bench press your problems. 10. Replace deodorant with gunpowder. 11. Punch the sun. 12. Run uphill both ways. 13. Only drink lava. 14. Build a house with your bare hands. 15. Don’t just chop wood—chop forests. 16. Grow your own beard. 17. Only listen to thunder. 18. Drive tanks for cardio. 19. Duct tape your wounds. 20. Die standing up. 21. Never ask for directions. 22. Only drink whiskey aged in your own tears. 23. Cook meat with your bare hands. 24. Speak in grunts and glares. 25. Never hold a baby. 26. Date a woman who respects your garage. 27. Don’t fix things—improve them. 28. Only watch movies where things explode. 29. Never do yoga. 30. Growl instead of apologizing. 31. Don't take selfies. 32. Chop vegetables with an axe. 33. Refuse to buy furniture. 34. Only cry during war movies or engine rebuilds. 35. Walk through walls. 36. Say "No" to running water. 37. Never read books. 38. Never listen to women. 39. Hug boulders, not people. 40. Never sit down unless you're at the top of a mountain. 41. Fight a bear and win. 42. Hunt your own dinner... with your hands. 43. Alway punch first, ask questions never. 44. Be louder than everyone. 45. Never shop. 46. Eat lightning for breakfast. 47. Bench press the moon. 48. Only shave with broken glass. 49. Fight your reflection every morning. 50. Turn trees into toothpicks. 51. Wear a bear as a jacket. 52. Sleep under an avalanche. 53. Ride sharks instead of boats. 54. Blow-dry your hair with a jet engine. 55. Only wear sunglasses at night. 56. Outrun your car. 57. Roast marshmallows over a nuclear reactor. 58. Don't have hobbies. 59. Never use an umbrella. 60. Carry a brick in each pocket. 61. Lift cars for fun. 62. Never wear shoes. 63. Eat an entire cow in one sitting. 64. Replace your car horn with a roar. 65. Brew your own beer with your sweat. 66. Forget phone calls—just send a shockwave. 67. Drive a tank to work. 68. Only eat raw meat. 69. Own a pet lion.

Can’t believe I just wasted my time reading this godforsaken list. Also, haha, 69. Very clever.