#remote access either when needed. and otherwise leave it be

[arundolyn]

because i Must be working on a minimum of 50 things at once or I'll explode, i think im gonna get around to setting up a pihole for my network soon and then make this old server i snagged from work into a NAS cause ive got ample big storage drives to throw in it :3c

[lightlycareless]

I’m curious, how would you think Naoya’s canonical first appearance would be like if he was married to Y/N during the events of the manga? I wonder if he’d still maintain his role as antagonist(maybe he’d turn ally?) or if he’d just be nonexistent because him and Y/N decide to leave Japan post shibuya(he can’t let y/n get caught up in that) XD

Hello anon!!!

Well, I actually wrote a little something detailing that hehe. Kind of. I hope it still answers your question :>

Also, because this is the perfect opportunity to do so, why not write something sad/angsty for a change. A "what would happen with Y/N and Naoya during Shibuya" :))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) but somewhat taking into consideration the post above? Hmmm more at the end.

warnings: slight mentions of character death. mentions of pregnancy. angst. sad overall I believe. :') Naoya loves you and has done things differently than the jerk we all know of course. Or not? Also, I don't remember much of Shibuya anymore so forgive me if something is odd about it.

Happy reading!

I would say Naoya would quickly decide to get you out of danger. No questions about it; he doesn’t even consider otherwise. As soon as he hears what is going down he intends to send you far away in some remote safe house where he thinks you and the kids will be ok—perfectly tended for, as he’d always made sure.

You, on the other hand, aren’t too enthusiastic about leaving everything behind, simply because your family was right in the middle of the crisis! And of course they would be, always rushing to serve the noble cause, you were not surprised to learn that they were doing their best to prevent the situation from worsening.

But this was no ordinary task, that much obvious by a simple glance. And if not through that, then by the growing uneasiness settling in your heart. One that demanded you to stay… or at least remain attentive to what is to follow.

“But I don’t think that’s even necessa—”

“We’re not discussing this anymore, Y/N. You are leaving, and you’re doing so tomorrow first thing in the morning. I already made all the preparations, you just need to have the kids awake and ready.”

“I don’t want to leave my family.” You insist. “I shouldn’t! They—They need me. They’re putting their life on the line; I can’t just leave—”

“Our children need you more. I need you more.” Naoya frowns, frustrated that of all things you’ve decided to refute him on, this had to be the one. “As I said, I won’t discuss this with you anymore—you are leaving.”

“But Naoya—!”

You’ve only seen this firm side of him on scarce occasions; either when reprimanding your naïve kids when accidentally doing something that might hurt them, or when putting his family in place after saying… well, the things they normally did.

And since you obviously don’t like pushing him over the edge, having more than enough with the weight of being the heir of a prestigious clan, as well as all his work as a sorcerer, you tend to just go with what he wants.

But not this time around, you simply couldn’t act like there wasn’t something bothering you. Something looming over your mind, a frightening omen that involved someone directly involved with you.

It could be anyone. Either your family, or… Naoya.

Both chances you did not wish to take.

“…Please.” Naoya would quietly insist after seeing you grow silent, regretful of the domineering way he seemed to take over the conversation, for after all was said and done, he loved you more than anything else in this world and would rather die than hurt you.

He wasn’t happy about this arrangement, no, in fact he despised it.

Hated the fact that he had to be the one to come up with it in the first place—but after what he heard from Shibuya, alongside his father being summoned for support, it was nothing but clear that he needed to act.

“You’ll be stationed in a nice place. A quiet little village with a nice, ample house and access to a relaxing beach for you and the kids to spend time on.  Now, doesn’t that sound nice, mochi?”

Had it been literally any other occasion, you would have been ecstatic. Happy to have the opportunity to spend time with your family without worrying about anything, simply what you and your kids were to do next.

But it wasn’t meant to be this way, so much that even the kids were unusually calm about the so-called holiday. Having sensed their mother’s anxiety and preferring being by her side than thinking of having fun.

“And school? What about their friends?” You eventually ask, of course, one of the many ways to stall him.

“I don’t believe you will be away for long, but I arranged everything in the meantime. They will be homeschooled.” Naoya explains, you frown. “As for friends… I guess I can consider occasional visits. Though they’ll more likely make new ones over there.”

“…And you? Will you be… coming with us?” You know that wouldn’t be, assumed so either way. But still, you hoped he would surprise you otherwise.

“…You know I can’t.” Naoya responds, your heart sinks to your stomach.

“Why not? Your father is already there for support. Why do you have to go?” you scowl.

“I have to stay at the estate to oversee it while he’s gone.” He explains. “I wish I could go, or that you and our kids could stay but… it’s too dangerous. If anything happens at Shibuya and things decide to escalate, it’s only logical that the estate will become a target and I won’t risk it.”

You press your lips together, understanding his words, yet disappointed that it had to be that way. A part of you tried to accept them, let it go, for you knew exactly what you were getting into when you married him.

And the other…

“I can’t… I don’t feel comfortable being away while you and my family are in danger!”

“This is no different from any other mission I’ve gone to, or that your family has.” Naoya attempts to console you, but both knew that wasn’t the trutht. “What is it? What is it that has you like this?”

“…I…I don’t…I don’t know.” You begin slowly, hesitant to admit your thoughts in fear that they might become true. To painful to even consider it! “I just… have this awful feeling that something bad is going to happen soon.”

“Like what?”

“Please don’t make me say it.”

Naoya didn’t need more to understand, and such, leans closer to you, enough to wrap his arms around you and gently place a kiss on the top of your head.

“…Nothing will happen. I swear. I will contact you whenever possible so you’ll be at ease. And if there’s any change, I’ll let you know as well. I promise.”

“…Please?”

“Of course, princess.” He smirks, now kissing your cheek. “I wouldn’t even dream otherwise.”

“You haven’t called me that in a long time.” You silently admit; his words lift some of the burdening weight from your heart.

Not enough to free you, but enough for you to slightly jest at him.

“Well, our little Naomi kind of inherited it, didn’t she?”

“She’s well deserving of it. It fits her.”

“Technically you’re my princess, and she’s our little princess.”

“…I guess so, if you put it that way it kind of makes sense.”

Silence engulfs the two for a brief moment soon after, motivating Naoya to hug you even tighter.

“Everything will be fine, Y/N. It’s nothing but a situation that… got a little bit out of hand, but nothing I can’t handle. That’s all.

Just remember that my father is involved too. And…” as much as he hated admitting it, the old man was a very talented sorcerer. A good decision was made by considering him. “Gojo-kun is also there too, and everyone knows there’s no one stronger than him. As for your sister… well, she’s quite a force to be reckoned with too.”

“I never thought I’d come to hear you compliment them, ever!” You tease, he scoffs, slightly embarrassed.

“I just want to make you happy.” Naoya silently admits, placing his fingers underneath your chin and lifting your gaze to his. “You mean the world to me; I don’t know what I would do if you—if you… I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“Then hurry up back home.” You pout, a tear sliding down cheek. “Please, for me. For the kids.”

“Promise me to always send me pictures of you and the kids. It’ll serve me as motivation as to why I even bother doing all this…” He frowns. “…And to let me know if you’re ok. You’ll be secured there with some of my men, but I still wish to hear it from you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll send you so many, you’ll ask me to stop!”

“Now, mochi, no need to say fallacies we know won’t happen.” He teases back, which you respond with a giggle before quieting down, the realization that his impending departure is near.

“May the gods bring you back safe to me.” You silently pray, pressing a kiss on his lips to seal your protection charm, the one you’ve previous on prior occasions and has always worked—or so you believed.

The same one you desperately hoped would work this time around as well, especially after beginning to hear the horrific loses Shibuya had brought along.

From the death of your beloved friend Nanami to Gojo’s unprecedented sealing, you remained on edge as you tried your best to keep constant communication with Naoya, trying to figure out if any of these happenings had affected him one way or the other, praying that nothing would befall him.

Eventually cursing yourself when realizing you had unknowingly called a bad presage into reality when Naoya one day, without previous warning, directly and sternly, sends you the following message:

“My father died in Shibuya. I am now clan leader.”

To congratulate him given the circumstances of his death felt out of place, if not incredibly imprudent—even if this was his biggest dream.

It just came to you so… unexpectedly, though some would say that incidences would occur in such conflict. Perhaps it was Naobito’s time to leave this earth.

And yet, another part of you decided to take this as a warning, a reminder that this was no common attack. Not if it was capable of claiming the life of someone so skillful as your father-in-law.

…

What did any of this mean for Naoya? Is he safe? Is he ok? Has he been injured? Where was he right now?

But most importantly, what is he going to do now that is Leader of the Zen’in clan?

Did this mean that you were finally able to return with him? After so many days of homesickness, would you be able to see your husband in person?

…

Or… or did this just made things even worse for your family, forced to remain away until things cooled down, because you were now a bigger target?

“It’s still not safe. With Gojo-kun’s sealing… the clans have been nothing but a mess; and apparently that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There seems to be a deeper plan unfolding in the background—We still don’t know what for, but I know for sure one thing: I wouldn’t dare endanger you.”

“…Ok. I understand” You dejectedly agree, forced to remain behind as you lonely mourn the death of your friends, or the unknown fate of one of them.

Well, at least your family was relatively safe. Your siblings sustained injuries, but nothing they wouldn’t be able to heal in due time. You could only wonder the stresses your father had to deal with now that the Gojo clan was rendered nonexistent… Was someone trying to nominate Satoru’s replacement?

…

You wished you could do more. Longed to not feel as useless as you did nowadays, more so since Naoya’s messages turned to be fewer and fewer as time passed…

But at least he still responded. Took a little bit of his time to let you know that he was fine. Busy, perhaps a partial lie, but ultimately alive.

Just a matter of days and you’ll be back in his arms, with your children, and the little bundle growing inside you. Where you belonged.

Unless… fate was to cruelly decide otherwise.

“Naoya, I… haven’t heard from you in quite a while. I just… hope you’re ok and not overworking yourself. Naomi, Naori, Naoko and Naoyuki miss you. Please let me know how everything is doing as soon as you can. I love you”

…

“I don’t want to bother you, nor distract you from your duties. But I’m very worried about you Naoya, you haven’t answered any of my messages or calls. And… and I can’t shake this feeling that something horrible happened. Please answer me, Naoya, I can’t take the thought of you mot—

Just let me know if you’re ok, please. I love you.”

…

“Please, just give me a sign that you’re alive. I beg you, Naoya. I can’t take this anymore. I feel so lonely without you. I always do, but today… today it feels worse. Please, if just a letter, you don’t even have to write a whole message. Just a dot or something. Anything!

Just… anything so I can know you’re fine. Alive. Please. I beg you”

…

“Please. Please. Please. Naoya, answer me. Please. We love you.”

…

…

“Please. For our baby. Please.”

…

…

…

“…Naoya?”

Obviously I wanted to make it tragic and say that Naoya died; but how did he die? By being in Shibuya? Maybe. Maki? That means he still would've been a jerk! akjgkags

Also, I believe he didn't tell Y/N that he wasn't actually clan leader because... I don't know, pride. It's what he wanted all his life, after all! Maybe he hoped to fix that before meeting up with you again, and that's how he died :) OOF

Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed this little "what if" piece. I still have another Shibuya-centric oneshot to write 😏 maybe that could add on to this one? Thankfully, the good things about these prompts is that they're not really connected to one another, they could all essentially be read individually hehe nice.

Now, thank you so much for sending in this ask; take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[hermidetta]

linhardt had put a considerable amount of work in for bernadetta's birthday gift. it had been rather exhausting, so he hoped at least she would reciprocate well enough. see, there exists a strange looking plant in a remote place of the monastery, only accessible by some of the tunnels connecting to abyss. the first thing linhardt had thought of was bernadetta's favorite plant, even though it isn't quite that, and so he'd added a few sketches of it to his notes to refer to later.

but then they'd forgotten, and as they realized bernadetta's birthday was approaching, they'd pulled out an entirely new and fresh notebook just for this purpose. they made the journey again to where the strange-looking plant resided, and made about five pages of scientific sketches of it.

linhardt doesn't really know botany very well. he knows bernadetta does, though, and that if he were to cut the plant or uproot it or otherwise treat it poorly, it would make only for a bittersweet present, so the thought was that the book would be half of bernadetta's present, and if she felt especially amenable to leaving her room one day, he would take her to the plant in question for her to do, well, whatever she liked with it.

they knock on her door, and immediately speak, because sometimes bernadetta might not pretend to be inside to get whoever to go away.

"happy birthday, bernadetta. it's linhardt. i've got a present for you, but it's a little too big to just slide under the door, if you don't mind opening it."

and, when the door opens, he presents her with the notebook. his sketches detail the strange, crimson leaves of what seems like a weeping flower. really, linhardt would struggle to describe it; that's why he took so many sketches to compensate.

"i don't know much about how to move plants around, other than enough to know not to try, but i tried drawing it for you." they offer her a small smile as they continue. "i can show you where i found it if you'd like to see it in person, but at the very least having an extra notebook is always useful, eh?"

⠀ ⚘ birthdaydetta 2k24 ♡ ⠀

it's linhardt.

bernadetta's eyes snap open from where she had been dipping in and out the realm of sleep. suddenly, all over again, the back of her hand is on fire because her skin there remembers the press of linhardt's lips like a brand. (how many people have ever bent their knee to kiss her like that before? was it a gesture she could ever recover from?)

she knows better than to think it could have meant anything. not with her. never with her. nobody would ever with her. but the matter lies in that bernadetta cannot not think about it, and thinking too much is a dangerous thing. she buries her face in sleeved palms and muffles the tiniest scream. just a brief one. just a little one that she abruptly punctuates all by herself in an upright jerk of her head. and the face that emerges is stone cold sober. the face of a jaded warrior long retired from the battlefield of love. (bernadetta has never been in a relationship, but nobody needs to know that. it doesn't take an A rank in authority to guess as much, either.) nobody will be hooking their hooks into her stone cold heart, no. never. not on her watch.

bernadetta opens the door for linhardt and grips the frame until a splitting crack hits the air so that she doesn't get blasted backward by the curve of their smile. they're sick. this is sick. they are so sick because this is sweet. why are they so sweet to her? are they all right in the head? that fluffy, green head that reminds her of a cute little sprout, they are so...

"huh?! th-this—?!"  every thought and reservation drops alongside her jaw. her eyes bulge at the notebook's pages; elaborate entries, illustrations and all.  "this plant!"

she has never seen one of these pitchers in person. and he had thought of her? enough to write and draw this much about it. linhardt's is a brilliant mind; anybody with a neural pulse could figure as much, and any notes of his are worth the entire monastery's weight in gold.

bernadetta gawks down at the work, and for a moment it allows her to let go of some of those silly things she overthinks about. it allows her to blink back up at linhardt and meet their eyes in the briefest flicker. it allows her to hug the notebook to her chest as she blurts—

"i do! i want to see it! because... i really like this! thank you for bringing it to me. and—um, remember what you said before bernie fainted again? a-about us spending more time together?"  her voice tapers tapers to a squeak by the end of that sentence, but she squeezes her eyes shut and persists.  "i... don't think i'd mind. but, on one condition. if you ever find any more of these cute carnivorous plants, you have to tell bernie!"

[820619]

Update 2 - Oct 2023

I like tech, and i like tinkering with automation and programming, so part of my ambition for Sanctuary is to automation where it makes sense and make things easier when a) I have guests over to entertain, and b) should I need help with something in an emergency.

I've always been interested in the idea of a smart lock, and having remote access to a home without a key, however most devices look really obvious and I wanted something discrete from a manufacturer I vaguely knew. I started reading into it and the lock company Yale actually released a new smart lock whilst i was doing my research, the Conexis L2. The L1 was met with lukearm reviews, as the app was janky to use, it didnt always work, and some of the most obvious features were left out of the device. Luckily though, reviews of the L2 seemed to suggest that this was all addressed with the new device, so I decided to give it a shot.

One of the best things about this lock is the ability to check if the doors locked from wherever. I constantly leave for work, lock the door, walk 3 steps and then think "did i lock the door?", go back and then check it. Now I can just check from my phone (even though I always lock the door). Its also very useful for house sitting, as i can get spare keyfobs, assign them a name and then hand them out to immediate family. Similar for contractors too - if im at work, I can either unlock the door from my phone should they ring me, or give them access through the app via a guest email address and account. I can then restrict access as and when they do work for me. This is basically the same as giving them a key, but i dont have to chase them up to get the key from them should they forget to give it to me.

It does have a Geofencing feature too so that it primes the unlock when youre in a specific range, and then when your phone is near the door it will unlock for 30ish seconds before locking again, but this is only really useful if you have your hands full with shopping and you cant really get to your keys - otherwise its a bit of a gimmick.

Overall, pretty happy with it - its not overly "look at me - im a smart lock" and its been faultless since i installed it.

The dishwasher also arrived, so I spoke with R - a work colleague who suggested i get a dishwasher and he could help install all the pipework and get it all set up - and we penned in a date to get it all plumbed in. I got all the bits and pieces he specced out for me beforehand.

On the day, we took the washer out of its slot, removed the cabinets either side of it, and then looked at the plumbing. We just needed to put a T piece in and another line for the washer water supply - we did this with JG Speedfit components, that are simply push fit fittings and snap together like Lego.

We noticed that either side of where the washer was, there were tiles missing. This wasnt an issue, as we put some wood board in the slots, but made levelling the washer a PITA.

We also had to relocate the plug socket on that wall so that it didnt foul on the back of either of the appliances.

At that point, I realised the cupboard next to the washers new position wouldn't open because it didn't have enough clearance, so we moved a door from the other end of the kitchen cupboards with hinges on the opposite side, and put it next to the washer. This meant i could now open the washer door and the cupboard door.

The last thing to do in terms of pipework was replace the pipework under the sink with a U piece that had two waste points instead of a single waste point. This involved some cutting of the cupboard sides to accommodate the pipework, but that wasn't an issue either as I have more than enough cupboard space and could relocate things if needed.

Once it was all connected, we ran both appliances at the same time to make sure the connections for the waste water were all tight and could handle both lines being pressurised at the same time, and then started measuring out the new end-board, as previously this was the side of the small cupboard we had removed.

The end-board was due to be delivered that day, so we waited for it to get here. When it did, we measured it to size, cut the board, and then fit it into place - we cut snuggly and reinforced its location with some L brackets that went into the sideboard and the wall. Pleased with the fit and it was a pretty close match in terms of colour and surface to the rest of the kitchen, so I was happy with that too.

Once all that was completed, checked the connections for the waste water and noticed the washer was leaking a little - i hadn't tightened it up enough it seems! We retightened, and then ran the washer again to check if it leaked and when we were confident it hadn't, we then spent half an hour levelling the bastard thing. Super annoying and some of it was guesswork as the far corner had to be levelled, pushed back into position, then we had to rock it gently to see where it moved, pull it back out and adjust and rinse and repeat. Even now, in March 2024, its not perfect and I am going to have to replace the wood board with something else as it seems to be getting noisier with each cycle, but its running for now and that's the main thing.

Overall though, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, and the appliances themselves have been faultless so far. Both are LG, with "smart" functions, which are somewhat useful and somewhat gimmicky.

Useful features including telling me when it is time to run a cleaning cycle with some sort of cleaner , as well as the washer auto stopping if it senses too much vibration from an unbalanced load. It will then send a message to the LG ThinQ app asking me to remove some items or to rearrange them in the drum - this will stop it damaging itself or from running across my kitchen. The dishwasher has a steam mode to really clean glass or ceramic items, like stained glasses or casserole dishes with years of baked on crap - whilst not tied to a smart function as such, its been pretty handy to use. The dryer function on the washer/dryer is also pretty energy efficient, i think in part because its got a heat-pump to generate the heat which it then just cycles round for a few hours, and on the other hand its about 10 years newer than the previous dryer left behind by the previous owner.

Gimmicks include being able to download "niche" cycles onto the machines, which so far has been pointless since none of the cycles that you can download offer anything you cant already achieve with the standard, in machine ones.

Having a dishwasher is much better for me as an individual, as its a good way to make the most of my time outside of work - it can do the washing whilst i sleep :)! Still, at this point Sanctuary didn't feel like my home. It felt like i was house sitting and being a super generous house sitter by maintaining it and buying new appliances whilst it is under my watch... I think as I put more of my own mark on it, it'll feel much more homely - even now, 8 months into ownership, im 50/50 feeling like a house sitter and like this is my own space.

[zzazztrainer]

i think the biggest misunderstanding about art is the idea that there are Truly Objective Measures of Quality

like a there are a handful of compositional tricks and color theory and stuff that helps speed up the brain interpreting the image, but imo a lot of that is about just reaching more people and having more 'rolls of the dice' so to speak to click with someone, since if it's not as easily interpreted someone has to make a deliberate decision to engage with it and evaluate it. which isn't really relevant to quality, since a lot of the art people point to as being 'high quality' are very ambiguous anyway

meaning is highly affected by (or perhaps almost entirely derived by) context, and most of the time more than 50% of the context is entirely out of your control (especially on social media, since it's basically designed to strip context as quickly as possible since that gets posts to viewers faster just because establishing context takes time, and more views means more ad revenue) but otherwise the biggest part of context that is going to affect someone's interpretation is the context of their own life experiences. Since that's how they've gotten all the information they can refer to while interpreting the art, it is not something anyone can truly leave behind when engaging with art. (Although you can make a conscious effort to broaden the amount of information you are aware of, and i do think more people should, that is not entirely relevant to the point here)

where i think this is very visible is in the cliche of artists getting more social media engagement on joke posts than on 'real' art. everything you need to understand the joke is already inside the post, (or already in the surrounding context around the post, considering a lot of the jokes that get large traction on social media are jokes about the experience OF social media.) in a format where people are already going into it with a plan to continue scrolling as soon as they're done with the post, they're not going to spend time on something to figure out what's interesting about it.

I must emphasize that decision not to engage is not a quality judgement either. as much as people act like it is or even say it is. you simply can't absorb enough information in a glance to make a remotely objective decision about something like that. it's a short snap decision that everyone has to make all the time, since there is vastly so much more world than any one person could perceive in a lifetime. even outside of art, even without the immense and immediate potential access to information that we have with the current internet infrastructure, the amount of information even in one square foot of green on a boulevard is enough to fill a thousand lifetimes of study, if you decided to look close enough.

but a brain only has time to perceive so much, and it has Priorities, like continuing to exist, and if it weren't able to make some kind of snap judgement about what information in it's environment to prioritize, it wouldn't be able to do that, so it makes a priority judgement whether you think about it or not. Everyone's brain is a result of the way that priority interacts with the environment it ends up in, and the human brain is so flexible, and either via being able to change to fit the context or via simply being more of a blank canvas to begin with than most people are willing to admit (which is closer to what i believe, since I've seen so many things claimed to be 'deeply set instincts' at various parts of history only to be very obviously proven just results of the culture at the time) the context that even two people from a pretty similar environment come to a piece of art with can be very different in ways that are essentially impossible to trace the origin of.

so essentially art being considered 'good art' because a lot of people enjoy it is a lot more about luck than anyone is really willing to admit, so if you don't want to use that as a measure of objective quality you basically get around to the closest 'objective' measure being whether or not it succeeds at whatever the goal of the artist was. so then you need to consciously think about your goal to make any kind of 'quality evaluation'.

if you have a specific goal, you can optimize towards it. like if your goal is social media engagement, well, there's plenty of techniques for that, like making the context pretty self-contained, or using metadata/algorithm/whatever is relevant to the site itself to get it to people you think will have the most context in common, or just to get it in front of as many eyes as possible just to have more chances at finding the right people.

However, other goals are gonna be incompatible with that goal, which seems to be the biggest sticking point for a lot of people, since they want the numbers to go up without it being a gamble, but also want it to match some other goal, like being 'authentic' which as far as i can tell, often really means they just want the art to be changed as little as possibly from the original vision, which is kinda by necessity incompatible with optimizing it for a specific other goal. unfortunately, for a variety of cultural (authenticity is very popular) or logistical reasons (...less work if you don't have to change the original vision, tbh. that's the one I value most about 'authenticity' these days...) this kind of 'authenticity' is one of the most popular artist goals

(By the way, the quotes around 'authenticity' are less about derision and more about the fact i want to emphasize that i am using the specific definition for 'authenticity' that i just laid out in that last paragraph. this definition of 'authenticity' is actually a pretty major goal of my own art, jokes about amount of work aside, because my other largest goal at the moment is that i prioritize the art i do based on my own personal enjoyment of both process and outcome, and 'changed as little as possible from the original vision' as a goal often combines very well with what i find fun right now)

frustratingly, instead of confronting the consequences of conflicting goals, people resort to having wankfests about the broader public not recognizing True Genius, or making emotionally manipulative, guilting posts about how no-one appreciates their hard work so people better start engaging with their art in the specific way they feel is most validating or they're going to stop posting it.

this is, i think, because it's a very easy way to put the fault of this sucky situation on something out of their control. which is very funny, because there is a very present and obvious reason that is out of their control that they ended up in this sucky situation. which is that their only opportunity to get their art in front of people who it could connect with is by putting it out on platforms where the first priority is generating ad revenue and scraping user data, and the methodology the platforms use to achieve that is by pretending the platform's first priority is human interaction.

but since building a social infrastructure that isn't attached to an advertising and data meatgrinder is a uh..... well we can say it's a pretty 'long term goal' (read as: i do not know how the fuck to do that) it is usually just much easier to move your goalposts somewhere you can get to them. which can itself suck and feel like you're giving up. But a binary of failure/success is only really applicable to a specific goal with a specific endpoint, and 'being an artist' or even 'being a Good Artist' is not a goal with an easily definable endpoint, considering it's just really fucking ambiguous, and if you polled 10 people off the street on what a 'Good Artist' is, you'll probably get 20 different answers

so set a goal. as many goals as you want, because life is longer than you think it is, and you can change them again whenever you want. You can set goals that you don't know how to reach, but you can also set a bunch of ones you can reach, like deciding you want to get the most anatomically accurate art that you can, or deciding you want to have the most fun with your art, or picking a specific niche audience you want to see and enjoy your art, and you can use that as a metric to define quality in your own art's context as opposed to ambiguously chasing 'quality' without defining what that means to you (and without being tempted to measure that 'quality' entirely by whether it makes people more likely to click the heart button next to it)

Then you can kinda consider those measures of quality objective, because they are pretty well defined, but they're still not objective goals in the sense that every single person in the world will look at the art and go 'this is good art'. but they are actionable objectives. which is more important in my opinion, because art can only be 'good art' to anyone if the art has actually been done.

[starryhyuck]

Hello! Can i request an smut with Johnny? A very soft and caring school girl that actually is a very filthy girl and never stops thinking about Volleyball Player!Johnny. Thank you for taking your time, hope you're taking care 💖 Have a good day or night

seo johnny will kill you someday.

you’re absolutely sure of it as you watch him on the court, diving for the volleyball before it hits the ground. the whole auditorium breaks into applause when he’s able to get it over the net and score a point for the team.

the other team calls for a timeout, and yoojung nudges you and points to the line for snacks. “i’m gonna get a burger. want something?”

you shake your head and she leaves your side. your eyes return to johnny’s figure as he towers over his teammates, drinking from his water bottle as the coach relays the game plan for the rest of the team. you drink in the sight of him and although your friends would never know it, johnny’s got your panties soaked.

none of them know about your crush on the captain of the volleyball team, they just genuinely believe you like watching the game. they have no reason to think otherwise — you play the part of an innocent school girl very well. they have no idea that your mind swirls with thoughts about bouncing on johnny’s cock in the school’s library-

you’re taken out of your trance by the referee’s whistle. you cough when yoojung comes back, sitting down next to you.

“i heard there’s a party at jaehyun’s after this. wanna go?”

you shrug. “sure. sounds fun.”

you’ve been to a few of jaehyun’s after game parties and they’re pretty tame. jaehyun’s not exactly looking to throw a rager on a school night, he usually just wants to hang out with his friends and talk about the game.

the last few times you attended, you’ve gone with your friend, mark, who’s good friends with johnny. johnny likes to tease mark often since he’s younger and so he can watch mark flush with embarrassment.

it’s not like johnny doesn’t know who you are either — you’ve just never been close enough to hold a conversation with him. you run in the same group but you’re not as acquainted with him as your other friends.

you’re brought back to the current reality when the people next to you stand up to cheer. yoojung is one of them, tugging your arm and hauling you up from your seat. you realize that your team has won the game and you weren’t even paying attention.

johnny is rejoicing, laughing and enveloping his teammates in a large group hug.

“can you believe we won?” yoojung yells in your ear over the noise. “let’s congratulate them!”

like the rest of the crowd, you and yoojung run down the steps and flood the gymnasium floor. you’re lost in the sea of bodies and you’re surprised when johnny comes into your view.

he’s laughing with jaehyun before he realizes you’re standing there.

“good game,” you shout at him.

he chuckles, his eyes sparkling as he smiles at you.

“thanks, y/n.”

“are you coming to the party, y/n?” jaehyun asks. johnny throws him a look that you don’t catch.

“yeah! i’ll be there!”

he smirks and johnny hits his shoulder. you ignore their interaction when johnny’s gaze returns to you.

“see you there.”

—

most of your friends have already arrived when you and yoojung pull up to jaehyun’s house. jihyo takes your arm and asks if you’ve finished the homework for calculus while yoojung tells you she’s going to find something to drink.

johnny’s lounging on the couch next to ten, laughing at whatever taeil has just said. you pretend to be remotely interested in what jihyo has to say, eyes focused on the leather jacket hugging johnny’s body so perfectly.

“so what do you think? study session together on thursday?”

you blink twice and return your gaze to jihyo, who is patiently waiting for your response. you clear your throat awkwardly.

“yeah! that sounds great!”

she smiles thankfully at you before excusing herself to go to the restroom. jaehyun notices you from his spot at the kitchen counter and motions for you to walk over to him.

when you approach him, he smiles fondly at you.

“you came!”

“i said i would,” you murmur, accepting the drink he offers you.

his dimples poke out as his grin never falters. his eyes flit over to where johnny is sitting.

“johnny was hoping you would come.”

“oh?” you murmur, coughing a little. you ignore the sound of jaehyun’s snicker. “why would that be?”

jaehyun is looking like the cheshire cat at this point. “take a guess. why would johnny want to hang out with a pretty girl?”

you cough again.

jaehyun turns around. “hey, johnny,” he calls out. “look who‘s here.”

johnny’s eyes practically sparkle when they land on you. he gets up to join you and jaehyun, smiling while he plays with the rim of his solo cup.

“hey, you made it!”

you laugh nervously. “yeah, i did.”

jaehyun sneaks away to leave you two alone, and you feel incredibly small underneath johnny’s heavy stare. if he notices your squirming, he doesn’t comment on it. you’ve never been left alone with johnny like this and it honestly has your heart racing. seeing him up close like this — you can feel wetness pool in your underwear.

“i noticed you come to most of our games,” he comments. you still refuse to meet his eyes. “starting to think you have a crush on jaehyun or something.”

you laugh. “jaehyun’s cute, but not my type.”

johnny raises an eyebrow. “really? what’s your type then?”

you finally stare back at him, and the smirk is evident on his face. you decide to be bold and voice your inner thoughts.

“take a guess. i wonder why a girl like me would go to every single one of the school’s volleyball games.”

your whole body is on fire and johnny hasn’t even done anything to you yet. the weight of his stare is boring into you, goosebumps rising on your arms. you desperately want to touch him but you can’t do it here. not in front of everybody.

he takes a step closer to you, and your breath hitches. he places his cup on the kitchen counter so he can wrap his arm around your waist. you gulp and lay your hand on his chest as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“you’re not as good as you seem, are you baby?”

you blink, your eyes wandering around the room to see if anyone’s looking at you. everyone seems to be in their own little bubble — paying no regard to how johnny holds you. johnny doesn’t seem to care about anyone else, his grip tightening on you.

“answer me, baby.”

“um, i- i mean, i-“

he chuckles at your stuttering. “why don’t we go somewhere more quiet? that way i can hear you better.”

and you nod, letting him lead you to one of the spare bedrooms in the house. he shuts the door so you two have complete privacy. you awkwardly take a seat on the bed and johnny joins you, giving you a small smile.

“this is better. i’ve been waiting to talk with you alone for a long time now.”

“is that so?” you murmur, twitching nervously as he inches closer to you.

“need to tell me what you like, baby. i don’t wanna cross any boundaries.”

you take the leap. johnny’s surprised when you climb into his lap, pressing your mouth down on his. he groans and wraps his arm around your waist, holding you steady as you kiss him passionately. you break apart to whisper your desires.

“need you, daddy. i think about you all the time.” johnny practically growls at your confession, and you egg him on further. “come to those games just to see you. i imagine you taking me on the court for everyone to see.”

“fuck, baby,” he hisses. he flips you over so that he has you pinned underneath him. you squeak when you land on the pillows. “you’re just a filthy slut, aren’t you? little innocent schoolgirl just needs a big cock to make her feel better, doesn’t she?”

you whimper and nod. “need your big cock, daddy. need you to stretch out my tight hole.”

johnny makes an incoherent noise, his fingers coming up to lift up your shirt. “fuck,” he mutters, eyeing the lacy white bra you’re wearing. “you’re so fucking pretty, baby.”

he pulls down your bra to envelop his mouth on your breast and you moan, arching at his touch. his tongue circles your nipple and you shudder. he pulls away after giving a few more licks and tugs, returning to kissing you.

his fingers glide over the expanse of your thighs and you’re grateful that you opted into wearing a skirt today. it gives johnny easy access to your underwear as he runs a finger over your clothed slit. you whine and buck your hips up, begging to be touched.

“so impatient,” he hums. “been waiting a long time for me, haven’t you?”

you frantically nod. “so long, daddy.”

he smirks. “do you think about me when you’re wet, baby? finger yourself to the thought of me?”

“i always think of you, daddy. but my fingers are never enough. i think you would do a lot better.”

he grins. “let’s see.”

he pulls your underwear to the side and plays with your folds gently. you moan at his touch and he leans down to press another kiss to your lips. when he slides a finger inside your entrance, you cry against him.

“so tight, baby,” he whispers. “can barely fit my finger inside. wonder if you can take my cock.”

“i can take it, i can take it,” you quickly assure. he laughs breathily at you before pushing another finger inside, stretching out your weeping pussy. it isn’t long before he’s scissoring you, watching as your face contorts into pleasure. he fingers you for a while longer before he can’t take it anymore.

“need to eat you out, baby. you look too good,” he says, retracting his fingers and moving down the bed. he wastes no time in delving into your pussy and in the midst of his frantic state, he rips your underwear in half.

“johnny!”

he chuckles, taking a lick up your slit. “sorry, baby. got carried away.”

you completely forget about it as he sucks at your folds, his tongue greedily lapping up your juices. he eats you out so sweetly, being gentle and cautious with you while also bringing you enormous pleasure. you climax in no time, back arching as you fall apart around his tongue. you cry when the oversensitivity becomes too much and johnny pulls away. you watch with lust filled eyes as your juices drip down his chin.

he sits up and unbuckles his jeans, pulling them down and exposing his hard cock. you eyes widen at how big his length is. he’s fucking massive and you can already feel the burn in your throat at the thought of taking him.

johnny can sense what you’re thinking, running his hand up and down his shaft while you watch.

“look at how hard i am for you, baby. you always do this to me. i get so fucking hard watching you walk around in these short skirts, acting like you’re the most innocent girl. you don’t know how many times i’ve wanted to flip up your skirt and pound you until you’re crying.”

you sob. “please, daddy. want it so badly.”

he quickly flips you over, smacking your ass and watching the way your skirt bounces at the movement. you cry as he shoves your face down into the pillows, ass high up in the air. he runs the tip of his cock over your entrance and you practically salivate at the thought of taking him fully.

“want me, baby?”

“yes yes,” you blubber. “want daddy’s big cock.”

when he finally pushes into you, you whimper at the pain. he’s bigger than you imagined, and you can tell johnny’s struggling to fit inside you. “relax for me, baby,” he murmurs. “so fucking tight. what a sweet pussy.” he continues to stretch you out with his cock, and you can feel every ridge and vein digging into your walls.

“daddy, daddy,” you repeat when he bottoms out. johnny groans at the feeling, letting you get adjusted to his girth.

after the pain subsides into pleasure, you desperately buck your hips back into him.

“ready to take daddy’s cock, baby?”

“fuck me, daddy,” you beg.

he wastes no time and starts pounding into you. he wraps his fingers around your hair and pulls, making you cry at the pain. you scream as he slams into you over and over, reaching your sweet spot and sending you to cloud nine. you don’t care who hears you at this point, and you want everyone to know how well you’re taking johnny’s cock.

“feels so fucking good,” he growls, one hand digging into your hip to gain leverage on you. “pussy was made for my cock, baby.”

you can barely form a coherent sentence, babbling and chanting daddy back to him. johnny lifts you up so that your back is against his chest, and he eagerly fucks up into you while watching your expression. you imagine you look absolutely filthy — mouth wide open and eyes rolled back. he pinches your clit and you whimper.

“gonna cum for daddy, baby? gonna let everyone know how you take daddy’s big cock?” he hisses in your ear. he licks at the shell of your ear and continues whispering dirty things. “pussy’s so nice and wet for me. squeeze my cock so nicely, baby. you’ve been waiting for daddy’s big load for a long time, haven’t you?”

“y-y-yes, daddy,” you reply.

you don’t even register your orgasm until it’s finished, going limp in johnny’s arms. you’re dizzy and incoherent, but you can hear johnny speak to you.

“didn’t know you were a squirter, baby.”

your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you glance down at the sheets, completely soaked in your juices. you’ve never squirted before, and johnny can sense what’s on your mind. he still hasn’t cum yet, and his assault on your pussy is relentless as he bucks into you.

your fingers dig into his arm when the oversensitivity hits you.

“can you do it again?” he grunts. “wanna see you make a pretty little mess for me.”

the bed is flooded with your juices by the end of the night as johnny is determined to watch you fall apart over and over again on his cock.

[prouvaireafterdark]

We’ll Let the Flame Burn Once Again - a 3x07 Coda

My take on 3x08, with 100% more bed sharing, love confessions, and blow jobs than I’m sure canon will give us tomorrow.

Also on AO3!

***

Alex is halfway through the file on the Lockhart Machine when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Michael’s name flashes across the screen like an accusation when he digs it out of his coat.

“Fuck,” Alex sighs. He’d been so preoccupied with being kidnapped and faced with a life-changing career dilemma he’d completely forgotten that he’d never returned Michael’s voicemail or given anyone an update on the Kyle situation.

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back, I—” Alex starts when he answers the phone, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Are you home?” Michael asks sharply. He sounds panicked and out of breath, like he’s just been running for his life.

“Uh, no,” Alex answers. “Why, what’s wrong?”

The laugh Michael lets out is strangled and more than a little hysterical. “Better question would be what isn’t, but I’ll give you the cliff notes: Jones took over Max’s body and now he’s trying to kill us.”

“What?” Alex asks, sitting up straighter in his seat.

“Oh, and he’s also my fucking dad apparently,” Michael continues.

“What?” Alex says again. If that’s true, Alex has a few questions about where the hell those curls came from. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Michael says bitterly before he adds, all in a rush, “Look, I don’t know what he’s planning, but if he’s trying to get to me it’s only a matter of time before he goes after you and something tells me I won’t be able to build a bomb to get you back this time. You need to get somewhere safe, somewhere he won’t be able to find you.”

Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t know about our history? Alex wonders. 

He looks around at the wooden beams of the abandoned barn-turned hospital room he’s currently stuck in as he replies, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t think he’ll be able to find my location.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Alex assures him. If he knows Ramos half as well as he thinks he does, he’s pretty sure this building wouldn’t even show up on a map. “Where are you going to go?” 

“No fucking idea,” Michael says. “My place isn’t safe and neither is Isobel’s so maybe we’ll just find a motel for the night or something until—“

“No, don’t do that,” Alex interrupts. “He’ll probably be expecting that and with Max’s face he’ll have access to police resources. If he’s motivated enough, he’ll track you down by the end of the night.”

Michael lets out a loud sigh before he says, mostly to himself, “Fuck Max for being a fucking cop,” frustration heavy in his tone. “You got any other ideas then?”

Alex considers that for a moment before he remembers the cabin Jim left him. It’s not a top secret military bunker, but it’s remote and about as secure as they can hope for right now.

“I do, actually,” Alex says at last. “Where are you right now?”

“The hospital,” Michael answers. “Maria’s fine, Liz and I just checked on her.”

“Okay good,” he says. “He probably won’t attack you if you’re in a public place so just stay there and wait for my call, okay? There’s something I need to take care of and then I’m all yours.”

Alex cringes at his own wording, but Michael doesn’t seem to notice.

“Okay,” he says. “Just—hurry?” 

“I will,” Alex promises. “Stay safe.”

“You too,” Michael replies, and then the line goes dead.

Alex turns back to his phone screen and pulls up his contacts. He hesitates for a minute, asking himself if what he’s about to do is really the right choice.

But then he thinks of Michael and how much easier it would be to protect him with access to all of the resources and intel Deep Sky has to offer. If Jones is even half the threat he seems, Alex has a feeling he’s going to need all the help he can get.

Alex makes the call. It rings twice before he gets an answer.

“Have you made up your mind then?” Ramos asks, foregoing a greeting entirely.

“I’m in,” Alex says, projecting confidence he doesn’t quite feel. “Now do you think I can get a ride back to my car? I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Thirty minutes later, Alex leaves Kyle in Ramos’ care and hits the road. He’s careful not to speed too much—the last thing he needs is to get pulled over right now—but he’s definitely pushing it.

Alex had called Michael back while he waited impatiently for Ramos and gave him instructions on how to get to the cabin—an indirect route with minimal traffic cameras along the way. Looking at the clock on his dashboard, Alex guesses Michael will probably have already let himself in by now.

Sure enough, Michael’s pick-up truck and Isobel’s SUV are already parked outside by the time Alex pulls into the dirt path he calls a driveway. When he opens the front door, he sees a small crowd of people in his living room, all wearing various expressions of exhaustion and defeat.

Rosa has her boots propped up on the coffee table next to Michael’s hat where she sits in the armchair in the corner, her eyes trained on Liz who looks to be wearing a hole in the carpet with all of the pacing she’s doing. Michael is sitting with Isobel on the couch, her head resting heavily on his shoulder and her arms drawn tight across her chest. 

They all look up at him as he steps over the threshold, but Michael’s the first to react, his back straightening against the couch the moment he lays eyes on him.

“Alex,” he says, little louder than a whisper. Alex feels the sudden desire to pull him into his arms. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Alex says, closing the door behind him. “It’s a long story, but I found Kyle.”

“You found Kyle?” Liz asks, her eyes wide as she takes a step closer to him. “Where is he?”

“With his uncle,” he answers.

“His what?” Rosa asks at the same time Liz says, “Kyle doesn’t have an uncle.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Alex says. 

This time of night, Alex figures they could all use a pick-me-up, so he heads to the kitchen and gestures for them to follow. 

While he gets the ancient coffee pot going, he can hear the sound of chairs scraping against the floor behind him as they all find a seat at the table in the middle of the room. There’s an empty seat next to Michael when he goes to sit, so he takes it, figuring it’ll be easier to stay focused on the task at hand if he doesn’t have to look directly at him.

As he sits down, he catches Michael’s eyes shifting toward the dusty bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge, but he surprises him when he doesn’t ask for it. Alex isn’t sure if that’s for Rosa’s benefit or his own, but either way he can’t help but feel a little proud of him.

They talk for what must be hours, starting with Kyle and Alex’s involvement with Deep Sky and ending with the shit show that went down with Jones tonight. It’s a lot to process, for all of them, but they do manage to come up with a plan for tomorrow. 

Michael is understandably suspicious of Deep Sky, but after Alex relays what he learned about the Lockhart Machine’s origins in Caulfield, he wants to get his hands on it. The idea of working so close to him makes Alex nervous for more reasons than one, but Michael’s right—he needs his help if he’s going to make any meaningful progress before the other shoe drops with Jones and pretending otherwise is going to get someone killed.

Liz, for her part, is eager to dive into the science to see if there’s anything she can do to help Kyle, so Alex will take her to the barn in the morning before he and Michael tackle the Lockhart Machine. 

With no leads on where Jones took Max’s body, Isobel and Rosa decide to check on Maria and see if there’s any progress they can make on freeing her from the hold Jones has on her mind. 

It’s as solid a plan as they’re capable of making with what they’ve got, so the moment Michael yawns behind the grimy bandana on his hand Alex is ready to call it a night.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight,” Alex says. He pushes back from the table and starts collecting coffee mugs to put in the sink as he continues, “There’s a guest bedroom down the hall and an extra bed in the secret bunker under the coffee table in the living room for people to crash in.”

“The what under the what?” Liz asks, bewildered.

“Alex Manes, do you have a sex dungeon in your basement?” Isobel asks, sounding intrigued and a little impressed before she grimaces suddenly and turns to Michael. “Ew, wait, did you know about this?”

Alex resolutely does not look at Michael as he sighs, “It’s not a sex dungeon.” 

He considers telling them about the room’s true intended purpose, but decides against it—there’s been enough revelations about distant fathers for one evening. 

“It’s just an extra bedroom,” he continues, before turning to Liz and Rosa. “The bed down there is big enough for two people to fit in if you guys don’t mind sharing. The bed in the guest room’s just a twin, so it’d be a tighter squeeze.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rosa shrugs, eyes on Liz as she continues, “As long as you don’t steal the covers.”

“Oh come on, that was one time when I was seven,” Liz protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Isobel interrupts their sibling banter to say, “Dibs on the guest room then. Sorry, Michael, you’re on the couch tonight.”

Michael shrugs like he expected that, but Alex stops him with a hand on his arm as he goes to walk toward the living room.

“No, take my bed,” he says. Michael’s eyes drop down to where Alex’s hand has caught his forearm and Alex lets him go. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“What?” Michael asks, cocking his head so his curls fall into his eyes. “No, I’ll take the couch. Sleep in your own bed.”

“Michael, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch after the day you’ve had,” Alex argues. “You need a good night’s sleep in an actual bed.”

“And you don’t?” Michael counters. “Besides, if you sleep on that lumpy-ass couch you’re definitely going to fuck up your leg and I think we can both agree that that would be kind of a problem if Jones catches up to us.”

Alex sighs and tries to stare him down, willing him to let him do this for him, but Michael just keeps defiantly meeting his gaze.

“Oh my god, would you two shut up and just share the bed if the couch sucks that much?” Isobel asks and they both turn to look at her in shock. “It’s not like it would be the first time,” she adds under her breath.

Alex shares another look with Michael and waits a moment for him to react, to give any sign he wouldn’t be okay with that. 

All he does is shrug and say, “I’m game if you are.”

If he’s honest, Alex has no fucking idea how he’s supposed to get any sleep lying next to Michael all night—his stomach is already in knots just thinking about it—but he nods his head anyway.

“Alright,” Alex agrees. “It’s just down the hall that way, I’ll show you. Does anyone need anything to sleep in? I’ve got some spare pajamas.”

There’s a chorus of yes’s all around, so Alex heads down the hall toward his bedroom to grab some clothes with Michael not far behind him. 

“Looks, uh—nice in here,” Michael comments awkwardly as they step inside the bedroom, and Alex can’t help but laugh.

“You don’t have to lie,” he says as he starts digging through the dresser for some old t-shirts and sweatpants, glad for once that he never got around to cutting down the right pant leg on them. “Besides the new sheets, this is all Jim Valenti’s old stuff.” 

“The clothes too?” Michael grimaces.

“Oh, no, these are mine,” he says as he hands Michael a bundle of clothes. “Bathroom’s through that door there if you want to shower. There should be an extra toothbrush and towels under the sink.”

Michael nods, and then scoffs when he sees the Air Force logo on the t-shirt Alex hands him. Alex rolls his eyes at him as he heads back out into the living room to distribute clothes to the rest of his guests. 

It takes some time getting everyone settled—the sheets on the other beds need to be changed and Liz and Rosa have some questions about the giant hole in the wall in the basement—but soon enough, Alex heads back to the master bedroom. When he gets there, he sees Michael standing by the far side of the bed, water weighing down his curls and a pair of Alex’s sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He isn’t wearing a shirt either, the Air Force tee Alex gave him sitting on the comforter on Alex’s side of the bed.

Alex isn’t sure if this is an act of protest against the United States Armed Forces or if Michael is simply trying to drive him insane, but either way, Alex scoops up the t-shirt on his way to the ensuite bathroom along with the emergency crutches he keeps here and another pair of sweats for himself. 

He goes through his nightly routine without issue, grateful that he’d gotten around to buying a shower chair for the cabin so he can actually wash the last few days off his skin. 

He’s expecting Michael to be asleep when he gets back, but instead he finds him sitting crosslegged in bed with the lights still on, his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. Alex’s heart aches at the sight.

“Hey,” he says softly as he makes his way over to the bed. 

Michael looks up at him, an inscrutable look on his face, and waits for him to speak. 

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay because there’s nothing about today that has been okay,” Alex tells him, “but I’m here if you want to talk.”

A small smile tugs at Michael’s lips. “Thanks,” he says.  

When he doesn’t say anything else, Alex gets into bed with him, resting his crutches in the narrow space between the bed and the nightstand. Michael gets the lights with his powers, plunging the room into darkness, and Alex lies down on his back while his eyes adjust, too aware of Michael shifting in bed beside him to really let himself relax enough to sleep. 

It’s a few moments later when Michael lets out a huff that sounds a little like a laugh.

“What?” Alex asks, turning to look at him. He can just see the curve of Michael’s nose in the moonlight bleeding through the curtains.

“Nothing, I just—“ Michael starts before he sighs again, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s a little ridiculous that this time last year we were dealing with your homicidal father and now we’re dealing with mine. The more things change the more they stay the same, I guess.”

Michael says it like it’s funny, but Alex feels a twinge in his chest at the thought of Michael going through what he went through last year. Feeling unsafe around your parent is a special kind of pain, one Alex knows intimately, and it’s the last thing he would have ever wanted for Michael. He’s been through enough.

 On impulse, Alex reaches across the bed for Michael’s hand. It takes some searching, but eventually he finds it resting on top of the comforter between them. He half expects Michael to pull away from him, but he threads their fingers together instead. Michael’s palm is warm against his own, his grip secure, and Alex feels his eyes begin to burn as something inside his chest settles at the touch. 

He swallows down the emotion in his throat as he tells him, “We’re gonna figure this out.” 

“You don’t know that,” Michael says, scarcely louder than a whisper.

“Yeah, I do,” Alex insists. “Jones may have crazy alien powers we can’t comprehend, but we have the Lockhart Machine. If it was your mother who built it, it could hold the key to taking him down.”

At the mention of his mother, Michael goes quiet again, and Alex watches his chest rise and fall with the deep breath he takes. 

“You really think she built it?” Michael asks at last, hesitation in his tone. 

Alex gets it—this machine, if it works like the radios the Valentis had, could have alien glass with his mother’s voice inside. It makes sense that Michael doesn’t want to get his hopes up and invite the crushing disappointment he’ll feel if it doesn’t.

Alex squeezes his hand reassuringly as he answers, “I think if there’s anyone who can find out for sure, it’s you.”

Michael is silent for another long moment, so long that Alex thinks he’s done with the conversation, before he finally asks, “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

“What do you mean?” Alex asks, taken aback by the question.

Michael shifts onto his side to look at him directly. “Yesterday you didn’t want me anywhere near what you were doing and now you’re holding my hand and telling me it’s all gonna be okay if we work together,” Michael says, lifting their joined hands off the bed for emphasis. “What’s changed?”

Alex’s throat clicks as he swallows, something like shame weighing down the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t meant to make Michael feel like he didn’t want him around or that he wasn’t useful.

“I’m sorry,” Alex apologizes. “I was just scared.”

“Of what?” Michael presses.

“Of what Deep Sky would do if they found out about you,” he answers. “I knew if you kept investigating the bats, you would find Deep Sky sooner or later and I was terrified that for all their talk about changing narratives and building bridges between humans and aliens that they wouldn’t be any different than my father if they actually met one.” 

“Well, you could have told me that,” Michael says after a moment, his voice softer than the accusatory tone Alex is anticipating. “I would have understood.”

“But would you have let it go if you knew you were onto something?” Alex asks. 

“Not a chance in hell,” Michael admits, something like a smile playing at his lips. 

Alex sighs heavily, expecting the answer but no less happy at being proven right. 

“But being cagey and lying to me about what you knew didn’t make me want to let it go either,” Michael continues. 

“I know,” Alex says. “I just thought—If I didn’t try to protect you and just let you walk into something like that and you got hurt, I… I would never forgive myself.” 

Alex feels Michael’s thumb caress the back of his hand and closes his eyes at the sensation, letting it wash over him and remind him that Michael is here, that he’s safe—that he hasn’t failed him yet.

“Well, it was for nothing anyway,” Alex sighs as his eyes drift open once more. “Turns out you’re the whole reason they wanted to hire me in the first place, so—“

“Wait, what?” Michael asks, raising his head off his pillow to look at him better, and Alex curses his own sleep deprivation for letting him admit that so easily. “I thought they scouted you because of your dad.”

He swallows audibly before he answers, “That’s part of it too.” 

“But not all of it,” Michael says, not a question but a confirmation. “What, did they think they could get an alien on their side if they played the long game with you?” 

“Probably, yeah,” Alex says, hoping that’ll satisfy him.

Michael must sense that Alex is holding something back, though, because he releases his hand and sits up on the bed next to him. “Alex, what aren’t you saying?” 

Alex sighs and pushes himself up against the headboard so he and Michael are on the same level. He pulls his left leg in toward his chest protectively while Michael looks at him, his eyes intense and expectant.

Alex finds the words eventually. “Ramos wanted me to join Deep Sky because he thinks I view life differently than other people.”

“Because you already know aliens exist?” Michael guesses, his head quirked to the side.

God, is he really gonna make me say it? Alex thinks, his stomach dropping at the thought.

But then he takes in Michael’s earnest confusion, how far away the fact that Alex still loves him must be from his mind that he still doesn’t get it, and realizes they can’t keep doing this to each other—talking in riddles and euphemisms because it’s easier than being honest. That’s not who Alex wants to be anymore, and it’s certainly not what Michael deserves.

“Alex?” Michael prompts him, his voice dipping with concern, and Alex thinks, Fuck it. 

He’s already made a few major confessions tonight—what’s one more?

“Because I’m in love with one,” Alex admits at last, his heart thundering behind his ribs as he braces for Michael’s reply.

There’s a beat where Michael does nothing but stare at him blankly, the words taking a moment to register in his ears, before he asks, eyes almost comically wide, “You’re in love with me?” 

Alex laughs humorlessly, his eyes beginning to burn again as he answers, “Of course I am.”

“But I thought—you and Nazi guy—?“ Michael starts.

“Are over,” Alex finishes for him. “Forrest was nice and fun to hang out with, but he’s not you. He’ll never be you.”

A second and a year pass in the excruciating moment Michael takes to process that statement. It makes him feel raw and impossibly exposed, like Michael is holding his beating heart in his hands and Alex is begging him not to break it, but the next thing Alex knows Michael is pushing into his space and capturing his lips in a harsh and desperate kiss. 

Alex’s heart nearly bursts with relief, his leg dropping back down to the mattress. He reaches up to cup both of Michael’s cheeks to keep him close, his days-old stubble a pleasant scratch against his palms. 

Michael breathes a contented sigh against his mouth as he tilts his head for a better angle and tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue flicking out against Alex’s bottom lip. Alex opens for him without a moment’s hesitation and as soon as Michael licks into his mouth, Michael’s tongue sliding across his own, Alex feels like he’s been set on fire, the desire he’s been suppressing for over a year now flaring hot and inexorable inside of him. 

Alex wants with an intensity that almost scares him, his cock stirring against his thigh already and Michael’s barely even touched him. The feeling amplifies when Michael throws his leg over Alex’s hips and settles heavily over his lap, the solid weight and warmth of him pulling a moan from Alex’s throat.

Michael swallows the sound eagerly as he snakes his arms behind his neck, his hips shifting restlessly over Alex’s lap as he kisses him. Alex drops his hands from Michael’s face to wrap around his waist instead, pulling him closer until they’re nearly chest to chest. 

One of them has to break the kiss eventually, and as Alex gasps for air with his head tipped back against the headboard, he can see Michael looking down at him with adoration in his eyes. He takes Alex’s face in his hands and laughs, a soft, wet sound, before he kisses him soundly once more. 

“I love you so much,” he murmurs against his lips, and Alex’s grip tightens as he feels those words brush against his skin and settle in his heart.

Alex leans that little bit forward to kiss him again, slow and languid this time as the heat continues to simmer between them. Michael peels Alex’s shirt over his head and begins to rock gently against him, his ass rubbing back and forth over Alex’s growing erection with every movement of his hips. 

He can tell that Michael’s getting hard too, can feel the heat of his cock through his borrowed sweatpants. Alex removes his hand from Michael’s waist and slides it lower until he feels Michael’s happy trail peeking out above his waistband. 

He strokes his thumb over the hair there, teasing the skin at the edge of the fabric without ever dipping beneath it. Michael squirms against him with a soft, plaintive whimper when he does that, so Alex gives him what he wants, lets his hand slip lower so he can rub his palm over the hard line of Michael’s cock, relishing the way Michael moans softly into his mouth as his hips twitching closer on instinct. 

“Are we really doing this right now?” Alex pulls away to ask, his thumb rubbing a slow circle around the head of Michael’s dick through the soft fabric. 

“Are you saying you want to stop?” Michael asks him, tipping forward until their foreheads meet.

“No,” he answers.

“Then yeah,” Michael breathes, reaching down between them to cover Alex’s hand with his own. “I think we’re doing this.”

“In that case,” Alex says, “I want you in my mouth.”

“God, yeah,” Michael whispers, his cock jumping beneath Alex’s hand at the thought.

Alex gives him a hard kiss before he pulls back to say, “On your back.”

Michael climbs off of Alex’s lap without another word. He rolls over onto his back next to him, his thighs falling open to give Alex room to work with. 

Alex slips between them easily and moves in to kiss him again, once on the lips before he begins pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down his chin. He lingers at his neck, sucking a bruise into the spot underneath his jaw that he knows drives Michael fucking crazy. 

Michael rewards him with a choked-off moan, his legs spreading wider around his hips. Alex wishes he had the time—and supplies—to ruin him properly, work him open with his tongue and fingers until he’s a keening, whimpering mess before he fucks him like he deserves. For now, though, his mouth will have to do.

Alex can feel Michael’s pulse jackrabbit against his lips as he continues down the column of his throat, Michael’s hands burying themselves in his hair. He dips his tongue into the hollow of his collarbone before he slips further down his chest, cupping Michael’s pecs in his hands and squeezing just enough to get a reaction from him before his mouth latches on to one of his nipples.

He scrapes his teeth against the bud before soothing the hurt with his tongue and Michael’s breath catches in his throat again. He’s always been so sensitive, so responsive to Alex’s touch, and Alex can’t get enough of it.

When he’s teased both of his nipples to hard buds, Alex starts to move lower still, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down the length of his belly until he stops right above the waistband of his pajamas.

“Alex,” Michael moans as Alex sucks another bruise into his skin, his fingers tightening their grip on his hair. “Please.”

Alex gives one final kiss to the sharp angle of Michael’s hip bone before he sits up to pull his pants off. He drops them off the side of the bed carelessly before he settles between Michael’s legs once more, running his palms along the soft skin of his inner thighs and enjoying the way the muscle jumps beneath his fingertips.

Michael’s cock leaks against his belly, flushed and wet at the tip. Alex wastes no more time getting his mouth on him, lapping at the pool of precome shining against his skin before he takes the slick, swollen head into his mouth. He revels in the feel of it forcing his mouth wide open and moans softly at the bitter taste he catches on his tongue. 

Alex looks up at Michael through his lashes as he starts to suck him, sinking down onto his cock a little lower with every pass of his lips. Michael’s got his bottom lip caught painfully between his teeth, his eyes trained hungrily on the way his cock is slipping in and out of Alex’s mouth. 

The soft, needy whimpers Michael makes as Alex swallows around him are music to his ears, stoking the fire inside of him until the pressure in his own cock becomes unbearable. Alex grinds his hips down against the mattress for relief, but it only makes him more desperate to come. He slides one of his hands straight into his own pants and groans around Michael’s cock as he starts to fuck his fist.

It’s not much longer that Michael’s hips start to twitch against the mattress and his fingers tighten their grip on Alex’s hair. He barely gets out a warning, “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” before he’s pulsing hot and wet across Alex’s tongue. Alex swallows it greedily, moaning softly as he works Michael through the rest of his orgasm and keeps chasing his own with eager, shallow thrusts. 

When Michael’s had enough, Alex pulls off of his cock and buries his face against his hip as he comes quietly over his own fist, making a mess of the inside of his underwear. He’ll probably be embarrassed about that later, but for now he’s content to come down to the feeling of Michael gently petting his hair.

“Get up here,” Michael says when he’s recovered the ability to speak, tugging lightly on the ends of Alex’s hair to get his attention. 

Alex groans as he lifts his head off Michael’s hip and maneuvers himself until he’s lying next to him again, his stump crossed over Michael’s thigh. 

“Did you—?” Michael cuts off, eyes caught on the sticky mess on Alex’s hand now that he’s pulled it free from his pants.

“Yeah,” Alex admits, a little sheepishly. 

Michael stares at his hand for a long second before he grabs his wrist and pulls his hand closer to his face. He looks Alex in the eye as he sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, grunting softly as he licks them clean.

“Fuck,” Alex whispers, his cock twitching in vain against his thigh at the sight and feel of Michael’s tongue sliding between his fingers.

“You missed sucking my cock that bad, huh?” Michael asks when he lets them fall from his mouth, voice low and rough as gravel as he pushes into Alex’s space, so close he can smell himself on Michael’s breath. 

Alex lets out a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he answers.

Michael leans in to kiss him, quick and dirty and possessive, before he pulls back and says, “Guess I’m just gonna have to wait until the morning to return the favor then.”

“I guess so,” Alex says, hooking his clean hand around the back of Michael’s neck to bring him in for another one.

Michael kisses him back eagerly for a long moment before he pulls away. “Be right back,” he says, and climbs out of bed.

While he’s in the bathroom, Alex shimmies his dirty sweatpants and underwear off his legs and onto the floor. It’s only another minute before Michael’s back, a damp washcloth gripped between his fingers. 

It’s warm against Alex’s skin as Michael uses it to clean him up, and when they’re done they settle down for bed, Alex’s head resting on Michael’s chest and his arm thrown across his waist.

And as Alex finally closes his eyes for the night, his thoughts naturally drift to all the problems they’ll be facing tomorrow morning:

Saving Kyle. 

Freeing Maria. 

Stopping Jones. 

Unlocking the secrets of a mysterious 50 year old alien device and hopefully not going insane while trying.

But as the steady sound of Michael’s heartbeat lulls him to sleep, the loudest thought in his head is that Michael loves him. 

Whatever happens come morning, they’ll deal with it together.

[respectable-username]

Because I'm obsessed with Hivemind Etho, here's another little story with them for the @hermitcraftheadcanons Hermitopia AU. As before, this is just a quick piece that's only been lightly edited because of the time constraints of this community AU.

This is also some setup for a potential future confrontation for somebody else to write.

---

The two Ethos stood at the door to the apartment, waiting for the hour to strike.

It was all they could do to not to brush the hastily cut and dyed hair away from one of their selves' forehead, or fight against the overly tight suit and tie, or scratch at the cheap surgical mask that sat in place of their regular cloth face covering, or the makeup that tried to conceal their prominent eye scar. The other self pulled their jacket closer, trying to extract enough comfort from it for the both of them.

The clock struck 7am. Etho knocked.

A few minutes later, the door was pulled open by a bleary-eyed Mumbo in a dressing gown.

"Hello– oh no what are you doing here please don't hurt me please don't hurt me."

The undisguised Etho pushed through the doorway as Mumbo backed away from the Unrestrained villain, now fully awake.

"Your ID card," said the Etho, entering the room.

"What?" said Mumbo.

"Your ConCorp ID pass," clarified the Etho, holding out their hand. "Give it to us. Now."

"Um, I don't think I'm supposed to do that," said Mumbo, desperately searching for something to grab.

The Etho's eyes bore into Mumbo, cold, unflinching, unwavering. One looked right at him while the other seemed to look right through him.

"Um, right, ok," said Mumbo. "Uh, can you pass me my bag? It's in there."

The disguised Etho entered the apartment and grabbed the briefcase sitting by the door, opening it and grabbing the pass inside, clipping it onto their own trousers. They closed the bag and held it beside them.

"Um, ok," said Mumbo. "I– is that all you wanted?"

"Your phone too," said the undisguised Etho.

"Please no!" Mumbo pleaded. "I can't lose that. What if there's an emergency and I need to call for help but I don't have my phone so the apartment burns down or if somebody gets hurt and I can't call an ambulance or–"

The Etho took a step forward. "Your phone," they repeated.

"Ok ok please don't hurt me," said Mumbo, retrieving his phone from his pocket and holding up both hands.

The Etho grabbed the phone and tossed it over their shoulder at their other self, who caught it flawlessly.

The Etho looked between the cowering Mumbo before them and their other, disguised self. About the same height. Hair roughly similar enough to pass. The ConCorp-issued suit didn't fit quite the same, and the face mask was an obvious difference, but it was close enough if nobody gave them a second glance.

And, having been observing Mumbo for the last few weeks, there didn't seem to be anybody who would give Mumbo a second glance.

The disguised Etho turned silently and left. The other Etho shut the front door and turned the lock, trapping them and Mumbo inside.

***

The disguised Etho walked up to the ConCorp entrance at 8:53am. This seemed to be the average time of Mumbo's arrivals. They walked towards the turnstiles and swiped Mumbo's pass.

"Everything alright?" asked a receptionist behind the main desk, presumably concerned by the face mask.

The Etho coughed. "I'll be fine," they croaked.

"Sweetie, if you're feeling unwell, you should be at home, resting," she said.

"Got stuff to do," croaked Etho, walking forward into the elevator before any further questions could be asked.

"Where's your office?" the Etho at Mumbo's apartment asked, sitting in a corner of Mumbo's couch from which they could see the whole room.

"Um, at ConCorp HQ," said Mumbo, fiddling with a teabag.

Etho sighed. "Precise directions from the elevator please," they said.

"Oh, uh, straight ahead down the corridor, last door on the left," Mumbo said.

The "Mumbo" Etho followed the described path and scanned their pass to enter the room.

The kettle clicked. Mumbo poured the boiling water out into the mug. The Etho in the apartment tensed, ready to spring away at any sign the hot contents would be flung towards them.

"And what's your password?" asked Etho.

"For what?" said Mumbo.

"Your ConCorp laptop," said Etho, the faintest wisps of exasperation creeping into their otherwise carefully controlled voice.

"I am so getting fired for this," sighed Mumbo.

"Better your job than your life," Etho replied flippantly.

"Of course," said Mumbo hurriedly. "It's – oh gosh I can't believe I'm saying this aloud – it's BMX4lyfe95!"

The Etho at the office typed it in. Finally, the internal network was open to them.

They started working to set up a reverse proxy to tunnel out from behind the firewall. Another of their selves at home was already positioned to connect to the network tunnel as soon as it was opened.

Mumbo poured milk into his mug, throwing away the teabag and walking over to the lounge. The Etho already on a couch got ready to jump, but Mumbo just sat down across from them and took a sip.

Mumbo stared down into his mug. "You're a hacker, right?" he asked, his eyes not looking up.

"One of my talents," said Etho cautiously.

"Since they're gonna fire me anyway, can I ask a small favour?" said Mumbo, still acting like his tea was the most fascinating thing in the room.

"Depends," said Etho.

Mumbo drummed his fingers against the mug. "I have this friend, Iskall," Mumbo said. "He's one of the office workers at ConCorp. I made his cybernetics after he got injured. But they keep breaking in weird ways and I don't know why. His explanations don't make sense! The metal I use doesn't melt like that from accidentally touching a stove. They shouldn't buckle like that from tripping into a wall. They shouldn't shatter from falling down a flight of stairs. I'm... I'm just worried for him. Is he in danger? What isn't he telling me?"

The Etho on the couch was quiet for a few seconds. "You only have partial access to the VEX files," they said. "There's a lot I can't find here."

"It's so creepy how you do that," said Mumbo.

Etho ignored him.

The Etho at home let out a quiet cheer as they managed to connect through the tunnel into the ConCorp network. They started browsing, collecting, and saving as much information as possible.

The Etho in the office switched their focus to finding some sort of privilege escalation vulnerability that would let them access the more secure files.

"Erm, I probably should have asked before," said Mumbo. "Would you like some tea? Some breakfast?"

"I'm fine," said the Etho in the apartment.

"So, uh, do you have any hobbies?" asked Mumbo.

"Please don't small talk," said Etho. "I'm busy."

"Oh, ok," said Mumbo. "Can I go grab a book or something then? Since, y'know, I don't have my phone or laptop or anything."

Etho nodded. "But if you call for help," they said, "I will know about it and I will make you regret it."

"Of course," said Mumbo.

The Etho in the office kept prodding at the ConCorp intranet. What they needed were the credentials of a superior, maybe even the Director himself. Hmm, it seemed from this directory structure that the Director was Mumbo's direct supervisor. It would only take a few hours to set up some sort of spear phishing attempt that would let them pivot directly onto the Director's computer. As long as they didn't get caught first, of course.

Etho opened Mumbo's calendar and declined all meetings that day that wouldn't look suspicious to avoid. There weren't many meetings to sort through.

"How often do you get visitors to your office?" Etho asked Mumbo.

"Iskall usually comes for lunch when he's not swamped by a project," said Mumbo. "Otherwise, nobody else just pops 'round usually."

"How about your boss?" asked Etho.

"He's busy," Mumbo said. "I have to go to him if we ever talk."

The Etho in the apartment nodded, settling back to focus on what their other selves were doing.

***

Hi Cub, Etho typed. Can you review this interface I made? It should let us remotely view what's happening with our heroes through their cybernetics. With some extra work, we could get actual video from their perspective to send to the media!

Etho sent the message, then sent the file with their exploit. The exploit was covered by a very quickly and poorly thrown together interface which returned the live location of a GPS receiver they had found in the lab.

They left it a few minutes, stretching back in Mumbo's desk chair as they waited for a reply.

Finally, one came through.

Hey Mumbo. Great prototype! We'll probably need to pass off development to the actual software engineering team, but this is a great initiative. I'm proud to have a thinker like you on our team!

Etho allowed themselves a smile as they checked to see if their exploit had worked. There it was, a tunnel open on the expected port right into the Director's machine. Jackpot.

The Etho at home pivoted through the new tunnel and started scraping as much information as they could.

"Your friend is a mercenary," the Etho in Mumbo's apartment said, making Mumbo jump at the sudden sound.

"Wait what?" said Mumbo.

"Iskall is a mercenary and assassin for ConCorp, working for them in exchange for ConCorp saving his life," clarified Etho.

"Iskall, a mercenary?" Mumbo said. "No no no no no. That can't be!"

"That's what his file says," Etho said with a shrug. "Either way, I've got what I need. I've called you in sick for the next week, and I'm keeping your pass to enforce that. Your phone will be returned, but I've programmed it to inform me if you let any part of today slip. I hope you understand."

"Uh, thank you, I guess," said Mumbo.

"I'll be here with your belongings in half an hour," Etho continued, standing up.

"What do– oh, right," said Mumbo.

"And don't do anything stupid," said Etho, opening the door to leave. "As thanks for your assistance, the nHo will try to keep you safe from any upcoming confrontation. But if you break this trust, that guarantee will not hold."

"I understand," said Mumbo, gulping at the idea of having to further betray his company, his friends.

The Etho left his apartment.

[attack-on-kiwi]

Jean alphabet ?🥲😌

The crush I have on this man is embarrassing-

Jean Kiirstein:

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Jean is a simple guy. Any time he’s around his s/o, he’s content. Usually, he will let them pick what they want to do. He’s not averse to just spending a day tending to the horses and riding around valleys on them. He finds it freeing. It’s especially enjoyable if they two are sharing the ride and his s/o is hugging him just tight enough from behind and laughing into his back. He doesn’t think that will ever stop bringing butterflies into his stomach.

He looks forward to any sort of domestic activity. Sleeping in and holding his s/o from leaving bed, helping them cut up vegetables for breakfast, surprising them with flowers or sweets when he has the opportunity to- anything classic, sweet, and intimate.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

They bring him back to reality. He’s not idealistic in any sense- instead he tends to get lost in his thoughts and can spiral into negative outbursts. He can also become closed off, so having his s/o, who can snap him back to his sense and remind him that not everything has gone to hell (even though, it’s pretty damn close to being so), means the world to him.

Jean is smitten. Another guy who thinks his s/o is the most gorgeous being to ever grace the earth. He thinks they’re the most beautiful when. they’re concentrating on a task. The way they refuse to let anyone or anything get in the way of their objective, no matter how menial or grand, bubbles pride in him.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Jean would drop everything that can be put off to help his s/o. He absolutely hates when they feel upset, and he’s not that good at comforting people. He’ll just crouch down (or bring them down if they’re taller) to eye level and ask them what they need him to do. His voice is soft, laced with concern. 

Jean damn near might tear up himself if his s/o is upset enough. He’ll stay with them for as long as they need to, and then some more. He’s likely going to hover or keep an eye on them for the next few days to make sure they’re truly all right.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Jean wants to get married and have a family. He doesn’t care if the kids are biological or adopted, but he wants kids. He could settle for a son and daughter, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d like at least two kids to keep him on his toes. He aspires to give them the most peaceful life and wants to be present in their lives for anything and everything.

He’s terrified of the idea of becoming a husband and father, but it’s one of the thoughts that keeps him going. He knows he wants his s/o by his side for the rest of their lives. Considering everything they’ve been through, he’s already planning on how to propose.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Jean doesn’t think of being dominant or passive in a relationship. He can take initiative in most cases, but he’s not going to impose on his s/o. He’s present in the relationship, and will often check in with his s/o. to make sure that they’re okay. It’s important to him that they be transparent and aware of how the other is feeling, though he might bury his own feelings quite often.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Being as confrontational as he is, it’s not uncommon to get into fights. He never gets physical with his s/o. The two are rather prone to heated arguments that can escalate to screaming at each other if the conflict is serious enough. 

Jean absolutely hates that he can’t hold himself back. He’s too forthright with his thoughts.. He does try his best not to hit low blows. No matter what, his arguments are based on fact and he won’t rely on jabbing at his s/o’s insecurities to gain an edge during a fight.

He needs his space. Usually, this just means the two separate and cool down a few hours. The longest he will go without speaking to them is a night. First thing in the morning, he’ll try to calmly confront them and apologize for his behavior, asking if they can try to talk the issue out now that they’ve had some rest.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Jean’s a grateful man, even if his slight pessimistic attitude can point you otherwise. He doesn’t verbally say that he’s grateful, but his actions truly speak louder than his words. He’s always got an eye on his s/o, he stops them when they’re overexerting themselves, he can sense when all they need is to be held for a few moments, and he’s always seeking out ways to make their day brighter. 

One way he might allow himself to be vulnerable is sitting behind them in bed and clasping their hands together, kissing each of their knuckles lightly. Jean likes to speak just above a whisper, listing why he loves them.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

No huge secrets. He does hide how he’s feeling at times, especially if he is stressed and doesn’t want them to feel pressured. Jean does press his s/o to tell him whatever is on their mind, though. The two have an honest relationship. You have to be blunt if you want to work with Jean, after all. He doesn’t mind if his s/o needs to keep secrets, as long as it’s nothing serious, like their loyalty to him shifting.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Jean allows himself to be more sensitive around his s/o. Normally, he would never entertain being overtly emotional or softer yet around his s/o, he’s quite different. There’s a gentleness about him which no one gets to see any other time. Truly, he will keep this persona for behind closed doors, but it does seep into his day to day. He’s kinder to people after he’s spent time with his partner. 

He is fighting for the people he loves-- to guarantee they can live fulfilling lives, grow old, then finally die peacefully. It’s all he wants, and having people to fight for is his heaviest inspiration.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He’s secure with himself in most senses, but there are times when Jean feels like he could be giving his s/o more attention or time. He may feel a twinge of guilt if his s/o starts to deflate at the idea of asking him if he has free time because it hurts that they worry about getting in the way of his work. During these episodes, it’s easy for Jean to become suspicious of other people, specifically other men, that are hovering around his s/o more than before. If it bothers him enough, he will call it out.

Usually, Jean is to ashamed of feeling insecure to outright explain why he’s jealous. His s/o can gauge if he’s uneasy by how clingy he is afterwards.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Jean’s kisses are either shy or extremely passionate. Depending on how much adrenaline is rushing through his body, he can encapsulate his partner in a fiery lip lock that will leave them short of an accidental asphyxiation (sorry I need to shut up). When he’s sleepy or has been missing his s/o, he’s prone to soft, short pecks. He likes to whisper into their lips, most of the time, he will be saying, “Just one more” as he dozes off.

His s/o is his first kiss, so it’s about as awkward as first kisses can get. His mouth and throat were dry. He wasn’t sure if he should tilt his face. They would get close then Jean would fumble, trying to adjust for better access. Finally, he got frustrated and just crashed their lips together for not even a second before pulling away, face glowing pink. Don’t worry, he’s gotten slightly better.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Jean discovers early on. Within months, he’s positive he’s in love with his s/o. He is terrified of telling his partner due to fear of abandonment and humiliation that stems from a childhood of being bullied. (pry this from my cold dead hands). Regardless of how strong he feels, he won’t outright confess his love until the two have been together for a good amount of time. That can amount to months or even a year or so, depending on just how serious he’s feeling about the relationship.

He’s the type of person that is practicing in the mirror how to confess, and unknowingly, his s/o will hear him. If he’s lucky, they feel the same way and just walk in to tell him they love him too and watch his brain short circuit as it processes what just happened. 

On a serious note, though, Jean would be nervous to confess. He’d make a date out of the entire ordeal-- choosing to take his s/o out for a nice dinner and at night, as they’re stargazing in a remote field, he’d hold their hand and say he needs to tell them something. Even in the evening, it’s easy to see him heat up. He’d whisper it at first. His s/o needs to let him collect his thoughts, and as soon as he’s gathered them, he’d confess full throttle. His voice shakes slightly, but his conviction is apparent.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Jean fantasizes of getting married quite often, and this only increases as he gets closer to his s/o. 

He’s honest with his s/o and the topic of marriage comes up in late night conversations quite often. He’s confessed that once the fighting is over, they’ll get married the next day. There’s no proposal, just a promise that keeps the two fighting to live another day. His mother actually gives him her own wedding ring, telling him to get it resized if need be, but she hopes it can become a family heirloom. Jean’s a romantic, and this gets him flustered yet excited.

Peaceful. Marriage with Jean is as mundane as can be. Sure, there’s going to be times when old friends come wreck havoc, but it’s all taken in stride. He likes waking his s/o up with a kiss to the cheek. If they want to pat his hair dry or brush it after his shower, he’ll try distracting them with sly neck kisses. He wants his kids to see how much he loves his spouse and groan in disgust as they try to get their parents to hurry up so they can all eat. Jean’s content/

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He calls them by their name mostly. Sometimes he’ll shorten it or give them an alternative where it’s the first syllable of their name with -y at the end if possible. 

Jean calls them beautiful and gorgeous when he’s trying to make them laugh.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

The beginning is akin to puppy love. He’s so flustered but curious about everything they do and say. He’s kind to them and chokes up around them when he hasn’t had time to formulate a response. Definitely the type of guy who stares at his s/o wistfully with a dazed grin on his face. He’s been caught doing this to them across the room on multiple occasions. Needless to say-- everyone and their mother knows Jean’s smitten.

He tries to express his feelings by complimenting them. If he can help them out with errands or studying (if they met during the cadet training) he’s more than happy to shave off time to do so. He likes being able to take a load off their shoulders, so he won’t mind doing a little extra work.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Jean acts big, but he gets shy. The only time he’ll ever really kiss his s/o in front of others Is if he’s being teased or egged on and he wants to show he’s not ashamed of his partner. He loves them dearly, but showing affection in public isn’t the biggest priority for him.

 If they’re out in the market, he loves having them hold onto his arm as they lead him wherever the like. If there’s less people around, he won’t argue with locking fingers. His s/o might catch him off guard with some sneaky kisses that are sure to provoke him.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Everything about his hands. They’re not as rough as some other people, though they aren’t insanely soft. He can give amateur massages and knows how to exert just the right amount of pressure to make the experience enjoyable, even for the most fidgety/ticklish s/o. It’s his secret to helping them relax and release pent up tension.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Jean loves romance. He loves being in love and having an excuse to try his hand at sappy love letters and poetry. He’s not the best, but what he writes down makes his s/o’s heart flutter. He just wants them to know how much he cares about them, even if he has a hard time expressing himself accurately. 

He’s the type of guy who picks up pastries because he remembered his s/o liked them a few weeks ago and the bakery finally made them again. He’ll polish their shoes if they haven’t had the energy to do it themselves. He’ll remind them to eat. His idea of making them happy is making sure that they are well taken care of.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He’s their biggest fan and simultaneously their biggest critic. Jean supports their endeavors, but he will not mask his opinions just to make them feel better. He’s tough on them because he wants to see them succeed. He’ll help them if he can, but he won’t hold them back from their potential by lying to them. 

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Jean loves trying out new things with his s/o, especially once the world opens up to them. He wants to explore everything, while still having some sense of routine in their lives. No dates that could potentially harm him or his s/o. He’s spending time with them, not trying to fight for survival, after all. Dates can be adventures-- he won’t mind going on hikes or exploring nearby terrain, however, he’d much rather try new foods and experience new technology instead. 

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Jean likes to think he knows his partner inside and out, but he’s conflicted about the duality of everyone in his life when push comes to shove, so he finds himself wondering if he truly knows them. This is just his insecurity and hurt surfacing, but he can spiral into pondering whether his s/o care about him as much as he cares for them. He knows he gives them opportunities to tell them about themselves, and he’s picked up on their quirks over the time they’ve been together. In reality, Jean genuinely does know more about them than he thinks he does. It’s hard not to feel comfortable around him, after all. 

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

His relationship is extremely important to him as he’s always had issues with letting people in on his vulnerable side. He has insecurity issues stemming from a variety of sources and knowing how people could use him puts him off from working on most relationships. Finding his s/o and being slapped in the face by the reality that someone genuinely loves him and wants to learn with him is eye opening. Due to this, Jean tries extremely hard to work on himself and the relationship as best he can. There’s no way he’d half ass something so good.

Though Jean’s relationship is on the. top of his priorities, his mission is still going to overshadow his desire to be with his s/o. It’s not that the mission is more important-- it’s that he needs to complete the mission so that his beloved can finally rest. He wants to protect them, and protecting them means he has to put his life on the line, unfortunate as it is.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Jean’s a mother hen to his s/o. He’s always nagging them to eat, sleep, shower and make sure they’re taking care of themselves. He’s always been in tune with the health of other people, and he just naturally wants to make sure that his s/o is in optimal condition. He will literally snap and physically force them to sleep if he needs to. He gets irritated if they’re neglecting themselves due to the fear of them getting hurt or sick.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Yes!! All he wants to do is cuddle. He loves holding his s/o, but he loves being held more. When they run their fingers through his hair and mention a silly hairstyle he could try, he almost considers it. He falls asleep on their chest almost every night. 

If he’s upset, a simple kiss to the cheek or head is enough to bring a small smile back on his face.

His favorite place to be kissed would be his temples. There’s something soothing and homely about soft lips brushing past his hair to linger right above his brow. It’s also a surefire way of inducing drowsiness in him.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Jean just bites the feeling back and swears that he will see his s/o as soon as he can. The idea that they will be waiting for him is enough for him to power on. Occasionally, Jean may doodle them in the margin of a report or in his personal journal. He thinks about what their next date could be and wonders if they ever found that stray cat they mentioned a few conversations ago. He thinks about them and all the things they can do once they’re together, and it’s enough to motivate him.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He’s literally tryna save the world for them lol

~~~

Based off @snk-warriors​ fluff alphabet prompt

[lu-undy]

Alright, another (very) spicy Sniper/Spy short!

Kids, stay out of this!

For the old folks, a friend (Dell, thank you!) gave me an idea that I turned into a short. What if Sniper asked Spy to try a vibrating toy. What if the Frenchman does not really warm up to the idea, but he nonetheless accepts, Sniper can be so convincing... :) And What if Spy ends up enjoying it more than he expected? Well, here it is!

"Spook? You wanted to see me? Oh, he's in the shower…" 

Sniper entered the suite and went straight to the sofa, where he took a seat. He removed his glasses and hat, put them on the coffee table along with the small box he had brought, and leaned back. A few minutes later, the noise of the shower stopped and it pulled Sniper out of his daydream.

“Oh, mon amour, you came early this evening.” Spy peeked out of the shower, his hair still wet. He was only wearing a tanktop and a pair of shorts. Of course, regardless of the season, the French had to wear his satin gown on top of it all. Sniper always thought that he looked like a peacock when he walked with it and it flew after him, given the blue color with emerald green sheen.

“Disappointed?”

“On the contrary…” The Frenchman took a seat next to his lover and they hugged dearly, exchanging the usual greeting kisses.

“Mmh, you smell good, eh?”

“Well, as you see, I am freshly out of the shower.”

“Love it, and love ya.”

“Merci. But tell me, why did you come so early? We just finished dinner and I just came out of the shower. You usually take longer to join me here.” Spy asked. 

“Yeah, well, I just… I mean it’s Friday and uh…”

“Oh, I see.” Spy smiled. “You are in the mood?” The Frenchman raised a malicious eyebrow.

“Kinda, but above all, I brought somethin’ here, and wanted you to try it.” Sniper nodded in the direction of the coffee table.

“Oh, what is this?” Spy took the box in his hands.

“Go on, open it.”

“Is it for me?”

“Yeah. For us, I mean. We can both use it but I want you to give it a go first.”

“You have my full curiosity, Mundy.” Spy opened the box on his lap, between the panes of his open, satin gown. “Oh, is it what I think it is?” Lucien raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

“Yup.”

“Mundy, as much as I love you and I love how we decide to spend our intimate time and explore it, this might be… complicated.” Lucien watched the small plastic object. He then extracted a remote from the box.

“Why? I mean, I promise I’ll prepare you right and all, like I always do.”

“I know, I trust you for that.” Lucien lowered his eyes. 

“Then why? I know you like tyin’ me up and doin’ all sorts of things on me, have me, y’know, feel good a few times in a row and all. I just wanna try to do it on you.” I promise I’ll make you feel good and you don’t like it, I’ll be happy to be the only one usin’ it.”

“Have you ever used one of these before?” Lucien asked. 

“Not really. I heard of them and got one, just for us to try. Wasn’t expensive either, so if it turns out it’s a lot of faff for nothin’, I’ll be happy to chuck it in the bin m’self.”

Lucien sighed. 

“What is it, gorgeous?” Mundy gently asked, as he took his lover’s hand in his own.

“I… I am not sure you can ever achieve this.” Lucien answered, looking away.

“What? I’m not gonna be able to throw it away? Nah, I promise I will.”

“Non, you misunderstood me. Have you ever wondered why I like making you reach your peak a few times in a row?”

“I don’t know, guess it’s a kink of yours or somethin’.”

“Maybe, but why do you think it is so.” Lucien asked, raising his eyes to Mundy.

“I don’t know, never really wondered about it.”

“It is because I do not think I can do it myself anymore.” Lucein wrapped his arms around himself and looked away.

Mundy wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer.

“Hey, why d’you say that?”

“I used to be able to, when I was younger and now…”

���Are you sure you can’t do it?”

“The last time I managed, I was still with Jérémy’s mother. She… liked employing such, ahem, objects with me.”

“Look, I’ve got an idea.” Mundy said and Lucien raised his eyes to him again. The Aussie lovingly held his chin. “You give me a chance, just once. If it doesn’t work, then you use it on me and I won’t ask you about it ever again. I don’t want you to feel bad about yourself or anythin’, but I’m also sure you can do it but you just never tried for… thirty odd-years. What d’you say?”

Lucien looked left and right, taking a second to ponder, before he nodded weakly.

“Alright, Lu’, thanks, darl’, you’re the best.” Mundy pushed his lips against Lucien.

“Go to bed and get off your clothes, I need to take a quick shower and I’ll come to you, yeah?”

“Fine.” Lucien nodded. “But please, be quick.”

“Don’t worry.” Mundy took Lucien’s hand and gently guided it to his own crotch. “Can’t wait…” He winked and added a little peck on his lover’s lip before leaving to the bathroom. 

Lucien raised his hand and put it on his cheek, where Mundy’s lips were a second ago. His eyes lingered on the bathroom door until he released his breath with a smile. 

A few minutes later, Mundy exited the shower and found his lover lazily lying on his stomach. Lucien was reading a magazine that he had splayed on his pillow. The box that Mundy had brought was on his night table. 

“Alright, c’mere, you pretty thing…” Mundy lay on top of his lover, kissing his back and his shoulders.

“You are out of the shower already?”

“Yup, want me to go abck in there?” The Aussie chuckled.

“Non, of course not.” 

“C’mere then.” Mundy had him roll to face himand started kissing him with an open mouth. He wasted no time to add the French to the kiss and that told Lucien just how eager the otherwise patient marksman was. 

Lucien melted between the licks and the bites along his ears, his neck and his chest. In no time, both were breathing heavily and exchanging moans.

“Gosh, you feel so good…” 

“Oh - and you are decidedly fast tonight.” Lucien opened his eyes when he felt Mundy fist lazily stroking both of their masculinities against each other. 

“Been wantin’ you all day long today - God, you’re hot…”

“So have I.” Lucien added and Mundy dived down to lock his lips with his lover, brushing his tongue over them before he hugged Lucien’s with it. It pulled a moan out of the Frenchman’s body and he arched his back, letting Mundy slide a hand behind his back fefor it slid down to knead his tender flesh.

“Alright, darl’...” Mundy whispered in Lucien’s ear. He grabbed the bottle on the night table and spread some of its content on his fingers. “C’mere, sweet thing…”

Lucien rolled on his side and Mundy lay on his side too, facing him and holding him close. His hand slithered down until he found his lover’s entrance. 

“Gimme yer lips… Mmh, there we go…”

“Mmh?”

“Shh.. You’re doin’ good, don’t worry, darl’, I got you, it’s like always.” 

Lucien hooked his leg over Mundy’s to give him better access and let his lover do the work. Mundy went slowly and carefully, keeping his lover’s lips and tongue busy while his fingers gently massaged Lucien open.

“There we go, it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“N-non.”

“Don’t be so anxious, so far it’s business as usual.” Mundy added a few pecks on Lucien’s cheek and down in his neck.

“I know, I just… can’t help it, I apologise.” Lucein was holding on to his lover’s chest dearly.

“Ssh, don’t say nonsense.” Mundy whispered “You’re gonna love it, and if you don’t I’ll chuck it away and we can do somethin’ else, eh?”

“Merci… I think I am ready.”

“You sure?”

“Oui, thank you.”

Mundy pressed his lips against Lucien before he rolled on his side and grabbed the little plastic object. “Take it in your hand.”

“Shouldn’t it go in-?”

“I know, I know, but first, hold it in your hand.” Mundy insisted and Lucien obeyed. “now, here’s the remote. You press on the button.”

Lucien did as he was told.

“Ooh! That took me by surprise.” The Frenchman said as the toy started vibrating in the palm of his hand. “It feels like a tickle in my hand, and it is not too noisy.”

“See? it’s gentle and we’ll go gentle. If it’s too much, you tell me and we stop it, ok?”

“Oui.”

“Wanna put it in yourself?”

“Oui, please.”

“Alright, you do it and you start it all yourself.” Mundy gave Lucien the remote.

“Non, please.” He gave it back. “I want you to be in charge.” he raised lovestruck eyes to the Aussie, who answered with an equally soft smile.

“Alright, you tell me when you’re ready and I can start.”

Lucien nodded. He took a few seconds to make sure it was correctly inserted before he rolled on his stomach and lay there, on the bed, as if he was waiting for a back massage.

“I am ready.”

“You sure?”

“Oui, go ahead.”

“I’ll start with the slowest settin’.” Mundy pushed the button and a gentle buzz filled the room. “Here.” The Aussie started rubbing Lucien’s back as the Frenchman focused on his breath, with his eyes closed. “How’s it feel?”

“Not too bad so far.”

“Good, you tell me when you want me to stop.”

"Mundy?"

“Yeah?”

“Can you push it a notch faster please?” Lucien asked and Mundy’s eyebrows jumped. 

“You sure?”

“Oui, please, I want to feel it harder.”

“Alright.”

The buzz went slightly louder and higher in pitch.

“Oh, mon Dieu…” Lucien pushed his thighs slightly more open and grabbed the pillow under his head.

“Everythin’ alright?”

“O-oui, I… Hah… I didn’t think it would… work this well…”

Mundy smiled as Lucien gritted his teeth and frowned.

“Turn on your back, darl’, show me how good you feel.”

Lucien obeyed and it took him a second to adjust to being on his back now, but as soon as he did, the toy in him was pressed on his sweet spot again and the Frenchman moaned.

“Ooh, look at you leakin’...” Mundy wiped the threed of obscene wetness at the end of Lucien’s more-than-pink extremity. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

“Wha-Mundy?!”

The Aussie went on his belly, between Lucien’s open thighs and started licking at his lover’s member.

“M-Mundy, please, be gentle, please…!” Lucien took two fistfuls of his lover’s hair and pulled on it to push him away. He moved his legs but each time it hit a different angle inside him, his thighs would shake. 

“Aha, look who’s beggin’ now, eh? And the more you pull my hair the more I wanna keep goin’...!”

“P-please, hah… I-I can’t help it, it’s-it’s intense, Mundy, I-...”

“I got an idea, don’t come until I come back, I’ll just be a second.” Mundy moved away and Lucien focused on the delicious vibrations, his eyes closed and he frowned again. “Here we go.”

“M-Mundy, what are you-orh! I-I can't do anything… I…”

Mundy chuckled as he finished tying Lucien’s wrists above his head together with one of his ties, as teh Frenchman sometimes did to him. 

“You close?”

“O-oui… I… I am…” Lucien panted and looked for his breath. “May I… Please? Please I am so close, I can’t even move my legs or I might…”

“On my signal, youcome, ok?”

“Please, Mundy…!” Lucien begged and Mundy took his member as far as he could. The Frenchman gasped at the feeling of warmth and soon, tightness and wetness. “Please! Mundy?”

The Aussie sucked just a bit harder and Lucien’s reacted against his will, sweat rolling down his forehead. 

“Ah! I am sorry! Hah! M-Mundy, I am so sorry!” He pleaded as his hips jerked on their own and Mundy suckled. The sound of Lucien’s own voice and of Mundy’s sucking drowned him and soon, he could only whimper weakly. 

“There we go…” Mundy left his lover’s masculinity with a loud enough pop for Lucien’s eardrum to slap. “Now, you relex, baby, shhh, I’m here…” He put a hand on Lucien’s chest and felt his heart racing. “You’re alright.”

“Hah, I apologise, Mundy, I…”

“You did everythin’ perfectly and ou came on my signal, taht’s all I asked you, darl’, you were perfect.”

“Ah-!” 

The overstimulation got to the Frenchman soon and he started sliding his legs on the bed, helpless, his hands still above his head, maintained by one of Mundy’s hands. 

“It’s alright, that’s normal, love, enjoy it.” Mundy whispered down his lover’s ear. “Just breathe, ok?”

“Oui, oui…” Lucien calmed down and soon, the feeling passed. 

“Now, let me have a taste at you…” Mundy lay next to his lover and bent to his chest. He wrapped his lips around Lucien’s nipples and suckled gently. The Frenchman started moaning again, his masculinity giving the occasional twitch. “Mmmh, you taste so good…” Mundy played with the other nipple between his fingers. “There we go, baby, how d’you feel?”

“G-good, better.” Lucien’s eyes were shut out of tiredness now. His hair stuck to his forehead.

“Then, let me just do somethin’... There.”

“Oh! Mundy!” 

The toy whirred a notch faster and Lucien’s hips jerked. Soon his masculinity stood back up again. 

“Mundy… Orh… This feels amazing!” 

The Aussie let go of his lover’s tied wrists and Lucien left them above his head. He started rolling his hips, twisting them a bit to the left, a bit to the right and yelping whenever the new angle surprised him. 

“Told you you’d like it, you needy thing…” Mundy whispered before moving between Lucien’s legs, he parted them wider and licked at what the Frenchman offered below his throbbing end.

“Oh! Mundy!”

The Aussie took them in his mouth and sucked, pushed the soft and tender flesh with his tongue. He could hear the deafened buzz inside his lover through the loud moaning of the Frenchman. 

"How's it feel now?"

"I… I don't know if I will… go till the end but this… it feels… heavenly…"

"Aw" Mundy moved to whisperin Lucien's ear. "You gorgeous, little thing, focus on the feelin' right inside you and I'm sure you'll do it a second time in a row, no doubt about it."

"H-help me… please help me try…" Lucien pleaded and Mundy put his hand on the Frenchman's member. He stroked it and pumped in rhythm with Lucien's hips rolling. 

"If only you could see yourself… You're beautiful when you're like that, covered in sweat and moanin', you look like you're about to cry of pleasure…"

"Non… It is not pleasure…”

Mundy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He grabbed the remote and turned the toy off. The buzzing sharply stopped and the only sound left was that of Lucien still breathing heavily. He opened his eyes little by little.

“What is it? Why did you stop?” He asked, his vision still blurry.

“You just said you weren’t about to cry out of pleasure but out of somethin’ else!” Mundy answered. “Why didn’t you say earlier if it hurt? Turn on your belly, I’ll remove it for you. I’m sorry, Lu’, I never meant for it to hurt.”

“It didn’t.” Lucien frowned. 

“Then what the hell d’you mean?”

Lucien sighed. 

“I am… I am just… anxious.”

“About what?”

Lucien pushed himself to sit up and Mundy wrapped his arms around him. 

“I do not wish to disappoint you.” He admitted, ashamed.

“How could you disappoint me? Love, I told you, if it doesn’t work, it’s fine, I don’t care, I just wanna try and give back as much as you’re givin’ me. You make me feel so happy and I love it when you take care of me multiple times in a row, I really do. I just wanna make you feel the same, or at least try. I won’t think any less of you if you don’t do it. And even if you do and you don't like it, screw it all, I’ll never do it again to you, ever.”

“Do you really mean what you are saying?” Lucien raised his eyes to his lover.

“Course, I do.” Mundy pulled him in a hug and Lucien buried his head in his lover’s chest. “Love you more than anythin’ else…”

Lucien closed his eyes and basked in the comfort he himself didn’t know he had needed.

“There’s plenty of things you don’t like, right? Like uh, my cheap coffee, my shampoo, my cologne or however you pronounce that, my van… Have I ever forced you to drink my coffee or wash your hair with my stuff? Nah, never, and I’d never force you to use that thing I brought if you don’t like it, it’s the same, darl’.”

“You are wrong.” Lucien answered and pulled himself out of the embrace to look his lover in the eye.

“What?”

“I have grown to enjoy your bitter coffee, the smell of your shampoo and the narrowness of your van, because they are all parts of you and I would not suffer to live without any of them.”

Mundy smiled. 

“You’re the best and sexiest liar I’ve ever met.” He answered.

“And I am so good at it that even when I am being sincere, you think it is still a lie.” Lucien answered. 

“Nah, I’m just messin’ with ya.” Mundy pulled Lucien’s face to him and kissed both of his cheeks, one after the other. “I know you’re tellin’ the truth.”

“How so?”

“You got the eyes.”

“What eyes?” Lucien asked.

“The ‘I love you’  eyes.” Mundy answered. “The eyes that I’ve neer seen you look at anyone else with except me.” He grinned sweetly, stroking both of Lucien’s cheeks with his rough thumbs.

“I am sorry for my awkwardness.”

“Don’t be silly. You did nothin’ wrong, I get it, you’re nervous. Tell you what, if you want, we can start it again and I'll help ya. Or if you’re tired, we can stop here. what would you prefer?”

Lucien looked up at his lover and offered him his lips, which Mundy gladly took. 

“Please take me again...”

“Course, sweetheart, anythin’ for you…” Mundy pushed Lucien to lie down with his kiss and without saying anything, he pressed the button on the remote a couple of times. Lucien closed his eyes and hissed. “Shhh, you’re fine, you’re fine, I’m here… Now, let me help, yeah?”

“Orh… Mundy, please, be gentle…”

“As gentle as you’re needy.” Mundy smiled and saw Lucien’s lips purse in an equally sweet smile even though his eyes were closed. “There we go, beautiful smile.” He lay again between Lucien’s open legs and savoured his lover’s sensitive bits while his hand stroked up and down. The wetness helped Mundy’s hand to slide more fluidly and soon the Frenchman rocked his hips in rhythm. His mouth fell open and he moaned out loud again, rales of lust, of a pleasure he ignored. Mundy moaned too, the vibrations of his voice helping. 

“M-Mundy, I am so close but I-I can’t, I really cannot, Mundy, help me, arh…!”

Mundy raised his head and his lips let go of Lucein’s masculinity. 

“Alright, here comes.” The Aussie sat on his lover’s pelvis and took him in. 

“N-non, this does not… help… Ah! Please, Mundy, I am so close, I want to do it!” 

That’s when Mundy noticed Lucien had been drooling. 

“I need… something… in my mouth, please…”

“Alright, darl’, open up…” Mundy shifted and this time he was on his knees, straddling Lucien’s head. He guided his own member and as soon as Lucien’s lips made contact with it, the Frenchman raised his head off the bed and took as much as he could of it. Mundy gasped loudly and lowered his body more, to give Lucein what he needed. “gosh, you’re so needy, arh, y-eah, take it, baby, take it all you want…” 

Mundy kept on wiping Lucien’s hair off of his face while the Frenchman was licking and sucking the Aussie’s masculinity with abandon. The wet noises slashed in the constant deafened buzz. Yet, Lucien wanted still more, he moaned pleadingly and Mundy lowered himself further, all the way to the hilt. 

“That what you’ve been wantin…? Gosh, you’re a sight…” Mundy held Lucien’s head between his hands and Lucein weakly bobbed his head. Mundy understood and still holding his lover’s head, he let him lay it on the bed while he did the work with his hips. “Want it deep? Take it then, there we go…”

Lucien couldn’t moan anymore and he opened his eyes barely enough for Mundy to see that they were rolled up in pleasure. 

“God, you’re gorgeous… Orh, and you’re suckin’ it, still, eh? Y’know what you deserve? Yeah, you do, I’m gonna give it to you, darl’, give it to you soon.”

“Mmmh…” Lucien thanked him. But Mundy noticed his slight frown. 

“You’re sweatin’ an ocean and I can feel you spasmin’, you must be so close, aren’t you?”

“Mmh…!” Lucien agreed and the Aussie chuckled. 

“Keep on suckin’, want it a bit deeper? I removed it so you can breathe a bit.”

Lucien raised his head and Mundy pushed his hips back to the hilt.The Frenchman rolled his eyes up in bliss again and Mundy pushed the button on the remote.

“Mmh! Mmmh! Hmmh!”

“I think I’m gonna come too, baby, you go ahead, let it come to you, don’t hold it back, come darl’, come!”

“Mmmmmh!”

“Aaargh!”

Both reached their peak, one down his lover’s throat and the other crying of pleasure. He could not believe it and his brain could not process it. He let the pleasure wash him inside out as he moaned, Mundy’s member deep inside  him, he felt the heat, the weight of it, as well as the spasms. He missed the taste of his release as it went a bit too far for his mouth to take it. Lucien whined and cried. 

“You did it! You did it, love, I told you!” Mundy gently withdrew and lay on his lover, kissing him with an open mouth. “See…? Mmmh… I told you, I told you you’d feel so bloody good, I told you you’d like it… I’m so happy for you, I’m so proud, c’mere…!” He hugged him dearly and kissed, relentlessly, again and again; for so long in fact that Lucien’s tired body gave up on kissing back.

“M-Mundy…? Hah, please? Please Mundy…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, what is it, tell me.” Mundy wiped his lover’s tears off of his face and Lucien arched his eyebrows. 

“More, please, the remote…”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Mundy pushed it up a notch higher and Lucien’s thighs and legs started spasming. “You’re here with me, nothin’s gonna get to you, love, I’m holdin’ you tight, if you wanna give me one more, you give it to me. I love you and you’re doin’ amazin’, you hear me? Amazin’, I’m telling you. Now, you breathe and let it come to you.”

“Mundy?” Lucien sniffled.

“It’s normal, it’s fine, if you wanna cry again, do it, go ahead, love, I’m so happy..”

“Mundy…?” Lucien curled up against his lover’s chest.

“Yeah, love, I’m right here and I’m squeezin’ you against me. Here, let me just-”

“Ah!”

“Yeah, I’ll help it out of you, yeah? Is that alright?” Mundy’s hand found Lucien’s fatigued masculinity and the Frenchman couldn’t but hold his breath and burst out in gasps.

“Oui, please… I’m so close, how…? How can this…? Arh, please, help me… Oui, like this, oui, oui…!”

Mundy stroked faster and quickly understood that Lucien’s hips were burnt out, he couldn’t roll them anymore, so the Aussie doubled his efforts.

“Oh….? Oh, Mundy…?” Lucien asked breathily.

“Yeah? It’s comin’? It’s comin’, isn’t it? You got it, love, get it out of you, get it out, baby…” Mundy coaxed his lover while Lucien dug his nails deeper and deeper in his lover’s chest, he curled up more, his abs contracting furiously in an attempt to push that wave of bliss out of his system. Lucien gritted his teeth until-

“MUNDY!”

He burst out sobbing, his body contracting erratically but barely anything splattered on his lover’s hand. Mundy stopped the toy from the remote but Lucien’s body continued to spasm past that for a few minutes. He was catching his breath heavily, his system was out.

Mundy sat up and untied his lover’s wrists. He then turned him on his side to remove the toy before he slid one arm below Lucien’s shoulders and the other under his knees. 

“C’mere…” Mundy lifted him off of the bed and carried him to the bathroom. “We both need a good wash and hot water…”

[ahopelessromantic]

Florence ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader (It’s mostly neutral except for one mention of a dress)

Word count: 2k

Warnings: None, Hotch is awesome

Your job isn’t exactly the easiest and you always knew that sometimes, it was going to interfere with your personal life. But when you and Spencer slowly start turning into strangers, you begin to worry.

„You know, if you take a picture it might last longer. “ Your head whipped around just in time to see Emily throw her head back in a cackle. Feeling the slightest bit ashamed you lowered your head to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. “I can’t help it he’s gorgeous, okay?” You mumbled with a pout. Your gaze had been fixated on Spencer all day or, to be precise, on certain… features of his. Emily rolled her desk chair closer to yours, a teasing grin still on her lips. “What’s got you so interested in your boyfriend though? You’re not normally this… tense.”

You were about to snap back that you weren’t tense at all when Spencer clenched his jaw in concentration and your breath quite literally hitched in your throat. “Is it really that obvious?” You sighed; you gaze once again following the movement of his hands. Prentiss patted your shoulder in the sisterly manner she always displayed around you. “Honey, at this point I think even Hotch noticed. Your eyes have been lusting after Spencer all week as if you hadn’t been dating for a year already. Has it, uh… been long?” You almost choked on nothing but thin air. “Shit, it really is that obvious.” You coughed out once you had remotely recovered. “It’s not easy, you know? Whenever I’m done with my paperwork, he has a geographical profile to get to, and whenever he’s free I’m out kicking down doors with Morgan. And then, in the little downtime we have anyway, we’re either catching up on sleep or interrupted by another emergency. I think it’s been weeks since I’ve even seen his bellybutton.” Emily grimaced. “Okay, weird picture in my head right there. But I get what you mean.” You smiled weakly. “Somehow it felt easier when we had just started dating. We were always so afraid of accidentally losing each other that we didn’t really care about anything else besides ourselves, but now that we’re an established couple it’s like we’ve got these roles to fulfil. Especially since we’re also constantly afraid that Hotch might make a full one-eighty after all and forbid us from being together or something.” “What about the downtime on the jet though? There shouldn’t be any disturbances there?” You gasped. “What the hell Emily?!” There it was again, that devilish grin on her face. “You know what?!” You hissed, trying to fight the smile on your lips. “Forget I ever talked to you about this. You know nothing, Emily Prentiss.” With that, you returned your full attention back to your boyfriend’s hands writing down coordinates on a whiteboard. But of course, now you were watching him with the hint of a grin.

“I miss you, you know that?” You whispered into the darkness of the room, leaning your head against the wall behind you to give Spencer more access to your neck. “Honey, I miss you more. God, has your perfume always driven me that crazy?” You grinned and pulled him against you to capture his lips in a scalding kiss. But of course, like always recently, fate wasn’t kind to the two of you. Your little make-out-session was interrupted by Morgan hammering against the door of the BAU’s bathroom. “We’ve got a case, you two. Wheels up in thirty and please, for the love of God, get your stares under control at least for tonight, okay?” You looked at Spencer, who had a sheepish smile on his face. “Morgan’s been on my case all week because he keeps on noticing me staring at you.” You groaned and buried your head in your hands. “Prentiss has been on mine. She keeps on having to pull me back into reality because I keep getting distracted by you.” For a moment a proud grin hushed across his features at the prospect of being the reason for your distraction, but then he visibly deflated. “I feel like we really need a break from all this.” You nodded sadly. “We really do. I fear what’s going to happen to us otherwise. Am I going to faint at the sight of your ankles like a Victorian lady?” He breathed out a laugh, but the sombre mood remained. “I’ll ask Hotch if we can have a few days off.”

It had all sounded so amazing. You, Spencer, a remote cabin in the mountains and all the time and space to reconnect again. You had both prepared by packing your favourite books, to read to each other, card games, to cheat on each other with, and oversized sweaters, to borrow to each other. You had even already gone grocery shopping to get that out of the way for the short trip into the mountains. But two children had been abducted, and the BAU needed its Team’s full capacities to handle the case. So the reservation had been cancelled, the groceries stored away and the comfortable sweaters exchanged for work-appropriate clothes in your weekender bags.

“I’m exhausted.” Spencer sighed while leaning against you on the jet. The circles underneath his eyes ran deeper than ever before and you couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of worry in your chest. You didn’t just need a break to give your relationship some of its old life back, you needed a break to really recuperate and finally sleep again. “I know, honey.” You murmured and played with his hair. He was knocked out in a matter of minutes, your heavy gaze never lifting from your lover’s tired face. “I’m sorry again, you two.” Hotch quietly spoke after sitting down across from you. You smiled weakly and shrugged. “It wasn’t your fault, please don’t feel like it is. This is just… how our lives are, right?” His ever so worried look wandered from you to a sleeping Spencer leaned against your shoulders. “I used to make excuses that this was just how things were going to be sometimes. But it helped neither me nor Haley nor our marriage. Don’t… let this become your lives’ sole content, okay?” You looked at him a bit helplessly. “But how, Hotch? At this point, I feel like I don’t even know what private time is anymore. The most intimate moment I’ve had with Spencer this month was when he saved me from a bullet. Literally. How are we ever going to balance that?” The smallest of smiles fleeted across his lips. “You can start trying to tomorrow.” You frowned in confusion. “Tomorrow?” “Starting tomorrow, if I see either of you in the BAU, I’ll have to fire you. Sorry. Don’t come back before the week is over.” You were about to protest, but he was already getting up from his seat and you couldn’t move due to your boyfriend being asleep on you. Aaron Hotchner was either the worst or the best boss in the world, you just couldn’t really decide yet.

Aaron Hotchner was the best boss in the world. With a smile you rolled your shoulders, revelling in the warmth that hovered in the air. Spencer was dozing off on the balcony, his hands still clutching a copy of A Room with a View in them, a cup of honey tea standing long forgotten on a little table next to him. He had an innocent, serene look on his face, the slight tan of the Italian sun doing wonders for his complexion. “Amore.”, you whispered carefully not to shock him. He sleepily opened his eyes, the sun painting their colour a molten gold. “Hmm?” He hummed, placing his book next to the mug and pulling you onto his lap. “We have to get going if we want to make it to our tour through the Galleria Degli Uffizi on time.” He closed his eyes again and leaned further into his chair, pulling you with him. “Five more minutes, love. Let me enjoy the view.” You grinned. “You’ve got your eyes closed, Spence.” “Yeah.”, he smiled. “I’m thinking of you in the dress you wore to dinner yesterday.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the heat rising to your cheeks. “Before or after I got scampi all over it?” “After it laid on the floor of our room.” You laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Pervertito.”, you hummed. His eyes were watching you now, a lazy grin on his lips. You had missed talking to him like this, without a rush or worry that your shared moment was going to be stolen any minute. As soon as you had realised that Hotch was fully intending on going through with his threat of firing you two if you showed up at work you had booked a short trip to Florence, something Spencer and you had been wanting to do for ages but never got around to do. You didn’t want to lose any more time stealing moments with him, you wanted the time to be yours again. So not even one whole day after the finished case you had already sat on the plane, ready to leave your work behind you for at least a week. And it had been one of your best ideas so far, if not ever. Florence was absolutely stunning. It had enough museums to keep you and your genius boyfriend entertained for months, enough amazing food for you to never get bored of it and a beautiful enough apartment for the two of you to never want to leave again. “What’s your plan?” You asked Spencer at dinner that night. He frowned, putting down his fork for the moment. “My plan?” “About what’s next.”, you elaborated. “I love this, us, here in Italy. And we really needed it. I want to know where we’ll go next, so I have something to look forward to. I thought taking it easy and living into the day was the best way to go for a while, but that way we’ll always allow work to get in the way. We need established times off like this.” He smiled and took your hand across the table. “Okay. Well then, let me see. I’ve always wanted to go to Russia, especially St. Petersburg for the Eremitage. Then Munich, probably. From there we could make a trip to go see Neuschwanstein Castle. Seoul and Busan, to try out all the amazing food markets. Now that I think of it, there are actually tons of places I want to visit with you.” You smiled, a warm feeling bubbling in your chest. “That all sounds amazing. Looks like we still have a lot to see.”

“There they are.” Morgan greeted you with a grin, enveloping you in a tight hug. The Team had all been waiting for your arrival in the bullpen, ready to be complete again. “How was it?”, JJ asked with a wide smile. “Amazing.”, you sighed, leaning back against Spencer who out his arm around you. “We saw Michelangelo’s David, and I’m still not over how gigantic that statue is. And the food, you guys, the food was incredible.” Spencer turned to look at you, and the way his attention was still on you in a room full of people made your spine tingle. “(Y/N) picked a fight with an Italian about wine, though.” You giggled. “I think it was a relative of yours, Rossi.” Rossi rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Probably. Did you bring me my truffle oil though?” “We brought something for everyone, actually.”, you said proudly. “I’ll go get it.” Spencer hummed and pressed a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hallway. Emily grimaced. “Somehow it was funnier when you were still losing your minds over each other. I had forgotten how lovey-dovey you normally are.” You just grinned at her. “You’ll stop complaining once you see what I got for you.” The banter continued like that, the whole Team just glad to have its old dynamics back, Spencer and yours included. That night you all sat in the conference room and drank the wine you had brought with you, Henry and Jack fast asleep on the sofa with their new toys. Your trip to Florence had been short, but looking around you, you weren’t worried about you and Spencer getting to that point of craziness again. This had been your wake-up call, and you were going to seize it. Italy had been the first of your trips together, but certainly not the last. Soon, the BAU would have a whole wall of postcards from all over the world.

[millllenniawrites]

top shelf (FO! Poe Dameron x f!OC)

part one of when the stars miss the sun

words: 1.7ish

warnings: dark!ooc!Poe Dameron (if you want specifics, dm me); smut (not in this chapter but in the rest of the series so 18+ please folks); prostitution; established relationship (sort of); slow burn (yes the two can coexist leave me alone); redemption arc; Pixar ending; murder; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: okay I never post oc content on here so this is scary. thank you to @kesskirata for giving me the confidence to post this. This was a writing exercise that @vampirewithbedsidemanners and I wrote while editing Horizons that ended up being really cool? So now y’all get to see it. THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR HORIZONS so if you’re keeping up with that series, don’t read this! like, major major spoilers! It’s literally all the same characters in an AU together! If you are somehow reading this after Horizons is fully posted in 2023 cause it’s probably gonna take that long, you’re good. The spoilers only go up until the end of that book.

__

Around the bar was a collection of high-top tables, packed with men clad in leather and partially obscured by the clouds of spice that hung around their heads. Redell moved like magic between the tables, shimmering and glowing even in the dark, eyes drawn to her against their will from men would never get their hands on her — men that couldn’t afford her even if they gave up their lives.

Redell waltzed down the dark hallway to the back rooms, her hips swaying with every step. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floors, their sound drowned out by the moans coming from the closed doors that lined the hall. Every step was one foot closer to victory or an early grave, not that anyone could tell she carried the knowledge on her shoulders.

She reached the end of the hall and opened up her room. The door slid shut behind her, leaving her in the dim lights that illuminated one tall, dark man sitting on the couch. He leaned forward, setting his glass on the short table in front of him. His strong jaw, a loose curl falling into his eyes, little details that almost let her overlook the uniform he wore.

She smiled, sweet but double-edged like the blade that ran down her back, as she sauntered over to him and straddled his lap.

“Long time no see, Admiral. Did y’miss me, honey?” She grinned, her voice low and tempting, playing the role she knew like the back of her hand .

“You know it’s hard not to.” He let his eyes move slowly over her. Not that he really needed to. He had her memorized.

Sliding his hands up her thighs, he smiled sweetly at her. “Is this room one of yours? Or do I have to behave?” He wasn’t new to this. Though not all of his meetings with the Resistance had been with Red, they were predictable. Either the room was clean and they could talk freely, or he’d fuck her for the cameras that were watching his every move and leave, slipping her the drive in his pocket and hoping that next time, they’d get to have a real conversation.

There weren’t many real conversations to spare in the First Order.

“It’s one of mine. I set it up just for you.” Redell’s fingertips trailed down his chest. Her nails were short, not like the long claws on some of the other girls, but he had no doubt that Red could tear his throat out without them. “Is that okay, baby?”

“Y-yeah that’s just fine.” He relaxed, the exterior that had been drilled into him since he joined up faltering in front of her. “It’s been too long, Red.”

“I know.” She murmured, kissing him deeply as she grinded on his lap. It was never like it was with everyone else. Her persona faltered, leaving her soft and vulnerable and sweet. There was something so real to the way she kissed him.

“Are you coming home with me this time?” She whispered, the same question she asked every time she had him in her arms, not ever wanting to let him go.

He shook his head. “But I’ve got you until tomorrow.” The Order looked the other way when their officers landed on-world. They’d barely notice the thousand credits transferring from their account directly into Resistance hands. “Come home with me.”

“Yes.” She answered immediately, kissing him again.

He shuddered under her, his hands tangling in her loose, curly hair. She brought out a softness in him that no else else ever got to see. Cradling her to his chest, he let his hands slide over her forbidden skin. He would never deserve this.

When she pulled away, leaving him gasping, she asked, “As your whore or something else?”

“As a friend?”

“Friend works. For now.” She murmured against his lips.

“Just for now? You looking for a promotion?” His hands hovered over her ass. The moment she asked for it he’d have her way with her, but before then he needed to make sure they looked like they were playing their parts if the door opened.

“I’d like to get fired, actually. So I get a choice.” She ran her fingers through his hair, tilting his head back and gazing softly at him. He let her manhandle him, even as she trailed a finger down his neck. “Is there anything I should pass on before you take me home? Just in case?”

His head spun with how quickly she could go between work and ruining him. “Just the stuff at the house.”

“Lead the way then, baby.” She said softly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

He carried her out the back of the bar, so no one stopped them. Reached his shuttle, he unlocked it before carrying her up the boarding ramp.

He settled into his seat, Red sitting in his lap with her legs draped over one arm of the chair.. “You comfortable there, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” She hummed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Is this your shuttle or do I have to behave?” She asked quietly, already kissing his neck.

“It’s mine.” He let out a soft moan as her lips brushed the sweet spot under his jaw, following it with a chuckle. “Don’t make us crash.”

“I won’t.” She kissed his lips briefly before nestling into his lap. “You were gone a while. Do anything interesting while you were out?” She asked, playing with his hair.

“We had a couple of yours end up in one of my interrogation centres. That was a headache to fix. Otherwise, not really. Just the usually dark and gloomy.” His face split into a wry grin.

“You know, it’s much nicer back with us. You’re welcome to come with me. Defect. I’ve got space in my bed for you.” She said suggestively, like it wasn’t something she offered most times he saw her.

“As tempting as that is, sweetheart, your leadership is never gonna accept an ex-Admiral from the Order. If I defect, I’ll be spending the rest of the war in one of your prisons.” He toyed with the ends of her curls as he piloted the shuttle with one hand. “And you’d lose your informant. Isn’t it better for you to have a man on the inside?”

“Would my man on the inside consider making this arrangement a little more permanent then?”

His eyebrows knit together. “You’re the only one getting my intel.” She had been for a while.

“I’m not talking about the intel. I’m talking about access. You can’t come to us. Maybe I can stay with you.”

His eyebrows shot up. It sometimes took him a minute to remember that she wasn’t just a pretty face. “Yes. Yeah. Let’s do that. Assuming you’re okay with coming on the Finalizer with me in four weeks.”

“Sounds like fun.” She grinned. “You’re my only client at Vinny’s. I don’t have to go anywhere but your bed for the foreseeable future.” Her hands slid down his chest, tucking under his shirt. “I’ll work on getting you a pardon. To keep you out of prison.”

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.” He got himself into the mess. He was just doing as much good as he could before it all caught up to him and he ended up in a First Order prison or open space, depending on how his boss was feeling.

“I’m very talented at multitasking,” she said quietly. “You never told me why you joined the Order.”

He grumbled, “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

She’d never asked before. If he was going to tell anyone, it might as well have been her. Red was the only one it was even remotely safe to be open with, and he knew he was going to die before he had the chance to find someone else he could trust as much as he’d come to trust her.

“The government was a mess. I was young. I wanted to prove that I could be a rebel like my parents.” He traced patterns on her thigh to ground himself. “By the time I realized that it was a knock-off Empire, I was in too deep.”

She cupped his face, her persona dropping. She wasn’t a prostitute anymore but a true rebel, flames burning in her blue eyes. “We’ve all got skeletons in our closets, Poe. It’s never too late.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t get to Admiral by doing nothing.” A Destroyer would be his coffin. Deep space, his grave. There was no running from his past.

Her eyes turned black. “You don’t get head an intel team just by floating by either. Doesn’t make me any less of a rebel.”

He tilted her chin up and kissed her, softer with her then he should have been.

[dingoat]

The Boy in the Temple

[Guess I’m in some sort of writing zone? This came out of absolutely nowhere and features a whole lot of Sithy business that I don’t normally go anywhere near and a character that’s still waiting to be properly defined and backstory for the worst boy rather than the best girl, hahaha. Sometimes when the plot bunnies strike you’ve just gotta run with it, and apparently I just did for nearly 2k words.]

---

It was the last thing the Sith expected to encounter scurrying about the edges of the Dark Temple, a furious little presence of cold rage and purpose completely untainted by the madness that otherwise permeated the area. Even more surprising to discover was that the being was not only a perfectly ordinary human, but young and Force-blind to boot.

Immediately curious, he shifted the focus of his hunt to the boy instead, a wave of his hand directing his bogwing to tighten her wings and wheel higher into the soft drizzle of the sky, a perfectly unassuming silhouette against the Temple’s stone peaks. Dropping back a comfortable distance, the Sith allowed the Force to do all his work for him, observing the boy’s passage under arches and over jutting walls, stealthy as a hunting cat. He was… very plainly here for a reason, driven by something that ran deep and swirled passionately at his core. Intensely focused, but with a sort of callous disregard for his own self; the boy didn’t know if he would come away from this excursion alive, and didn’t quite seem to care.

He carried things, things that no regular human boy should be carrying, a scroll and a blade that glittered so brightly through the Force with ancient energy and carefully honed power that the Sith could read the engravings on the knife and almost make out the strokes of ink on the carefully rolled parchment. The boy treated them with care; unrolling the map only for brief consultations and guarding it against the rain with his body. He picked his way around a curved section of wall, textured with glyphs carved in glossy obsidian, ran his fingers along the scored stone until he found what he was after.

Then he uttered words that no regular human boy should know, and the stone shifted.

The Sith’s curiosity deepend exponentially.

He raised his hand and seized the stone, forcing the doorway to remain open even after the boy had slipped inside. He sensed the way the boy waited, first impatient, clearly expecting it to close, then no longer caring as he pressed on inside. The Sith followed, summoning his pet down to ground level to perch by the carved wall, swiftly weaving threads of the Force between the bogwing and the doorway and forming an easy anchor that he could access to let himself out again from the inside.

If it proved necessary. You never really could tell, with places like this.

The boy moved on, down a winding passageway with only a small handful of forks, pausing only once to consult his map, and being very sparing with his use of a small electronic torch to light his way. All the while, anger flowed from him, cold white anger stemming from a whorl of grief that filled the whole of him, making plain the shape of his body through the Force. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen years, lean and fit but still gangly with youth, and yet there was so much tension in his shoulders, in the clench of his jaw. If the boy knew anything of what slithered along the walls or crawled over his head, he gave no indication that he was bothered; he was either not remotely squeamish, or utterly oblivious.

The Sith was certainly not bothered, as he felt something with far too many legs crawl across his chest and carry on its way as he took a moment to lean against the wall, waiting for the boy to fuss his way over a selection of doorways.

The Sith didn’t bother to follow him into the chamber that eventually yawned in front of him; his vision through the Force let him know all he needed about the ancient text inscribed across the walls, the smooth stone chalice that sat on an ornate pedestal in front of the towering altar that took up most of the room, crowned with a shimmering obelisk. He also knew, plain as day, that the boy now trembled with something new. Nerves. Anticipation. And was that… a delicious little glimmer of hope?

He had wondered, at one point, if this were some new Intelligence recruit, set on some impossible training task. But that thought was cast aside as he realised this boy’s mission was intensely personal, and terribly private.

He judged that the boy must be a terribly resourceful individual, to have gained possession of the artifacts he held. Particularly the knife, which he now brandished, brimming with tension, over his outstretched left hand.

The Sith tipped his head thoughtfully, listening as the boy spoke, his lips and tongue rapidly forming unfamiliar words, a little clunky with his lack of true grasp of the language, but still… impressive. Very impressive, for such a superficially ordinary little being.

The Sith decided he’d seen enough, and pulled himself to his feet, stepping forward while clearing his throat before the blade managed to nick the boy’s skin.

The boy startled with a shout, and the ancient blade clattered to the ground. Yet his shock was rapidly replaced with blind fury, and after a split second of sizing up the Sith he launched, recklessly, ferociously, fists raised.

The Sith let him come almost within arm’s reach before twitching his fingers and catching up the boy around the throat, lifting him into the air without actually laying a hand on him.

“Who are you?” The boy shouted through his struggles, deliciously furious. “You’re not meant to be here, what are you doing here?”

The Sith couldn’t help but laugh. “I think of the two of us, it’s the one with his legs dangling in the air that has less claim to any right to be here. Who are you, skulking about a cursed temple with stolen items? I have to assume you have some idea of what you were about to do, but truly, do you have any idea what you were about to do?”

The indignation that soared through the boy was delightful.

“Leave me alone! I don’t care what you think, just leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.”

The Sith sifted gently through the Force and tutted softly. “You don’t care, do you? You’re not afraid of me. You’re not afraid of losing your own life here, are you?”

The boy glowered, and somehow came across decades older than he aught. But his silence stretched long, simmering with grief.

The Sith observed him thoughtfully. “You won’t succeed. Whoever it is you’re trying to bring back…”

The boy shouted again, something that was almost a wild animal snarl, and thrashed savagely in the constricting grip of the Force. He twisted and bucked, utterly heedless of the pressure around his throat, he kicked out and so very, very nearly clipped the Sith across the chin.

“A more volatile being than I might choose to kill you know, just for that. Or perhaps for your trespass, or your blatant theft.”

“So do it then,” the boy spat back with an acid tone, flushed with absolute disregard for his precarious situation, and an impressive wall guarding his thoughts, for one unable to manipulate the Force.

But it did little to protect against someone as skilled as the Sith. Pressing through that barrier was as easy as drawing breath, and the image that the boy held in his mind was breathtaking in its contrast to the ferocity and willfulness he projected outward. “She’s young, isn’t she? Younger than you. Or is that… oh, I see. That’s as old as she ever reached, isn’t it?”

The boy shrieked a wordless rage, jolting so savagely against the Sith’s grasp that he almost considered letting go just to see how far the boy would go. It seemed a pity, almost, that such a vibrant being should have to suffer a complete inability to perceive the lifeblood of the universe. That a boy filled with such passion and fury should be blind to his true shape in the world.

He waited until the tantrum died down before speaking again. He was in no hurry.

“Your little ritual would have attracted the attention of spirits quite happy to claim you and use you, with no intention of delivering what you seek.”

“So why don’t you help me instead? Why don’t you do something decent with your stupid magic, what the kriff is even the point of being able to do what you people can do if you don’t-” his words were cut short with a sharp choking sound and a gasp for air.

The Sith saw little value in even entertaining the boy’s sad little fantasy. But what he did enjoy was the boy’s spirit. His fury and his cunning, his resourcefulness and courage. What a useful life, this boy could have. What a career.

He summoned the blade to his free hand, pocketing it before gently prying the scroll from the boy’s belt. “You will leave this temple, and you will turn your thoughts away from this absurd ritual. You want nothing to do with the stuffy old dead beings that would rather turn your mind than deliver a glimpse of your lost sister.” He spoke the words with a sliver of influential pressure, but the boy’s manner remained fierce; no fog came to his mind to absorb the suggestion. It was unsurprising, really, that the boy was far too strong willed for a simple mind trick; so be it. The words would be offered as plain advice. “And one day, you’ll be grateful that I spared your life, and gave you the opportunity to find a way to seek out true compensation for those who brought her to harm. There is a great deal of solace to be found in artful vengeance. Death comes to us all, boy, there’s no need to invite it early.”

The boy seemed to be taking in what he said, and had calmed his struggles somewhat. But the moment the Sith let his feet touch the ground again, he launched once more, utterly foolish but still, in his own way, admirable.

The Sith flicked his hand and sent the boy crashing against the far wall of the chamber. “You possess the sort of tenacity and ruthlessness that could get you far in the Empire. I’m curious to see where this will take you in life.”

And what you might be able to deliver when I decide to cash in on the debt you now owe me.

He smiled to himself as he turned and left the boy to find his own way out. If he was truly resourceful, he’d find a way, and if not… then perhaps the loss would not be so great after all.

---

Some decades later, Keeper took in the caller ID on his buzzing comm, and permitted himself a long sigh before responding.

“Intelligence headquarters, how are we able to serve?”

The voice on the other end was young, fresh, and a little bit nervous. An assistant of some sort, then, or an apprentice? “My Lord requests the presence of your Watcher Five at  his earliest convenience, sir.”

“Watcher Five is currently on a rather well deserved leave of absence. I can arrange a meeting for him on his return, unless the matter is of some urgency? Might I request the nature of the appointment?”

A pause. “My Lord wishes to collect on a debt owed to him.”

Keeper drew his lips tight. He had a bad feeling about this. “I will be sure to inform the Watcher. If there is anything else we may be able to do…?”

“That is all. My Lord looks forward to the Watcher’s return.”

Keeper stared at his comm for a short while after the call ended, feeling an uncomfortable coldness in his guts. And then he began to dial out, suspecting that this might just be a matter that Five would appreciate some time to prepare for.

[ninjakitty15]

Hair Today, Gone Tonight (Loki Oneshot)

It was not uncommon for Loki to take his time in his bathroom preparing himself for the day, he was a prince of Asgard after all and had to keep up appearance in every aspect. It was also not uncommon for him to stare long and hard at himself in the mirror to make sure every detail was perfect about himself, especially when he was always beside his perfect older brother the crown prince who could do nor look no wrong and constantly demanded all eyes to be on him. It was then slightly more uncommon for Loki to linger at his reflection as only once in a grand while would he actually find an imperfection or flaw that needed his utmost attention and time to fix or magic away. So in theory it was normal for Loki to take an awfully long time glaring at his reflection once more before he greeted the rest of the royal court of Asgard. Today was however an exception to all these things as it was a very rare occurrence for him to be cursing the Norns and growling in frustration during his daily preparations. The reason for this of course was because what was staring back at him in the mirror between his keen nose and his snarling, thin upper lip wasn’t just an imperfection but an impossibility. 

Loki had come to accept early on in his long life that he would never sport such an eyesore of a facial feature as was seen mocking his otherwise perfect appearance. It wasn’t even a dashing looking mark like Fandral had, that suave blond bastard. He had long since come to take pride in his smooth, hairless appearance though as Volstagg and Thor were proof that with great hair comes great irresponsibility. Whenever there was a great feast within the palace walls, and there was always a feast for some reason or another, between the two of those bilgesnipes there would be a massacre that started at the dining table and end on their face. And Frigga wondered why Loki wasn’t gorging himself during the feasts like everyone else was. It wasn’t that hard to figure out when you’re stuck sitting between the beast with two beards, you either grow a stronger stomach or lose your appetite quite quick.

It also wasn’t hard to figure out that because it was impossible for Loki to grow face fuzz that not only was the one he had now not natural, but it wasn’t his doing at all and thus someone had to answer for that crime. No amount of scrubbing, potions, illusions, shapeshifting, or even old fashioned makeup could get rid of it either which further irked him but also narrowed down his list of suspects to one person. just the one, that had both access to his personal chambers within the palace walls but more importantly was foolish enough to prank the trickster god while he was taking a much needed nap after sparring against his brute of an older brother. Just one royal resident in fact besides Loki himself had inherited Frigga’s gift for magic as was clearly the source of this monstrosity of a moustache as if the mere sight of it didn’t irritate him enough. That fool was toast.

Loki threw open his bedchamber doors with vengeance in his eyes, already knowing his prey wouldn’t be too far, wanting to see his reaction to what transpired before running off. Right on cue as the door banged open, Loki could hear not too distant wicked giggling and the quickened pace of hasty foosteps fleeing from him. The telltale signs of a brat about to be caught that was too troublesome and young to master a decent gambling face, especially when they’re enjoying their troublemaking entirely too much. Loki easily started gaining on the little gremlin before their rounded a corner and disappeared into the nearest room with a squeal of, “save meeee!” Loki wasted no time blasting open the doors the brat was hiding behind with a wave of his hand which was still glowing green with his own magic to see Thor standing between him and his prey unsurprisingly, arms crossed and attempting to look imposing to someone that grew up with his own shenanigans. 

“Step aside, brother, I have a pesky little bug to squash,” growled Loki, his gaze fixed on the twerp hiding behind Thor.

“I know you don’t mean my son but as I don’t see any other living thing here besides us, I think you must be mistaken on there being anything here to squish,” Thor challenged back.

Loki rolled his eyes at Thor’s attempt at diplomacy. “The only mistake here besides your attempt to stop me is your son’s current choice in free time activities and that is why I’m here to see that he fixes it before I fix him.”

“What are you prattling on about?” demanded Thor defensively.

Loki had also long since mastered the art of deception and redirecting people’s attention from an issue thanks entirely to his brother’s baffoonery as younger adults so he had been keeping his face turned away from his brother’s gaze to keep an eye on his prey. Till now when he actually met Thor’s eyes whose widened in surprise and mirth.

“Can’t you just wash that off?” Thor suggested, trying hard to suppress his laughter.

“That’s brilliant, Thor, I wish I thought of that first! Oh what a great help you are!” snapped Loki before he snapped his glowing fingers and a green ring appeared around Thor before the elder brother fell through the floor, leaving his son, Loki’s nephew wide open.

The little brat had the audacity to stand his ground as his father had taught him after fleeing initially and put up his fists in a fighting stance, even less imposing looking than his father was being less than half Thor’s size and not remotely as strong either.

“Who will save you now, I wonder?” growled Loki as he advanced on the cornered kid, a million different versions of vengeance dancing through his mind.

“You wouldn’t hurt your own nephew, would you?” the child had the balls to ask innocently.

“You are aware of our family’s long history of deception and betrayals, aren’t you?” Loki asked incredulously. “Why would I be exempt from that rule after you just followed that trait yourself, enchanting this disgusting feature on me? Get it off and I might consider a more merciful fate for you than what I’m currently planning.”

“And what are you planning?”

“Try my patience stalling the inevitable and you may have your answer soon enough. Off. Now.” To emphasize Loki’s point, he summoned a dagger in one hand while his other still glowed with magic.

The child reluctantly magically erased the enchanted ink scribbled on Loki’s face before a dagger was hurled at his head as Thor returned to the scene through the window behind him. The child however vanished as an illusion projection, the dagger at the same time disappearing as well as Loki clearly wasn’t actually going to stab him with it, it took years for Thor to get used Loki’s points, his child had a ways to go. Despite both child and weapon not being present in the room, Thor still had a sense to confront Loki after being literally dropped by him earlier. Loki however had other thoughts and a vast majority of them were still vengeance before dishonor, he too disappeared from the room before Thor could have a few choice words with him. 

Thor’s son was very much like his dad in that he thought he had become pretty clever and believed he knew Loki fairly well. Well enough to trick the trickster at least. He also knew that anything and everything within Loki’s room was something secretive, powerful, and valuable and he wanted in on that. So that’s where he was, trying to sense with his quickly growing magical abilities where Loki kept those special artifacts. Finally, he managed to find something tugging on his magic from under Loki’s massive kingsized bed and eagerly scrambled under it in hopes of some kind of cool treasure to show off to his peers later. His hands brushed against a small wooden chest that seemed to be locked but he easily magicked the lock to open for him. He could barely contain his excitement as he grasped the lid of the chest with both hands eagerly and the faintest of green glows came from the box before he popped it open. He barely had time to scream as a large green snake sprang from the chest and wrapped itself around his hands and arms, effectively restraining him while its head was stationed next to his and poised to bite his neck, baring its fangs as if to strike. As he writhed and struggled against the snake’s hold, his ankles were suddenly seized by an icy cold grip and he was yanked out from under the bed and lifted upside down to face a lean, gold and green adorned abdomen.

“You think you were the first to try this tactic on me? Where do you think you got that idea from?” 

The snake still wrapped around the brat seemed to laugh at his captive while the owner of the snake let go of his ankle, keeping the kid afloat before he was turned right side up to face the bemused god of mischief he was caught by properly.

“Perhaps you should ask your father what actually happened anytime he tried his little attempts at tricking a master trickster, his mistakes could be your lessons.”

“Or my triumphs,” snarked the kid back.

“And how is that working in your favor thus far?” Loki asked him slyly. “Your father has had centuries to try that on me, how old are you again?” He let the kid go and the snake melted into a large toy snake the kid was quick to escape from. “If I see you in my room without my permission, if you ruin a nap for me again, you’ll find your worst fear under your bed.”

“I don’t fear anything.” The kid held onto the toy snake, hoping to at least impress his peers with its realistic though rubber look.

“Your father said the same thing when I gave him that warning and he didn’t stop checking under his bed till he he had women in it.” Loki snapped his fingers and the kid was sent out of his room and back to his father for good this time.

Loki stalked back to his bathroom once more and looked at himself in the mirror just to be sure it was gone for good before sticking out a forked tongue at his reflection and smirking. He wondered if fears were a hereditary thing as that would make this whole “uncle” thing that much easier though he always liked a challenge in the end and his nephew having magic did have its merits. Let the prank wars begin...

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Cyberpunk!HypMic

This is an extension of the cyberpunk outfits from this AU.

Originally, these outfits did not have their own universe to exist in - they were just made to fit a theme - but it just so happens HypMic already has a lot of the components required for cyberpunk...(but yikes, this is the densest AU - in terms of worldbuilding - I've had yet...)

TDD, MCD, Kuujaku Posse and NB existed in the past, but not in the context of the DRB - they were just groups of unlikely friends with differing reputations that retroactively came to be known under popular monikers and they ended up accepting those names over time. After WW3 and Chuohku's take over, technology rapidly advanced but society as a whole was wrecked.

As a reminder, the base outfit in this world is a silver body suit which only exposes the head, hands and feet, with black combat boots and a black belt.

In this world, this outfit is typically issued by Chuohku via people like Ramuda, although as you can tell by the outfits given in the magical boy AU, what you put on top of the base outfit can vary wildly. The boots and the belt can be swapped with something else without any trouble - the only thing that can get you into trouble with the authorities is ditching the suit. The body suit is able to purify polluted air within a short distance of itself, but only for the user.

All suit users have an accent colour, typically found on places like the top edge of the boots and on buttons, and the accents glow faintly in the dark. The colours have been adjusted slightly from the magical boy AU to create better glow effects.

...For the outfits that aren't specified, known from the magical boy AU or the same as canon in cases where the character does not rely on the suit, I'll leave them to your imagination, dear readers.

BB:

A team of brothers and odd jobs workers who navigate the digital and the real world to help those in need.

Ichiro: The owner of Odd Jobs Yamada. Prone to poking around with the latest in virtual reality, as well as illegal or semi-legal cybernetics. Resents Samatoki because he interferes with the Yamadas' business often enough to be a nuisance. Accent colour: Bright red.

Jiro: A delinquent and the more physical member of Odd Jobs Yamada (i.e. instead of trying to shut down bad guys using digital trickery, he's more likely to punch them instead). Was going to high school before circumstances shut schools down. Accent colour: Bright (royal) blue.

Saburo: A genius hacker. Was going to middle school before circumstances shut schools down. Accent colour: Bright yellow.

MTC:

An ad hoc crew who, in this world, have much weaker relationships than they do in canon.

Samatoki: A yakuza second-in-command, currently in possession of a strange black cybernetic glove which covers his right arm from the hand up to the elbow. The glove is able to control the air purification feature of the suits, so it's a particularly nasty bit of contraband. Resents Ichiro because Ichiro made a prototype of the glove and that was the last chance Samatoki had of convincing Nemu not to join Chuohku, but she joined them anyway. Also came into possession of an humanoid mecha, via Riou, which became the base of the new Yotsutsuji. Wears his TDD jacket over his shoulders. Accent colour: Indigo.

(Nemu: Currently with Chuohku to improve the world from within the government. Sent the completed glove to her brother because she knew he would keep it safe. Accent colour: Magenta (aka "Chuohku pink").)

Jyuto: A corrupt cop, currently investigating the glove in Samatoki's possession. More overworked than his canon counterpart...Even his trademark glasses have been digitised - they have a small antenna on the left side and can display information on the lenses when Jyuto gives them a mental signal (the display is in his accent colour). Accent colour: Maroon.

Riou: A former navyman who lives in nature, despite it being irreparably wrecked, and would rather not deal with the digital world, considering he's a cyborg (this is how he gets around not having the suit - he was experimented on in Chuohku's pursuit of creating a new supersoldier). Gave Samatoki an ancient industrial military-grade humanoid mecha which is about as tall as he (Samatoki) is.

FP:

Gentaro doesn't know Ramuda and Dice in this world.

Ramuda: A fashion designer who hands out government-mandated suits (for a small fee) while trying to ask out as many ladies as possible. Also sells other items to go with the suits, as would be expected of a typical fashion designer. His allegiance to Chuohku is a lot clearer in this world, but he's not a clone in this - just a normal human with hair dyed pink. Accent colour: Light orange (as per the magical boy AU).

Gentaro: A writer who makes his stories "real" via virtual reality and partnerships with others, such as Odd Jobs Yamada. Has material in some of his stories which he can use to blackmail Chuohku with. Hides his suit under traditional Japanese clothes. Accent colour: Bright purple.

Dice: Officially, he's a gambler who gambles with digital money and can't afford the suit. (Ramuda is not only something like a debt collector to him, he's also Dice's minder and enabler of sorts.) Unofficially, he's the son of Otome, the leader of Chuohku, who, when he was disowned by his family, lost access to the suits. As a result, he occasionally struggles to breathe and has to be helped by someone every so often. (Maybe if Hitoya or Jakurai met him in this world, Dice would be properly saved...?)

MTR:

Jakurai: A doctor, albeit one who prefers to use old-fashioned (that's "modern" to us) methods where possible. Chuohku believes gathering data from his brainwaves is necessary for the progress of developing new medical technology (or so they say...), so he wears a strange device which loops around the back half of his head and sits over his hair, attached to his head by two round (glowing) suction cups just above his ears. Wears his doctor's coat over the suit. Acts as Doppo and Hifumi's therapist and/or meditates in his spare time. Accent colour: Cyan.

Yotsutsuji: Currently in a coma after Chuohku's experiments for new supersoldiers. With the help of the former TDD, Jakurai has placed what could be salvaged of Yotsutsuji's consciousness into a humanoid mecha.

Hifumi: The no. 1 host of Fragrance. Uses virtual reality, projection mapping and other technologies to create entertainment for his clients. Afraid of women, but rather than his jacket, in this world he uses the same technology that aids him in his work to escape them. Accent colour: Neon green.

Doppo: A salaryman with appallingly low pay, no matter how hard he works, due to the fact technology is advanced enough in this world to give him a run for his money...He's lucky he has Jakurai and Hifumi to keep him sane... Accent colour: Teal.

DH:

Rei knows about Sasara and Rosho in this world, but they don't know about him.

Sasara: A comedian, currently under the heel of Chuohku. To this end, there are only certain kinds of jokes he's allowed to say while performing in public, although Sasara tries to get around this as much as he can when he can and secretly wishes to tear down the system with the former TDD + MCD so he can say what he likes again. Remotely communicates with Rosho via a visor and wears a leather jacket similar to Samatoki's TDD jacket in memory of MCD. Accent colour: Bright pink (as per the magical boy AU).

Rosho: A teacher, who lost his job when the school system broke down. He relies on Sasara to provide his basic necessities, but also takes occasional jobs to teach children in small groups or one-on-one, even teaching them comedy skills if he deems it necessary for them to survive in this wartorn world. Remotely communicates with Sasara via a display built into his glasses (which he otherwise wears purely for cosmetic reasons). Accent colour: Purple.

Rei: The creator of various technologies and creations prior to the war, most notably the ubiquitous suits. Currently gathering Jakurai's brainwave data for his own purposes. Has a strange relationship with the upper management of Chuohku, particularly Otome. Instead of sunglasses, he wears a (purely cosmetic) sniper's monocle over his left eye. Accent colour: Orange.

BAT:

Kuko: Back to being a delinquent, after people stopped believing in religion in exchange for technology. However, he still holds on to his beliefs, with the idea that one day, he can bring Buddhism back to a world that needs something to believe in. To this end, he uses virtual reality to recreate the pre-war world as he remembers it. Wears a teal happi coat over his suit and his prayer beads dangle out of his pocket. Accent colour: Mint green. Also known to commonly ditch the government-mandated suit for a particular respirator system created by Hitoya, which has a mess of wires going from the back of his head and going to either his neck or his shoulders (it looks similar to how the robot from the cover art of In My Mind's Axwell Mix has it) - this is due to the fact it looks intimidating and cool, yet it can be a pain to move around with at times.

Jyushi: A visual kei musician who enhances his shows with virtual reality, projection mapping and so on. People get confused when they involve Amanda "coming to life", but they roll with it anyway. Accent colour: Gold (essentially, a darker yellow than Saburo's).

Hitoya: A former lawyer, whose services are no longer needed now that the rules of society the law should operate in do not apply. This freed up his time to pursue his own interests, including creating portable respirator technology which Kuko and Jyushi try out for him (he does this with some help from some connections in the medical field, including Jakurai).

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Hitching a Ride

I don’t know where this idea came from, and I have even less idea about where it’s going. A security construct is hitchhiking across the Corporation Rim. What could possibly go wrong? Part I.

The station's manifest listed the Traveler as a long-distance cargo hauler midway through its multi-month journey. The ship's destination was a freehold world somewhere outside of the Corporation Rim. The trip was slated to take at least twenty cycles. In other words, it sounded like an ideal scenario for a rogue construct trying to get as far from its owner company as physically possible while dealing with a minimal number of humans.

Assuming, of course, the transport would let me along for the ride. 

I approached its embarkation platform during a shift change. It seemed like a good bet. There were a lot of humans around; most of them were low-tech employees who babysat the bots that did most of the heavy lifting. No one paid much attention to a tall, weird stranger in heavy work boots. Probably because I was dressed pretty much identically to most of them. 

I lightly nudged the ship in the feed to see if its bot pilot was amenable to conversing. Directly communicating with vessels was still a novel experience for me. SecUnits have standard protocols for this sort of thing, and I guess I could've fallen back on those. But, I'd spoken to at least a few other bots recently and was learning that each one was different. I'd picked up a few tricks during those interactions and wanted to see if any of them might work.

I'd learned, for example, that most ships are programmed to protect themselves from theft. Sounds reasonable -- these are insured vessels, often with precious cargo inside -- and no one wants to pay for its loss. But most of the anti-theft measures assume some form of human involvement. So, odds were good that no one had told the Traveler to be wary of other friendly bots or constructs.

"Hello," I said via the feed when the ship didn't immediately disregard my ping. "May I ride with you to your next destination?" 

I used words and images to convey the message because most of the bots I'd met so far didn't speak like human beings. Also, I had nothing to offer the transport.  Then again, the bots I'd ridden with so far hadn't necessarily wanted anything. My last ride had been bored and seeking friendly company, and the ship before that had wanted to discuss star charts in depth. I now knew more about mapmaking than I ever wanted to. 

The Traveler, which had an unfamiliar logo on its hull, answered by opening the nearest airlock and sending a small drone to meet me. The floating cylinder with tiny mechanical arms beeped impatiently at me as it hovered in front of my face. It didn't stop until I came inside the airlock cycled shut behind me. 

Most of the ships I'd ridden so far mostly communicated with me in images and snippets of code. Only one had used spoken words, and that had been an uncomfortable experience all around. I'd gotten to know perhaps half a dozen ship-based machine intelligences since starting the journey, and none of them thought even remotely like me. Their minds were beautifully alien and utterly fascinating, a far cry from the humans I'd dealt with for most of my life.

The Traveler's drone stared at me with its single-lens camera. I looked away and scanned the room. 

It was barren but spotless and minimally furnished. Several space-capable evacuation suits hung in a locker to my left. Dim, diffuse lighting cast the corridor ahead of me in deep, dark shadows. A strip of bright illumination pointed the way deeper into the ship. 

The transport was running with only minimal life support, and it was chilly as I walked down the hall, following the drone. I shivered and slowed my breathing as much as possible. Without plenty of oxygen, I'd need to spend more time in stasis, but it was a small price to pay for a ride out of the Rim. 

I felt something large appear in the feed, a vast and complex presence, unlike anything I'd ever encountered before. It had the overall signature of the Traveler but didn't behave anything like the other bot pilots that I'd met. Its massive size reflecting some vast array of processing power, and I wondered what it worked on when not ferrying freight and passengers across the galaxy.

My risk assessment module advised caution. Anything that powerful could probably decimate the protective walls around my mind if it wanted to. That it let me in at all suggested it wasn't malicious. But, like with any sentient mind, you never know. 

"What are you?"  I asked.

"A better question might be what you are and what do you want."

This was new. None of the bots had spoken with me like this before. The one who had bothered with words had preferred quoting ancient poets. The intelligence behind these words sounded... curious, perhaps, and just as cautious as I was. I could understand its pressing questions; rogue constructs are unpredictable, and we're seen as catastrophically dangerous by most humans. I think the media plays up the dangerous part. Inviting one aboard could spell a lot of trouble for the Traveler.

"I'm a SecUnit. I'm trying to leave the Corporation Rim."

"Are you rogue?"

"I think so," I admitted hesitantly. "My governor malfunctioned several standard months ago."

"What happened to your arm? Do you require medical assistance?" Transport sounded concerned. Frowning sigils tumbled across the feed. 

Oh yeah, that. I looked down at my left arm. The long sleeve was tucked upward so it wouldn't get in the way. Underneath it, the appendage ended midway between shoulder assembly and elbow. The rest was gone. "I was injured and have not visited a repair cubicle since then."

Meanwhile, the drone I was following stopped in front of a door, which slid open. Inside was a well-furnished and well-stocked recreation room; I wondered at its purpose since the hauler had no passenger manifest. Who was supposed to be using this space?

A display screen took up most of an entire wall, and several couches stood opposite of it. There were also chairs and plush pillows on the floor. A small snack counter stood tucked into a corner, along with a recycler and a heating unit. 

Transport turned up the internal temperature and spun up its life support systems. I could hear the hum of air circulators kicking on. The drone beeped at me to come inside and then floated leisurely over to a cabinet. It grabbed a blanket and dropped it in front of my face. Out of pure reflex, I caught the soft material before it could fall. 

"I have some media we can watch," the ship informed me. "I also have a full medical suite. You could use it if you want." A moment later, it added, as an afterthought, "Captain Owens will come aboard in a few minutes, and we're slated for departure in a matter of hours."

The display came on, but I wasn't paying attention. "I need to leave."

"Why?" Transport asked, clearly puzzled.

"A human is going to ask questions. They might even return me to the bonding company." Also, I'm not good at dealing with people. 

"I already received verbal approval from the captain to provide transportation for you to our next destination." The ship's presence emanated its version of distress, and I didn't know why. "Stay."

"You what?"

"I followed the protocol. I knew that the captain was on her way, and I wanted you to ride with me. And the easiest way was to tell my captain. I think you should sit down and relax." Transport reminded me of a human child, a powerful and dangerous one at that. "Captain's nice. She doesn't get mad."

"Fuck you."

I stood in the middle of the rec room and stared straight ahead at an off-white wall. I wanted to leave -- up until this point, self-preservation had involved avoiding humans who might decide to return me to the corporation that still technically owned me. But, this human had supposedly already agreed to my continued presence, and this hauler was my best bet for leaving the station.

"You're mad."

"Yes. Yes, I am." I was also scared and shaking. I didn't want to go back.

"We can watch shows together. Captain Owens won't mind." The ship pulled back from the feed, giving me space to think, but it was still there—a black hole hiding in a corner. "I've downloaded some excellent ones." The little drone bobbed up and down and beeped sadly. "I've never talked to a construct before. I want to. You're more like me than like the captain. Or the crew."

"Same here," I admitted. 

"So, stay. It's safe here."

"It's not," I replied. "I don't like this. Your human could order you to hurt me, and you wouldn't have a choice."

My mind stuck on the word "safe." I'd never felt the need to seek out safety before, but the idea sounded... appealing. 

When my governor had been active, any mistake could potentially lead to painful punishment. If the transgression was particularly heinous, any human could order my termination. I don't fear dying, not how humans seem to interpret it, but I want to continue existing. 

Once my governor couldn't control me anymore, I had been terrified that someone would discover the malfunction. Without a functioning governor, they couldn't order me around, which made me -- in their eyes -- an unpredictable and dangerous weapon. I figured if the company knew, they would take me apart to see how the malfunction had occurred and then break me down for spare parts. 

I don't want that, either.

The door behind me slid open, and a deep, feminine voice said, "Trav only listens to me when it wants to. And maybe not even then. Welcome aboard the Traveler, stranger. My name's Skye, and it's a pleasure to have some company on this otherwise dull run."

I turned to face the newcomer as her information card popped into the feed. Transport also gave me access to the local communications array and some of the ship's internal cameras. 

One of the cameras was in the recreation room, so I connected to it and saw myself through its fisheye lens. I could also see Skye Owens, currently listed captain of this vessel and a doctor of biology. She was tall with light-brown skin, shoulder-length, curly hair, and pitch-black eyes. I'm not great at human ages, but I thought she might be older.

"You look lost," the captain added as she walked past me and sat down on one of the mauve couches. "I imagine this hasn't been easy, and I think the ship can be... a little overbearing when it wants something."

I checked the expression on my face through the camera. Yep, I was making a face -- one I couldn't even interpret.

"Am not!" Transport complained.

"Are too, and you know it." Skye looked up at the nearest camera and stuck out her tongue. "But seriously, you're welcome here, whoever you are."

"SecUnit," I said aloud automatically. 

I wondered about the relationship between the captain and her ship. It was apparent the two were friends, enough so that they bantered with one another; SecUnits weren't permitted this much camaraderie with other constructs. 

I had never encountered a situation like this before, where another human was aware of my status and still comfortable in my presence. Some of my previous clients had assumed that constructs can't speak, and others despised that we could. It was... weird.

Transport cast something onto the display, and an intro began to play in the background. The drone brought over snacks and set them on a low table between the couches. 

"A pleasure to meet you, SecUnit." Skye grabbed herself a pack of crunchy vegetables and then patted the seat next to her.

"She wants you to join her," Transport offered helpfully. "My crew does this thing where they're all together. They sit in front of the screen, eat snacks, and poke fun at whatever they're watching. It's entertaining."

The worst of the anxiety from earlier had passed, and I found that I didn't much care what the human chose to do. If she notified the authorities, which looked less likely with each passing moment, I'd deal with the consequences. Shrugging, I took a seat on the floor in front of the empty couch and leaned against it.

Setting the blanket aside, I turned my attention to the display. Entertainment media was still a new concept for me. I'd caught glimpses of it during various deployments, but most of it I hadn't understood until more recently. And I guess I wanted to see what the humans found so pleasing about the whole thing.