#built a bench when i was seven

[kentucky-daisey]

The undeniable urge to do renovations.

I am a queer woman and I want to fix something with my hands!!! Take me to Home Depot and set me free!

[milflewis]

Gewis + ‘just trust me’

When George is seven and three quarters, he learns off all his times tables up to ten and gets his dad to quiz him at the dinner table. His mum has made them cottage pie with leftover mince from the day before. He is allowed one glass of dilute.

He gets all his sums right — his dad grinning at him as he sits up straighter, saying them faster and faster — apart from seven times seven.

(His dad still messes up his hair and tells him that he’s going to smoke that prick kid with the hair, Billy what’s his face, tomorrow and his mum rolls her eyes, peeling his sister’s potato skin off and mashing it up.)

—

When George is ten, he and his sister stay up late on Halloween and eat nearly all their sweets and watch Coraline. They swap sour worms for jammy dodgers, and suck on gobstoppers.

Their fingers smell of oranges and chocolate in the morning and George’s stomach aches for hours.

(He hates Coraline. His sister loves it, laughing at all the scenes where his heart jumps into his mouth. They watch it for five more Halloweens.)

—

When George is twelve, he has his first kiss. It’s quick and dry and kind of sore — more of a bumping of teeth together than anything else. The second time is not much nicer, if a little wetter.

He isn’t sure if kissing is for him. That’s okay, though, she doesn’t seem that into it either. The sleeve of his school jumper, where he’s always trying not to pull on the threads and failing, gets caught on her earring and it nearly comes right off.

(He is sixteen when he first kisses a boy. He’s two years older, in the class above him, and tastes of cigarettes and energy drinks and his hands are hot on George’s cheeks. He enjoys this one a lot more.)

—

When George is thirteen, the Kaiju come and flatten half of Greece.

(This is when he first hears of General Lauda and Commander Hunt and the Jaeger Program.)

—

When George is seventeen, two Kaiju break through the half built London Wall and he drags his sister all the way deep into the English countryside to stay with their aunt. He doesn’t see his mum again.

(His dad presses his face into George’s hair, voice cracking, and tells him to be good, to stay safe, that he loves him, that he is going away to make sure that the next Wall stays up. He asks him what is seven times seven and wraps his coat around George when he starts to cry.)

—

When George is twenty, he meets Alex Albon, who is tall and always smiling and knocks George flat on his back in basic training. He moves over on the bench, later on during lunch in the mess hall, jerking his chin at the empty seat beside him, spoon in his mouth. George sits down beside him.

(It’s one of the few things that George never comes to regret.)

—

When George is twenty-two, there is a four Kaiju alarm and the entirety of Western Europe duck behind their walls. Michael and Mika’s Flying Rainmaster is retired after, her pilots lost to the sea, and Webber refuses to ever get into a Jaeger again after losing Alonso.

Commander Hamilton looks tired on the tv screen, face thin, uniform buttoned up to his throat. He moves carefully now when the cameras catch him, as if he’s favouring his left side. Rosberg’s body was not recovered.

(Doctor Button punches out a reporter who tries to sneak into Hamilton’s room, Alex tells him later.)

—

When George is twenty-five, he and Alex get accepted into the Jaeger Program, and score a drift compatibility rating of eighty nine percent on their first run.

What, Alex says, trying to trip George up as they climb out of the CONNPOD, like it’s hard? George elbows him away, and Commander Vettel looks amused, jotting something down in the little notebook he always carries around.

Lewis is always trying to get me to watch that movie, Vettel says. And then continues as if that isn’t life shattering news to drop at twelve in the morning on a Tuesday in May: Get in, bitches, time to go training.

You know, Alex laughs in George’s ear, arm bony around his shoulders. I am starting to get your old man boner.

George shoves him off, cheeks hot to his frustration. It is not an ‘old man boner’. What the fuck.

Alex gives him a deeply unimpressed look. George comes very close to regretting him. George, mate, kid, you do know that your boner being just for Hamilton is, like, way more embarrassing than just having one for old guys in general.

(George steals all his fluffy socks, even the really nice expensive ones.)

—

When George is twenty-five, he watches Bottas and Hamilton spar each other with wooden sticks.

He watches them circle each other, defence flowing into offence and back out again, footwork like a dance, one step forward for every one step back. He wants like nothing before in his life.

(It sticks to the back of his throat and stays there for a very long time.)

—

Who is Charlie, George thinks, fingers feeling all tingly and weird as he remembers a man with messy hair and strange pants laughing at something he says. Something Alex says.

Charles, George remembers, seperate from Alex. He works for Bottas; one of his nurses. He reset George's right shoulder a few weeks after it had dislocated. Again.

And then, because Alex is terrible and deserves it, George asks it out loud. "Who is Charlie?"

Their comm crackles. "Can you repeat the question, Ranger? We didn't catch that." Bono sounds amused.

George laughs, the drift between them shivering with it, as Alex scrambles to answer, ears red.

—

When George is twenty-five, his sister, aged twenty two, graduates from college with an engineering degree and heads right to the French Wall to work. George isn’t able to go to the ceremony. He also isn’t able to convince her that working in the safety of a Shatterdome would be more worth her while. He calls her and they both pretend like they aren’t crying.

Hamilton finds him later that night, head slumped onto the cold metal counter of the kitchen island. His cup of camomile tea is cold in front of him. His mum used to drink it.

George watches his hands as he takes the lids off of tubes of ice cream, scooping out spoonfuls into two bowls. He wonders if his tattoos feel any different than his unmarked skin and feel silly with it.

Hamilton tells him about his brother, Nic, and learning to be a Ranger with Rosberg in the bunk below him, Bottas the one below that, and Alonso in the bunk above, Button across the room with Vettel under him.

“Probably a miracle this place is still standing,” Hamilton remarks, dry. His face is terribly soft. He looks like he’s been through the wash one too many times.

George must make a face when Hamilton finishes with the chocolate sauce and shakes out salt into his palm.

“Listen,” he starts, already grinning. It transforms him, his whole body moving with it. “Just got trust me, man. Give it a go, okay?”

“Is that an order, sir?” George asks just to be annoying. Hamilton only rolls his eyes, flicking the last bits of salt at him.

It’s delicious, even with the salt, or maybe, perhaps, because of it. George ignores the smugness radiating off of Hamilton.

He tells him instead of his dad buying books upon books of sudoku because his mum likes to do them while they watched nature documentaries. He talks about how his sister’s pockets had to be checked before she came inside every evening, for any creepy crawlies that she decided needed a warm home for the night. The story about when Alex and him got lost in Tokyo, each missing a shoe, sends the older man into giggles.

(This is the moment that Commander Hamilton becomes Lewis, ice cream in the corner of his mouth, eyes tired.)

—

Seven times seven is sixty three.

—

His and Alex's Jaeger is an old Mark Three one, still half powered by a nuclear reactor. She’s clunky and big and they fight with a massive long-staff, crackling with electricity at the end. George loves her.

Lando takes a bit of getting used to. George wishes he’d stop calling their Jaeger his.

“Veteran,” Lando says one night, feet dangling off the platform edge. George leans back on his elbows to look at him around Alex, who only hums, arms folded over the railing.

It’s late. There is only the skeleton crew working in the Shatterdome’s garage tonight. They’ve already made their way through a bottle of Yuki’s toilet paint cleaner masquerading as alcohol.

Their chief mechanic shrugs on shoulder and turns to look at them, one leg pulling up to his chest bend at the knee. His mouth does something awkward, but most of what Lando does is awkward so George doesn’t really take notice of it. He finds it rather comforting actually.

“Because they’re always going on about how young you guys are. The Rookies and whatever. And, like, fuck,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I get so much shit for my age here too. Be ironic and all that.”

“Veteran,” George says, trying it out. He likes how it fits in his mouth.

“Probably better than Geriatric Fuck,” Alex admits, and they’re all silent for a moment before cracking up.

—

Whenever they drift, Alex likes to lightly trail his fingers through George’s want for Lewis. He runs his knuckles over the backs of longing and warmth and terror and relief and lust and that sweet aching joy that sits in George’s chest when he makes Lewis laugh.

He rarely says anything. Just stands there as George clears his mind, humming softly. He told George once that it’s one of the few parts of George’s mind that is quiet.

“You think too much,” Alex likes to remind him, which George thinks is a bit unfair because Alex once woke him up at three in the morning when he nearly fell out of his bed in excitement, having finally solved Sebastian’s puzzle after hours of staring at the ceiling.

“You think too little,” George replies instead and the shape of Alex’s smile curls around him in the drift as they move as one.

—

Lewis likes to read.

Lewis specifically likes to read fiction. Romance if he can get his hands on, and he loves fantasy or anything sci-fi.

“I’m a bit weird about space,” he says, smiling sheepishly. It is only slightly less devastating than Lewis’s smiles generally are.

I’m a bit weird about you, George thinks. “Space is cool,” he says, and wants to die.

“Yeah,” Lewis says, slow and amused. “So cool.”

They’re sitting down at one of the corner table in the mess hall. George looks at the stupid spoon they gave out with his potato and leak soup in despair.

“I have a book I think you’ll like,” he tries.

Lewis, because he is made to make George feel insane with everything he does, honest to god, perks up. “Yeah?”

George nods, blowing at his soup like a twat. Somewhere Alex is laughing and doesn’t know why. It’s so hot though. He hates when he burns his mouth.

“About bounty hunters in space. There’s pirates too. I’ve written in the margins though, just rubbish really, but you’re welcome to borrow it, if you want?”

Lewis grins at him. “I want.”

Holy cow.

“Can I write my own thoughts in it too? I can use a pencil if you want.”

George thinks he might give Lewis his firstborn if he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he says casually.

—

George finds himself scribbling arguments to counter Lewis’s comments across dozens of books. Some of them are his. Some of them are Lewis’s.

Lewis is sharp and funny and George disagrees with half the things he says but the other half come a such a wildly different angle to how he took the material that he has to sit there and piece through it.

He gets ink on his fingertips as he traces some of Lewis’s words, laughing quietly to himself.

“Normal people send nudes,” Alex murmurs sleepily on the bed across the room from him. George lifts his head, pulling a pillow from behind him to chuck it over at him.

—

When George is twenty seven, he starts to think that maybe Lewis might —

That he might look at George too and —

That Lewis might maybe too.

(When Alex catches this in the drift, he laughs so hard he ends up disconnecting completely. General Susie Wolff is not that impressed.)

-

Valtteri Bottas is in Italy when the Kaiju attacks. Lewis Hamilton is not. He stayed behind in the Tokyo Shatterdome to welcome in the new cadets.

George has never seen Lewis scared before. He decides he doesn't like it.

"We'll get him," he tells Lewis, wasting precious seconds to stand there in front of him, in his piloting suit, because he couldn't just walk past a Lewis who looks as lost as he does. "We'll get him," George says again, even though the very first thing they tell you is to never ever make promises.

I'll get you your Alex, George thinks, and they have never drifted together before, and never will, but he thinks Lewis understands him anyway. He nods at him and sets his shoulders, broad and unfaltering. George sees, not for the first time, how he is the only person to ever successfully pilot a Jaeger on their own.

"See that you do, Ranger Georgie."

George groans, walking away backward. He's going to kill Lando one of these days. Lewis smiles, eyes still tight at the corners, and George can't help but say, "Just trust me."

When George is strapping in minutes later, Alex a comforting noise beside him, he thinks of how Lewis's face went all slack and blank for a moment before he looked away, jaw tight. I do, Lewis had said then, quiet, and it had sounded like something else.

Seven times seven is sixty three, George reminds himself like he always does before drifting, clearing his head until there's nothing but quiet.

[es46]

Prompted muse: Submas Reunion

- Per the Submas Reunion prompt by user @sleepy-shinx , I decided to muse on how Ingo and Emmet could reunite after Arceus's time twisting, and Emmet was up to while Ingo was in Hisui. In line with my prior post on potential Unova progression, this would take place seven years after the events of BW2 and one year before BW3-headcanon, in which Ingo has been absent for three years. - Eight months after Ingo vanished, Emmet moved to Anville City. It was difficult to leave the Subway behind, but it had been more difficult always thinking he'd just seen his brother among the crowds. The town's calm and quiet helps Emmet focus. He works on the old turntable, and old trains, and sometimes old picket fences. Anville Town opens a train museum. Emmet personally oversees design and implementation on the exhibit featuring his brother. It hurts, but not as much as the idea of letting Ingo fade from Unova's memory. Drayden retires. He and his wife Pariel move to Anville, right next door. Some nights, the three sit on the porch and quietly conversate. Drayden admits that he feels estranged from his grandson, and Emmet assures him that family can always find a way back together. Some nights, Emmet dreams of a man in grey wandering a strange region. The man is lost, but he is resolute, and when Emmet awakens, he is almost reassured. Elesa visits occasionally, sometimes with Skyla. Elesa's ambitions are exceptional; she's competing to join the Elite Four. Elesa wants Unova to shine brighter than ever, and Emmet has to laugh, knowing exactly how Ingo would react to the venue designs she shows him. One day, Elesa is uncharacteristically reticent as she admits she's intending to propose to Skyla. Emmet smiles, knowing exactly what Ingo would say: For once, Elesa, no theatrics, no glamour. Some nights, Emmet dreams of a man in grey staring at a great mountain. At its peak, something terrible stirs. Emmet no longer feels reassured when he wakes. Anville feels too quiet. After Drayden gives his word he and Pariel will ensure everything remains as it is, Emmet leaves. He stays in Castelia for a time, enrolling in Burgh's gym as one of its trainers. The Nymble he raises is a calculating but earnest Pokemon. Some nights, he stays with Burgh, occupying his mind with painting until the sun rises. He paints trains, mountains, and a man in grey. He returns to Nimbasa for a time. Clay's wife, Pumice, has been overseeing management of the Battle Subway (and wherever else the family industrialism can influence), and graciously gives Emmet a handle on the Join Avenue. He thinks on what Ingo would like to see, how he would arrange the stalls, and it helps. Lacey comes home, graduated with highest honours. She tells Emmet stories of Paldea, of shimmering crystals and Pokemon from across time. She tells Emmet how fun it'll be to convince Clay to remake Driftveil Gym into a Fairy paradise. Emmet smiles. Ingo would be so proud of Lacey. Some nights, Emmet dreams of a man in grey standing before a creature unlike any other, whispering words that can't be forgotten. When he wakes, it's as if the creature had spoken to him as well. He is reassured. Emmet returns to Anville. His home is as it was. He works on the old turntable, on old trains, and sometimes old picket fences. One day, most everyone in town leaves, eager to see the live broadcast of Unova's first Terastallization battle at the PWT. Emmet sits on a bench, and he waits. A man in grey sits beside him. He exhales slowly, as if he has been walking for a long time. He ponders his words carefully, and in the end settles with: "They built a museum. Is my statue taller than yours?" Emmet's rehearsed his side of such a conversation for nearly three years. He had every word memorised. Every gesture. He even scripted a moment to burst into tears. All of that leaves him now. Emmet simply chuckles and replies: "One inch shorter. My only opportunity, you know." Ingo chuckles with him. The brothers stand, embrace, and make their way to the musuem.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

WT #5: "It's Broken"

Summary: Spy AU. r/AITA post from a throwaway account asking if they're the asshole for accidentally torturing their best friend.

WC: 1363

Am I the asshole for torturing my best friend, despite him not knowing it was me? [UPDATED] + Poll

Throwaway account for obvious reasons. 

So I work for a… company with enemies. Lots of enemies. And my job is to make sure those who come prying, don’t get off easy when they get a little too nosey. Seven of these enemies come in the form of branded assassins, and they’ve been on our asses for a while. I won’t use their name as I don’t want any hate/harassment to go towards them, but If you didn’t know, they’re the UK’s legion of puppies - legal assassins and infiltrators who are conditioned to think they’re doing good, but truthfully they’re just nuisances. Like, really annoying. Why can’t we be chased by the French ones? They’d put up a much better fight…

Ugh. Anyway, the pups got in the way of several shipments that stopped the boys getting paid, they nearly got my brother arrested and they killed a dozen higher-ups - you wanna know how hard they are to replace? They do all this for clout and money; bigger enemies pay the small enemies to try and take us out, and for what? We’re a family business, for christ's sake! All we do is move shit around and own a few stores, what’s so threatening about that? Nothing I’ll say! I’m just trying to put food on the table and these assholes are trying to stop that. Not all of us belong to institutions who feed us cucumber sandwiches and lobster at the drop of a hat. 

He’s probably there right now, swaddled in a private hospital with a team of doctors putting him back together. 

I’m not looking for sympathy, but I guess I hate them so much because one of them killed my dad. I was a wreck! 

So yeah, I fucking hate them. They took everything and continue to take - my brother had to step in and take over dads role and it hasn’t been easy for him! For any of us! And those bastards got away with a pat on the back and a warm bed while we had to relocate a warehouse for the millionth time. My dad was just sitting in his office holding his gun as he usually does - so what if it happened to be pointing in the direction of the pup? Those  guys are so insecure they see anything as a threat. ‘Shoot on sight’. Hah. That mentality will get them killed if they weren’t so damn hard to catch. 

But imagine the satisfaction when we finally managed to get our hands on one - a live one. The small one with the blonde hair, is probably about 5 '5 and built like a stick insect. (I’m practically six foot, well-built and can bench about 200lbs) 

They’d gotten sloppy - too egotistical. Their mums had probably told them they’re the best in the world and they ran with it. We cornered the rat in one of our warehouses, and he relented when he realized he wasn’t enough to beat over a dozen armed men when all he had on him was knives. What, is he just old enough to graduate from safety scissors? No guns? Fucking amateur. 

He didn’t go down without a fight, and it was quite a show, too. Bastard managed to nick my arm, but my brother managed to crack the back of his head with a pipe and he was out cold… Well, we assumed so anyway because of those damn masks -  If you hadn’t been living under a rock, then you’d know the pups have these masks practically glued to their face. They all have their own ‘looks’, the blonde one’s is molded into a frown with those soulless, black eyes. The reason we didn’t take it off there and then is because… well, last time someone did, everyone in the room went missing, and I don’t know about you guys but I’m quite comfortable here. We play a very dangerous game - luckily I’m always one step ahead. 

I’ve had six years to think about this - to wonder what It would be like to get one of them. My brother called me crazy, but I could hardly wait as they took his headpiece and tracker from his uniform. Look, I know it wasn’t the short one that killed my dad but he was close enough, but who wouldn't want to enact revenge on the closest thing to their fathers killer? Granted it wasn’t the short one that killed my dad, but it was close enough to send a message and I only had forty minutes before the fanfare arrived. So that gave me about thirty minutes to do whatever I wanted… 

I wasted no time in getting my hands dirty. Just seeing his stupid mask made me feel all kinds of stuff, but mostly rage at what one of his teammates had done to my life. I saw red. 

So I cut every limb deep enough to see bone. I broke several fingers, his leg, and carved him a new six pack after I’d rearranged his ribs. I ripped his clothes enough to see the pale flesh they hide beneath layers of tactical gear. I took his gloves so I could at least have a trophy - a reminder of the time I beat up a ‘Sin. 

I almost feel guilty for loving it, but I hated how he made no noise. He was conscious, I knew this because of the heavy breathing but he didn’t say a single word. Not one. Not even a whimper.

So I hit harder. And I kept on hitting until my knuckles bled because the smug bastard didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to be silent, but I’m also not sure he deserved the beating. I know, what a plot twist. 

I guess I should explain the title now, because how do I know I just tortured my best friend? Well. I think I did. Because only one person I know has a very specific scar between his pointer and thumb - right in the fleshy part. It stretches across his palm as well as down the back of his hand towards the wrist. It’s barely visible now, but I’ve known him for years, so even beneath all the blood I can still trace the faint line. I’m so used to seeing his hands and the scar… and that mop of blond hair that I know it had to be him. He’s also the only person I know that bites his nails down to the cuticles. 

I saw the scar when I raised the bar I was using above his hand - he’d been strapped to a chair, with his arms tied to the armrests. His fingers were broken for sure, but at the time I wasn’t done… the irrational anger I had had blinded me, but the sight of the scar swung me back to my senses. I paused for a solid minute, the pipe I was using poised above his hand. 

“It’s broken.” He finally rasped. 

And I stopped. 

I stopped. Like, I physically recoiled because despite the fact that he was hiding behind that stupid mask he actually spoke. I could put a voice to a body and for some reason I felt so sick I nearly threw up because it was so unmistakably him. 

So I dragged his body back to the spot and left him. I had time to spare but I couldn’t face it. If it was him, then he must have known it was me. I mean, I was wearing a pretty good disguise - a hoodie, sunglasses and bandanna - but I’m worried y’know, I don’t want this to affect our friendship going forward. 

I’m sitting in my car typing this and wondering AITA for torturing him? Because it was just to teach him a lesson but on the other hand… he’s my best friend and I genuinely didn't know? Like, I stopped right away! On the other hand, he is part of something that actively ruins the family business so I don't know. 

UPDATE: He does know it was me. 

I think we’re still friends.

[tparker48]

The gym would be quiet as most of the goers  went home for the day, The weighting room almost quiet as the ceiling fan filled the air. All except for the sound of weights clanking as one of the bench equipment  were occupied. "One..two...three...four" Reggie, a scrawny and built bodybuilder counted from the bench. Lifting his weights as he stared at the ceiling. "Five...six...seven..eight."

"You're still here?" A figure loomed from above. Hands sticking by their side as they eyed Reggie. "I thought you'd have finished by now, my shake jug’s just about gone."

"Well Zeb, I've got a body to keep in shape." Reggie said. "Besides, I thought you'd be gone by now. Grk!"

Zeb leaned into the bar he was holding, applying his weight just enough to halt Reggie’s lift. "And leave my best bud without a partner? No way."

"You always were over-spirited." Reggie sighed softly, a chuckle escaping from Zeb before he let him up. "Now come on” Reggie said as he placed the weights back on the placeholder. “we've gotta clean the bench before they start to close."

"right behind ya." Zeb replied.

The two grabbed the materials off the side of the corner wall as they wiped down their equipment. Throwing away the used wipes before they went out. A shake stand resting next to the entrance as a man stood in front.

"Come one come all, try the latest brand of our protein shake. They are sure to energize your bodies like no other before."

"Ooh a new shake, that could be fun. We should get one." Zeb volunteered.

"Hmm, well I suppose I haven’t had mine yet. Why not, let's try one." Reggie replied. The two made their way to the man that stood in front of the stand. "I'll take a bottle." Reggie announced. Zeb as well as he followed behold.

"Here you are good gentlemen." the man happily said, handing the two of them bottles as they made their way to the door. Heading to their cars parked next to each other, Reggie noticed a thin paper flapping underneath his windshield. A tow company marked along the front of it

"Again with these tickets? I swear these car loaners are vultures."

"You really gotta pay for those Reggie, otherwise you'd have to ride with me to and from the gym." Zeb Chuckled.

"And lay victim to your driving? No thanks." Reggie responded. "I'll pay them eventually." Turning to the driver's side, he got into his car before turning onto the ignition. Waving to Zeb as he pulled out from his driveway, but soon looked to the bottle he grabbed from the man at the table. "New flavor huh? Wonder what it tastes like?." He thought to himself, tilting the bottle to his mouth as he took a swig. Taking a gulp, his face scrunched when the aftertaste struck his tongue. "What a tangy taste!" He scoffed, pulling out a water bottle  to wash away the sensation.

Arriving at home, he arrived in the driveway as he made his way into his room. Not bothering to wash himself as sleep fell down upon him. Crashing to the bed, he set an alarm for the morning before dozing off to sleep. Noticing a slight tingle in his body, but took it as nothing more than a sleep phase.

It was long before the morning arrived, the sun shining through the windows as the birds chirped outside. "Mmm.." Reggie groaned from his slumber, leaning over to his alarm that blared off further to the left of him. "Is it morning already?.." He reached over to his alarm to turn it off. The clock seemed bigger than it was last night. Was he sure this h was his clock? With his eyes still filled from the night sleep, he opened them to look at the clock,  but the light shined  through the window and into his eyes. "Ah..god that's too bright!" He yelled. Shielding his eyes, he rolled the other way, falling to the floor as he wrestled with the covers. "Lousy thing!" He groaned, kicking off the covers before he got up to his feet, the mirror just in front of him as he gazed at his reflection.

His body was no higher than a pillow, coming only halfway to the mirror's height before he gazed at his clothes. "The heck happened to me!" He stepped backwards, stumbling over his shirt that snagged underfoot. "But how did I!..How could!" He couldn't muster the words as he looked at his body. But turned to his phone as it started to ring. "Its Zeb!" His eyes widened.

As the phone rung, he hesitantly clicked at the phone. "..Hello."

"There you are! You know you certainly are hard to reach in the morning. Where are you? The gym opens up soon."

Reggie's heart skipped a beat upon hearing that. "Ah..The..the gym’s open?"

"Yes?...and all the good weights will be gone if you don’t high tail it over here.

"Uhh yeah..be right there." Reggie replied. hanging up, he paced around the room sporadically. "What am I gonna do?! I can't let Zeb see me like this, he'd never let me hear the last of it!" He looked around the room for something to wear. His clothes were too big to wear now, what else could he wear? He looked at the corner of the closet and spotted one of his shirt’s he placed on his stuffed animals. He hadn't worn that thing since high school. He can't wear that, it would be embarrassing. But what choice did he have?

He got dressed as he stepped outside, wrestling with the snug fabric as he moved to his car. "I can't believe I have to wear this!" He groaned, pulling open the car door as he shimmied his way into the car seat. The wheel only came up to his head, just barely able to see the garage, let alone the car hood. "Are you kidding?!" He shouted, kicking the door as he hopped out. "Can't even drive my own damn car without looking like a toddler." he said as went back inside.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile at the gym, Zeb sat along the side of his car. Waiting for Reggie to arrive as he watched the crowds of goers go inside. Waving to some of them before he gazed at the empty parking spot next to him.

"What the heck is taking him so long?" he asked himself, tapping his foot in boredom as he looked to the gym. But a squeak from behind caught his attention, Reggie's car pulling into the driveway as it parked next to his. The window peered open at the top, just enough to let Reggie peek out.

"Sup." Reggie greeted Zeb.

"There you are! Thought you got cold feet or something."

"I wouldn't miss the gym, don't be daft."

"Yeah I suppose you're right." Zed nodded. “Oo I can’t wait to work on my muscles some more. I got just enough to finally bulk it out. Look here! I even got buffer from yesterday!" He flexed his arms into the window, peering closer as he loomed over the window. "Wanna see?"

"N-no that's fine, I don't need to see it!" Reggie said, moving himself away from the window. But a click at the door made him jump, the door pulling away as he grabbed it.

"Ah come on, I always show you it. Let me show ya."

"I'm fine really!" Reggie replied.  Clinged to the door to pull it back, his body heaving the opposite way before Zeb's strength forced it back. When the handle slipped from his grasp, he lunged for it, but fell along with the door. He landed on the street as cushions bounced to his side. "Ow that smarts!" He groaned, rubbing at his back. But looked forward to the pair of sneakers in front of him.

"Ooh man, what happened to your size?!" Zeb said. His eyes beaming down to his partner, Reggie stumbling to his feet. "You look so adorable."

"No no no! I am not adorable! I'm just..going through a change is all!"

"I'd say you're going more than just a change." Zeb chuckled, squatting down as he patted his head. His smile growing wider the closer he got.

Reggie's cheeks flared red upon his partner's affection. Swatting his partners hands away before he darted for the gym. "No no no, I refuse to endure this!" He yelled.

"Hey where you going!" He heard Zeb from behind, sensing the excitement in his voice before, beating footsteps soon trailing behind him. He ran faster, rushing through the electric doors. He refused to look back, running past the person that greeted him at the information desk before he ran into the hallway. Sharp squeaks of rubber following behind as he zipped past every corner that came up. He had to lose him somehow. But where? Rushing into the locker room, his heart raced sporadically for a place to hide, running past the doors as a shadow casted through the glass window.

Slam! The door swung open as Zeb stepped out from the hallway, panting to himself as he scaled the room. "Man..for someone half my size you still run fast..phew." He walked in. closing the door closed behind him, he scaled the room for any sign of his partner. "Reggiee...Reggieeee.." He called for him, peeking down the rows of lockers for any movement, even opening those that creaked open.. "I know you're in here somewhere."

He went further down the room as his steps grew softer. In a bunch of shirts hanging the side of the wall, Reggie peeked out as he looked at his now large partner. Ensuring he had enough distance, he rolled his eyes and snaked his way out the doorway. Moving back to the hallway he first came as he zipped around the corner. "Phew..that was a close one. I almost thought I'd-goh!" He bumped into a solid surface as he tumbled to the floor. "Hey! watch where you're.." He paused as he looked up to the tall figure. His eyes narrowing as he gained clarity from their face. It was the man from before, this time with a packet of bottles as he held it at his waist. "You again?"

"Hey there sport, glad to see ya. You seem to have gotten smaller since the last time I saw ya."

"No kidding." Reggie groaned, rubbing the sweat that built on his brow.

"You seem a bit thirsty" the man said, digging through the packet of bottles as he hovered one in front of him. "Care to have another dosage?"

"I can't drink anything right now I..what do you mean dosage?"

"Dosage, the samples I've been handing out are the state of the art energy provided by the shrinkage company."

"Shrinkage company?! Why didn't you tell us about that before you gave it to us."

“It would damage our product's record. We can’t hand out samples and expose our data."

Reggie's hand started to shake before his eyes furrowed. "Oh I'll show you damage!" He went for a tackle, but the man moved to the side, darting to the end of the hall. "Get back here!" He got back to his feet. Giving chase, he raced down the hallway and bolted around the corner. The man zipped through the hall like a cartoon character, Water droplets following behind him in a trail as the bottles in the package shook with his stride.

Meanwhile in the locker room, Zeb reached the end of the locker room as he looked around for reggie. "How can someone that small hide so well?" He pondered, Peaking into the pitch black black rooms for any movement. But his eyes drove to his reflection as figures zipped by the door, One much smaller as it ran after the talker figure. "Hmm?.."

"Now now!..no need to do things so hasty." The yelled behind him.

"Hasty?! Your drink cost me my size!" Reggie barked. He lunged for the men's shorts as he came just within reach, his form snapping a corner as he nearly tripped to his feet, catching himself before he continued to run. The two reached the end of the hall as the man turned into the ball equipment of the gym, Reggie close behind. Looking down, he noticed a round bouncy ball on the floor, kicking it towards the man's direction as it flung through the air.

It knocked into their legs, their ball rolling beneath their back as their bottles scattered. Some drenched the floor, while others  flew to the shelves, as the man tumbled to the wall.

"Gotcha!" Reggie pounced, grabbing the man's shirt.

"Bravo..phew..you caught ME!"

Reggie pulled the man's body closer, feeling their breath across his face. "Enough games, funny man! Tell me how to reverse this!"

"You can't."

"What?!"

"The dosage lasts for 24 hours at a time, all the way to the very time you first drank."

"When I first drank it? That’s ten hours from now! There has to be another way!"

"As I said before, its irreversible!" The man shrugged. "But look on the brightside, at least you still got "half" your size."

Reggie pushed the man's body against the wall, shaking the mirrors next as the shelves shook. "Listen here, your going to get my size back one way or-!"

Splash! Liquid poured onto Reggie as his hair dampened, pouring into his clothes as they soaked his body. A solid object clunking at his head before it rolled to the floor. "Ah! What the?.." He looked to the floor at the object that landed on the ground. One of the man's bottle rolling to his leg. "A bottle?!"

"Ooh bummer." The man said.

Suddenly, Reggie's body started to tingle, vibrating as it climbed up his body. With a sudden jolt that  whipped through his body, he shrunk sporadically, flipping through the air before he collided on the man's shirt. "Oh no, not again!"

The man chuckled above as he gazed at the miniaturized Reggie. "Looks like you fell victim to another bottle their sport." They said, sitting up from his spot on the wall. Reggie struggled to keep his balance, the man's body becoming vertical. Gravity pulled him down as he rolled over the man's shirt, and onto the floor. Getting up, he stepped to the side as sneakers landed there, looking at them as they stood tall.

"How long is this going to take to wear off?!" Reggie shouted.

"Let's see, considering you haven't drunk it, I would say you have ooh..17 hours."

"17 hours?!"

"Give or take. You’re still under the effect of the current dosage, so it just add a little more. Lucky you.." The man stepped over as he made his way to the exit. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I got some exercising to do."

"Hey!" Reggie ran after him, his steps unable to carry him far enough to catch up. With a single step, The man vanished into the hallway, the doors swinging shut. "Come back here!" He pounded at the door. The panels flung back open, catapulted him an inch away. “Did he come back?” Reggie pondered.  Looking up, his eyes widened in terror as white sneakers filled his view. A jock like build casting above.

"Ahh so that's what happened." Zeb's voice pierced the air. A knee bending as his face lowered down. "Was wondering what made you so adorable." He said, a slight chuckle escaping from him.

Reggie stumbled to his feet as he ran the other direction, but ran into a palm as it hoist him upward. "Eh?!"

"Oh ho no you don't, you’re not getting away this time." Zeb cooed, getting back to his feet.. “ 17 hours huh? Heh, to think that energy drink caused all this, glad I decided not to drink mine.” securing Reggie, he turned back towards the door.

"Hey! Where are we doing?" Reggie fumbled in Zeb's palm.

"What we came here to do. Workout!" Zeb said, exiting through the doors.

"What?! I can't workout like this! I can't use the weights!"

"Who said anything about weights?" Zeb beamed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?.."

"Hehehehe..."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The gym began to boom as more crowds of goers filled the gym. Taking up most of the seats along the floors, the weights all taken upon the shelves. But it wasn't a convenience for Zeb, reserving a private room of his own as he did his weights from there. "Mmm...mmm...mmm" he grunted between his lifts, feeling light taps at his torso as he looked down. Down below, Reggie in the center of his torso as he did jumping jacks. "Reggie, you can't think those are good jumping jacks, I can barely see ya from up here." Zeb smiled.

"Do I look like a frog? I'm jumping as high as I can."Reggie said, the protruding abs throwing him off his balance.

"Not like that you're not." Zeb replied, setting his weights to the bar above. "You really have to jump if you're gonna get some good exercise. " he inhaled and huffed up his torso, swelling it up like a balloon. Adjusting his knees, he proceeded to move his belly around like a wave. Clenching his gut to move his abs from his waist to his chest.

"Hey! Careful!" Reggie yelled, stumbling around the moving muscle. Falling to his knees as he sluggishly tried to get up.

"You gotta get your jumps somehow Reggi.e" Zeb beamed, flexing his belly faster. "Best get to jumping before I get more excited."

Wave after wave, Zeb's stomach tossed itself around his torso. Unraveling Reggie's efforts as he crumbled against the soft muscle. It was like trying to move on an inflatable as he stumbled onto his stomach. Sweat secreting from the skin sticking him against it. "This is not how you do jumping jacks!" He yelled, prying himself from the sticky torso. The wave behind was stubborn on letting him up, smacking the skin back onto his body as he continued to lift with it. "Don't you ever wipe yourself down!..ah! I can barely stand!"

"Sometimes. But why wipe my body when I could use it to do this?" Zeb sucked in his stomach as it dipped inward. With a flex, he catapulted his body upwards, flinging Reggie off his stomach and into the air.

"Aah-ahh!" Reggie yelled through the air, flipping sporadically as his vision spun all over the place. But ceased as his upper half pointed to the ground, falling as he hurtled back to his partner below.

Zeb beamed at Reggie upon his descent, extending his belly to cushion his fall, only to thrust him up again. "Hehe, now you're really looking like a frog" he chuckled, sucking in his gut before Reggie fell back down. Sucking in his gut, he used the sunk space to bounce him around like a trampoline. Tossing him around, he crossed his arms behind his head, relishing in the fumbling display of his partner like a movie.

"Would!..you!..Stop!..bouncing!..Me!"

"Hehe, I don't know, you look too adorable to consider that. I feel like I’m an acrobat show." he teased. Letting Reggie land, he sucked his gut inward and bent his knees, folding his abs around him.

"This isn't exercising!" Reggie shouted, softened by the abdominal  muscle. He pushed and pried to free himself from the pit of flesh, but they proved too tough to move.

Zeb only giggled upon the statement, clenching his stomach softly. "Oh know" he flaunted, catapulting Reggied back into the air. "But it spices things up a little." He returned to his bouncing as he leaned back into the table, enjoying the display some more, but focused upward when a chime rang through the room.

"The store will be Closing in 10 minutes. Please return any keys checked out back to the front." The voice on the intercom said.

"Ah man, I thought I had a lot more time" Zeb groaned. Catching Reggie, he folded his belly back over him. Getting to his feet, he sat there for a moment and relished in the feeling against his belly button. Little pinches and pulls danced around his belly, it was a peculiar feeling, but one Zeb welcomed with open arms. Relaxing, Reggie popped out and started to run, running straight into his palm. "Ah ah ah" Zeb wagged his finger, wrapping his palm in place. "The gym may be closing, but the day's far from done Reggie." keeping his palm closed, he put on his shirt as he got up the bench. Placing Reggie into his shirt pocket as he walked to the front.

It was a distant walk from the main entrance, but Zeb made it in good time. Handing the keys to the employees for the day before he went outside. Shuffling in his pocket drawing his attention. "I suppose that workout will have to do for now." He stood proudly, looking to his pocket as Reggie popped out.

"Good, cause I can use a shower after you're.."Reggie paused and he looked towards the parking. His car lifted through the air as its bumper peeked behind Zeb's car. And behind it, a tow truck as it hauled it from its spot. "My car!" He shouted, watching as it moved away from the space. The tow truck turned out from the driveway as it dragged his car further down the street. "Nooo!" He scowled into the air.

"I told ya you should have paid your bills.." Zeb muttered. "Guess you'll have to hitch a ride with me."

"What?!" Reggie's eyes widened "I-i can't ride with you. I can't handle another one of your thrills!"

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice." Zeb smiled "you can't drive, have no car to move around, and are sticking out of my pocket."

"No!" Reggie hopped out from the pocket, Zeb quick to intercept as he held Reggie in a fist.

"Good try, but you're not escaping me that easily Reggie. You're stuck with me." Zeb replied, opening his car door as he got inside.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a long ride as Zeb arrived in his driveway. Swerving into the garage as he parked his car inside. Getting out, he checked on Reggie as he pushed him out just enough to see with his thumb. He hurled for a split moment, Zeb responding with a slight tilt as it dumped to the cement below. Patting his thumb along his back as he chuckled softly. Getting inside, he got undressed from the afternoon, Tossing off his clothes as he left only his underwear on. Holding Reggie in his palm, he grabbed a snack and turned on the TV. Once he got comfortable, he placed him between his feet along the bed, sandwiching them together before Reggie had a chance to react.

Night eventually came as Zeb finished his snacks. His eyes glued to the TV as he watched "Tom and Jerry" on the screen. "Hehehe, I always love this show. The dynamic between these two always puts a smile on my face." He said to himself. Placing a palm on his cheek, he gazed at the TV before slouching forward. He reached for the remote to turn up the volume, but ceased when movement lingered at his feet. His soles parted sluggishly before they opened wider, Reggie stretching them apart as his arms shook. "Good strength." He simply said, eying him curiously.

"Hah..hah..that's too much weight." Reggie panted.

"Too much? I barely even moved." Zeb said, Leaning back in the bed frame "but I suppose at your size they'd be heavy." Zeb trailed off to the TV as he scaled the rest of the room. Wiggling his toes, he felt Reggie's limbs push into the crevices. "You know, you kinda remind me of Jerry in the show. Spirited, daring, hehe and small."

Reggie continued to hold Zeb's feet. Pushing them apart just enough to plant his feet against them. "Grgh, you'll find I have a lot of things in common with him, I'm strong, cunning..and..strong!" his feet suddenly flipped as Reggie flopped front first against the foot underneath him, the other planting at his back before the toes curled underneath.

"Mm I don't about cunning, but I'll give you strong." Zeb said, crawling his soles over Reggie's head before he scrunched Reggie to the center of the large feet. Caressing over his body like a ball, limbs sticking out to pry himself up. "Hmm, now that I think about it, Tom best suits you more. You can be a fraidy cat at times.

The toes spread before planting over Reggie's chest,  Zeb teasingly nestling his head between the smooth digits as they pulsed at his chin. "I am not a fraidy cat!"

"I don't know, you kinda sound like one. And certainly look adorable as one too." Zeb cooed, leaning back as he scrunched his toes at Reggie's shoulder's, bringing him to his waist. "Little Reggie, the adorable little fraidy cat." He rocked tauntly, shaking Reggie in place as the soles squished at his face.

"Gah! I'm a fraidy cat! I'm not scared of anything."

"Ooo, this fraidy cat's got some fire in him." Zeb said, his smile spreading from ear to ear. "But I bet that talk’s no bite and all bark."

"Try me! I can handle anything you through at me!"

Zeb's grin grew wider, sitting up from the bed as he took to the head of the bed. "Oh yeah?  Hehehe, alright then" Zeb grabbed Reggie from his feet and held him in his palm. Bending his legs, he spread them before placing him down just in front of his crotch. "It's time for one last workout, Reggie boy."

"Workout? Bring it, anything you dish out can't be worse than your bench presses from the gym.

"Aha! Is that so?.." He raised a brow towards Reggie, his crotch starting to move as a tent built up inside. "Then allow me to fetch you your weights" wiggling his fingers with anticipation, he inserted his finger into the fly of the underwear. Drawing it away, his cock flung out out the opening, slithering out like a snake as it rose to the air, before beaching itself onto his lap.

"Huh?!" His eyes widened, looking at the cock laying before him. The flaccid flesh was just as large as he was, the slit meeting his eye level, its tapered head looming just above his hair. "You want me to lift that?!"

"Mhmm." Zeb simply said.

"There's no way I'm doing that!"

"Ah come on, where’d that bravado go?  You already interacted with my body before, Why's this any different?"

"No! I'm already trying to wipe your sweat off from earlier. Who knows long that will take to wipe off."

Zeb rolled his eyes upon the refusal of his partner. Looking around the corners of the bed before he looked at his cock, an idea popping to his head. "Yeah I guess you're right. It wouldn't be right to force something if you don't want to."

"Yes, thank you. I'm glad you-" Zeb started to move as he shimmied his body around. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Just getting comfortable is all. All that exercise earlier really makes me want to..Stretch!" He thrusted his hips firmly into the air, flinging Reggie just an inch away from his body. As he came back down, he laid back and eyed him as he landed on the underbelly of his cock.

"Gah! Hey!"

"Oh look!" Zeb's face lit up, his cock flexing on his torso "you're right in the space I wanted you to be. Guess you'll just have to exercise with my cock after all, Reggie."

"You're despicable.." Reggie scorned.

"I know.." Zeb replied, taking pride in the compliment as he reached for Reggie, holding a thumb against his body as he brought him upward. He wrapped around his cock, plastering him underneath the shaft's length before he rubbed at it vigorously.

"P..peh!..What are you doing now?!

"Well I can't have fun with a flaccid cock little bud, I need to be warmed up to give you just enough exercise." Zeb said, grinning from ear to ear as he stroked Reggie around his shaft. Corkscrewing him to the base before sending him up to the shroomed head above.

Reggie grunted upon Zeb's words, forcing himself to endure his partner's body as pungent sweat lingered into his nose. Climbing up the shaft, he could feel the tender skin beneath him stiffen. Compressing the space he had between it and the large palm before it sandwiched him, a heavily pulse beating through as it echoed even through his body. "Are you finished yet?"

"Almost, almost. Just gotta add the final touches" Pausing his strokes, he glided his fist to the head of the shaft, aligning Reggie parallel to the fluffy head as his chest cushioned against the side of it. Placing his thumb at his neck, he pushed down to bring Reggie closer, sending his head into the slit into center.

The little guy muffled inside the thick tube. Feeling the lips suckle at his body as squelches lingered in his ears. The walls were wet and damp as they rubbed into his face, caressing him into its soft rubs, its heat warming his body before it pulsed heavily. The thumb tempted to push him deeper, but quickly let go as he popped out of the slit, letting him fall back onto his partner's lap. "Ugh! What was all that for?!" He rubbed vigorously at his face.

"A kiss of good luck." Zeb said. He opened the flap to the rest of his crotch, curling his fingers into the skin beneath his shaft. He lifted up as round testicles exited from them, dangling them over Reggie, but waited until he finished tending to his face, his shocked gaze meeting him as he grinned. "Let's say we do more bench presses."

He let go of his balls as they sprawled through the air, hitting his waist before they tumbled to the Reggie below. In a panic, he raised his hands to the air, the testicles crashing on top of them as they brought him to his knees. "Grgh!.."

"These bad boy's should put those muscles to work." Zeb said, crossing his arms behind his head. "Considering your height, I'd say at least 10 lifts should do for tonight."

"10?!" Reggie strained, his legs wobbling beneath the weight. "I can barely get one in."

"Come on, don't doubt yourself, fraidy cat. Think of them as being as light as a feather."

Reggie paused for a moment to catch his breath, managing to get one of his feet back onto the ground, but struggled to get the other. He lifted the sack with all his upper strength, slowly moving up as the sack began to rise. "One!..T-two.."

"That's it, lift them higher. You can do it!"

"Three...four..hah..hah..Fiiive!" Reggie gritted upper the sixth raise, one of the balls falling to his back as its weight sent him to his knees. "S..si.siii-goh!" He slipped on his legs as the sac pinned his back to the bed, the other sac crashing on top as the loose skin spilled over him.

"Okay..maybe six will do." Zeb said. He lifted his sac off the bed, Reggie plastered against it before he peeled off the bottom.

"Thank goodness-grk"

"Not so fast, I'm not finished yet. You may not be able to lift my balls, but those little hands have other uses.." Zeb bent his knees before setting the sac back on top of Reggie. Getting more comfortable in his spot on the bed as he sat up. "All this cockplay has me craving release. So you can help me with that."

"How do you expect me to help from here?"

"Your limbs can still move, you can use them to scratch and rub at my balls." Zeb smiled, lifting up one of the orbs as he rubbed the round ridge over his head, before setting it back down. "While you're doing that, I'll take care of the rest."

"Ugh this is so humiliating.." Reggie groaned, kneading into the large sac.

"That's the spirit. Both hands now Reggie, I want to feel all the action down."

While Reggie focused on his balls below, Zeb focused on his shaft. Stroking it slowly as he felt its length grow higher, pulsing into the air before pre leaked out from its tip. Leaning back, he flicked his remote at the TV and continued to enjoy his show, checking on Reggie every now and then with a swift clench at his balls. It took a few minutes to get going, but Zeb eventually warmed himself up.  His body arched, and his hips extended, smothering Reggie into the large boulders as his strokes grew faster. In a split moment, it finally happened.

"Aaah!" He roared into the air, seed expunging from his shaft before it spilled into his chest, while the rest flowed down its underbelly and dripped onto his balls. "That was good."

"I'm glad you got your rocks off.." Reggie muffled, shielding his face with his arm to direct the flow of seed to the bed. "Now that your fun is done, could you let me up now?"

Zeb yawned before rubbing his eyes. "Sure Reg..I'll let ya up. But first..let me rest my eyes a little.." His eyes grew heavy, struggling to keep them open before finally closing. His muscles relaxed as his cock thumped atop his face.

“Mind getting me up before that Zeb?..Zeb?" Snores filled the air, his partner's heavy breath wheezing before he cleared his throat. "Great, he's asleep." The balls dropped as they slouched against his wrist, quick to part them as the testicles rested against the sides of his head. "I guess I might as the sleep too."

He stretched his neck around. Turning his head to the side. "At least I don’t have to worry about covers.

Splat! The shaft slipped out of Zeb's hands as it glided off his thigh. Slouching to Reggie below, its head slouched against His. "Ugh.."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning came as the sun shined through the window, Reggie was the first to get up as the sun shined into his eyes. "Ah..the lights in my eyes.." He groaned, his eyes opening wider. "Wait, the lights in my eyes. He looked up to the window that rested on the corner of the room, he wasn't able to see the first time he came here. Looking around, the scenery confirmed it. "My size is back! Yes! Yes yes yes!"

Splat! The cock above laid on the side of his face.

"Gah!..Right" tilting it away, he looked up at the surrounding thighs cushioning at his head. Tilting upward, he gazed up at his partner above. He could only see the tip of his mouth past his chest, the heavy snores still continuing. "Hey! Wake up!" He shimmied, rocking his body underneath his. Zeb's body was more heavier than his was, gravity favoring him as they kept his body in place.

"Mmm..." He groaned, blinking his eyes. He sat up as his waist went to his legs, a low grunt lingering from them before the bed scrunched. "Huh? I just had the nicest dream.."

"Ahem.."

Zeb was still groggy, but gazed down at the source of the sound. He and Reggie Locked gazes, Reggie's head peeking out from the side of the cock. "Oh hey, you got your size back."

"I noticed.." Reggie said.

The two got up from the bed as the two got dressed, Reggie the first to take a shower while Zeb focused on the rest of the hygiene tasks. Getting out, steam flowed out from the door as Reggie was fully dressed. Wiping the bits of water droplets off from his ear before tossing it to the laundry. "Oh I never wanted to take a shower so badly." He said as he hugged his body. "And my lovely size is back too."

"You know the more you hug yourself Reggie, the more you look adorable." Zeb commented. Ruffling his damp hair before he stepped into the shower.

"Yeah well you..I mean..gah!" Flustered, he stormed to the kitchen, grabbing a granola as he chewed at it aggressively.

As Zeb finished his shower, the two arrived at the gym as they entered inside. Greeting the employee at the service desk as they went to the main hallway.

"I can't believe I got my car towed. I can't keep hitching rides."

"Don't worry!" Zeb chimed in, wrapping an arm around Reggie's head. "I'm more than happy to be a taxi for ya until you get it back."

"That's the last thing I want, I lost my lunch on our way to your...." He trailed off as he looked ahead to entrance of the hallway. The man from before standing there as he presented his goods.

"This is a new drink?" A gym goer asked him.

"Of course, with this drink you'll be more energized than before" the man said, extending a bottom to them. "Here, have one on the house and-"

"You!" Another goer barged into the hallway, his body filling the frame as they stormed toward the two. "Don't think you're getting away with your little shrink scam. You owe me an ass whoopin'!"

"Would you look at the time! Perhaps a sample at a later date" the man darted down the hall.

"Get back here!" The bodybuilder chased after him.

The two zoomed past Reggie and Zeb, the wind flowing by them as they vanished past the entrance of the door. "Should we help him?" Zeb asked.

Reggie only smiled. "Nah, I'm sure he'll be fine."

[scifrey]

Cling Fast: Chapter Seven

By Losyark The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Unfinished (tentatively 10 chapters) PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

*

Author's Note: Those of you who have been following along at home will note that Hob's co-owner of The New Inn is now named Patrick instead of Dennis. No reason for the change, except that there were too many 'D' names floating around and I was loosing track of who is who.

*

Hob wakes up with a splitting headache, but otherwise no other effects from his hangover. Except for the sinking feeling that comes with remembering that he screwed up his 1589 feast again.

Would it be pathetic to try a third time? Especially knowing now that Morpheus rarely eats, and when he can be persuaded to, it's never British fare.

Yeah, it would be pathetic.

Hob rolls onto his back and presses his hands to his face.

He doesn't remember drinking more when he got home, but he was definitely out of it when he hit the Dreaming. It felt more like somebody had slipped something into his water bottle, but he can't imagine that anyone on set would drug him. Besides, the fey food artist had kept an eye on it all day for him, and it wasn't until after they'd parted ways with a handshake that he really started to feel woozy.

When he turns to look at the clock, groaning and sandy-eyed, he finds a light dusting actual dream sand sprinkled on his bedside table, along with a glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol. The clock reads 4:13am, so Hob takes a pill, drinks half the bottle, and sweeps the sand onto his face.

One of these days, I'm going to scold that anthropomorphic personification of a concept for leaving his shit all over the place, Hob thinks. But not today. He sinks back into sleep, grateful for Morpheus' thoughtfulness, and spends the rest of the morning laying on his back in the grass of Fiddler's Green. He and Gilbert make shapes out of clouds, and chew on coriander stalks amid a bed of flowers that Hob calls foxgloves, but Gilbert corrects him and calls gillyflowers.

"Two very opposite things," Gilbert says gently, through the rustle of the wind through the boughs of a nearby copse of French willows. Hob is reminded what the fey food artist said, that flowers scream their secrets.

"Never got into floriography," Hob confesses to Gilbert. "You know, back when it was all the rage and people were sending each other bouquets that said 'meet me in the garden at midnight', or 'my father says I am never to see you again', or 'I want you to do me dirty seven ways from sunday.' Maybe I should."

Gilbert's laughter is in the babble of a brook. The dream doesn't elaborate though, because Hob's alarm rudely interrupts them. All thoughts of tracking down a book on flower language fly from his head as he drags himself through a quick shower, and races down the back stairs of the New Inn while the transpo van idles in the drive and honks obnoxiously.

*

Hob gets to wear a few different costumes today, which is nice. He was sweating to death in the black velvet. They're filming all the scenes that need to happen in the study today, which will all be woven into the ten different episodes, so Hob's in and out of the wardrobe trailer on the front drive constantly.

That's why he notices that someone's left the outside door to the solar standing open.

This is one of three doors to the solar, the one that leads directly out into the back garden, where his bench and apple tree still blessedly stand. The other two doors are off the kitchen, so the maids could bring El her afternoon indulgences directly, and another that was knocked into the outer wall of the withdrawing room.

While the door is open, the heavy curtains are still drawn to protect the fragile textiles within from sun damage.

Hob has been desperate to catch just a glimpse of the eden he'd built specifically for his wife. He's seen the photos on the postcards in the gift shop of course, but it's not the same thing. Those pictures have it dressed for the Edwardian era, to reflect the last time the house was occupied by a family.

But the set-dec team has re-dressed it according to the descriptions in El's diary, and the merchants receipts for the fabrics, flowers, and furniture. They'd even found notes on what kind of pottery and dishware El had kept in there, a screed in the loveletters between Eliza and Will as the maid raged over the ridiculousness of having special dishware that the mistress will only take her supper on when it's being served in the solar.

Hob sneaks over to the door, and cautiously pokes his face in. Nothing is moving in the cool dark of the room, and he can't hear anything, so he slips inside and closes the door behind him. Not all the way, though, in case someone has just stepped out and left it open on purpose. He doesn't want to be caught where he shouldn't be.

Shouldn't be, he snorts to himself. I built the damn place.

The cameras are all in the study, nobody is here but him, so Hob gives himself permission to react. He feels his face crumple, and bites his lips to keep in the noise trying to crawl out of his throat. The study is right on the other side of the brick wall. He doesn't want the crew to hear him, or they may make him leave, and he's not ready for that yet.

God's Wounds, thank you, Hob sends up the prayer, but he's not sure to whom. He’s not sure it matters. Thank you for letting me have this.

The glass is different. It's newer, clearer, smoother; clearly a later addition. The small diamond-shaped panes have been replaced by long, modern sheets. But the size of the frames are still the same, wide as Hob's full arm span and at least ten feet to the ceiling. The windows are separated by a single row of red brick, the frames black metal, a dark red drape pulled across each of them. And the roof, which in Hob's day was thatched, is presumably now also made of glass, as there are light canvas tarps pulled taught on a winding pulley where the solar meets the rest of the house.

The floors are piled with carpets, to dampen the echoes that the glass had created, so El could hear herself playing. The ones the production has provided are far too modern in design, but the camera isn't going to spend a lot of time pointed at the floor, so it doesn't matter. 

What does matter is that the furniture is absolutely correct, and exactly where it used to be. The little cluster of a table and chairs, where El and Robyn used to do his numbers lessons together, where they'd snack on fruit and sweets while Hob was a docks, is in the corner by the door. On Sundays, when the three of them had just returned from church, Hob would sit on the bench under the apple tree with his pipe, and watch Eleanor pull Robyn into her lap at that table, and feed him bread pudding and tell him stories that would make him giggle and clap his hands.

Beside that, under the windows sits the long, skinny sofa. It has miniscule padding and none of the springs and memory foam of the modern version, but Hob fell asleep stretched out on it's welcoming yellow damask, listening to El pluck her way through a new piece she was learning more afternoons than he's ever napped on his current sofa. It's been recovered, but it's the same piece, because, when he runs his hand along the wooden arm rest, he can feel where Robyn scratched in an 'R' with a letter knife.

The brick wall opposite the windows is bare and exposed now, but there used to be a tapestry that, like the ones in the entry hall, have likely been removed for the sake of preservation. If they weren't thrown away or repurposed by the new family. They used to portray the bounties of the first Garden, every plant, and animal, every fruit and flower woven together in intricate, tiny detail. There had been black and red snake in the apple tree, and Hob had liked the little bugger immensely because he reminded Hob of his Stranger.

A furniture chest, what Hob would call a sideboard or a dish hutch today, stands against the bare brick. It's not the same one, that one had portraits of El's parents painted on the upper doors, but the style is similar enough that it's not distracting.

And at the other end of the solar, surrounded by massive potted ferns and an array of flowers that Hob had never paid much attention to, save for appreciating their perfume, is Eleanor's chair.

It's a grand, double-wide thing, with a matching footstool and only one arm, so El could play her lute comfortably without jamming her elbow against the side. He'd commissioned it specifically for this room and this purpose, having it covered in flaxen cloth-of-gold to match El's hair, and carved all over with little cherubs and their own heavenly instruments. It had been his wedding gift to her, and had lived first in the study, beside his desk, so they could spend their evenings together as he worked. But then he'd build this addition when he'd learned she was pregnant with Robyn, a thank you and a celebration, a little private Eden for Eve carrying Hob's new beginning, and new life.

And it's… it's all perfect.

Hob presses his hands against his chest, turning in circles to take everything in, emotion that he can't name pulling on his stomach and limbs like gravity. This place should be filled with laughter, and music, and sunlight. Instead the cool dark is as quiet as a tomb.

Hob gives into the pull of the earth and sinks onto El's foot stool, burying his face in the seat of the chair. She should be here. It should be her lap he rests his head on, like had so many evenings, where he'd perched on this exact same stool, back against her knees as she warbled in her thready, soft voice. Instead it's just fabric, and empty nothingness. Because his child killed her. His love killed her.

"Eleanor," Hob weeps, throat constricted. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you… or our son. Either of them… I'm so sorry I didn't protect him…"

"Hot mic?" someone says from the corner, behind the plants.

"No, I turned it off to change," Hob murmurs, and then realizes with a start that he's not alone after all. He jolts upright, wiping at his face. Makeup is going to scold him again. "Christ! I—sorry! I didn't see you there."

"That's fine," the voice says, barely more than a whisper. "I sneak up on most people."

A short, voluptuous woman that Hob charitably would call extremely beige, steps out of the shadows. Her hair is beige, styled in a stringy, unwashed bun. Her skin is beige, the kind of milk-pale White that humans get in northern Europe. She's wearing a set of boring beige overalls. The only color comes from the handful of embroidered throw pillows she's carrying.

Set dec, Hob's mind supplies. She's probably the one who left the door open. They're staging this space to film.

"I'm sorry, I should go," Hob says. "It's just that the door was open and I—"

"You can stay," the woman says, moving to distribute the pillows on the sofa. "They don't need you on set right now."

"I must look ridiculous," Hob says, "Sitting here in a costume, mourning a—" he swallows hard. "A woman I never met. I just… you know, being here, I really feel what Sir Gadlen must have—"

"It's fine," the woman says, and steps up beside him to deposit the last throw pillow onto El's chair. "Grief gets its hooks into you in weird ways. People try to avoid despair, but it can be good for you. Helps you get it all out. So you go ahead and cry."

Hob thinks she's going to pat his shoulder, but she ends up cupping the back on his neck. Her palm is cold, and a bit uncomfortably damp to be honest, the kindness in her touch as she grants him this permission is what undoes Hob.

He tips forward, forehead pressed against the seat of the chair, arms wrapped around his middle, and howls. 

He doesn't think he's cried this hard since Eleanor died, since her labors exhausted her, and even that challenging, stubborn spark that she'd always carried in her heart was extinguished. Since taking another breath became to taxing for her poor body, and as Hob petted her sweat-dampened hair back from her face, and kissed her temple, and told him how much he loved her, and begged her to just push, to just hold on, to just stay, please El, please, don't go, don't do this, don't leave me— Since poor wee John strangled in the womb, wrapped in his cord and stuck in his mother's body, dead before his first breath, went with her.

The set dec woman just crouches on the carpet beside him, rubbing his back soothingly, and making soft, encouraging sounds. She smelled revoltingly musky, which was the only thing that kept Hob for accepting the hug she was clearly offering. She'd probably spilled something on her overalls.

Hob sniffles and pulls a prop handkerchief from his sleeve to pat at his face. His head is throbbing, and he feels hollowed out.

But…but not in a bad way.

"Thank you," Hob says at length. "I think I… I really needed that."

"It was beautiful," the woman whispers.

Something in the way she says that is familiar.  

“I know you," Hob says, looking up at the woman blearily. "How do I know you?"

"We used to drink together," the woman replies. She smiles sideways, like the expression is uncomfortable on her face and wants to flee immediately. "Years and years ago."

"Oh," Hob says, and thinks, It must have been the early 90s, when I spent most of days fucked up on coke. She looks good for her age. But then again, so do I.

"Thank you—" he says again, but then her walkie crackles to life, and Celia's voice comes through.

"Anyone got eyes on Doc Bob?"

"Got him," the woman replies into the mic. Hob jumps to his feet, patting at his face with a prop handkerchief he hastily pulls from his sleeve. The woman shoos him toward the door. "He's traveling, landing in five."

Bob squeezes her shoulder in thanks and jogs over to the door between the solar and the study, letting himself in.

It's not until after the makeup assistant has fixed his face, and they're part way through filming a scene where Glenn—now playing the part of the steward that robbed him blind—that Hob realizes he didn't get his old drinking buddy's name.

When they wrap for the day, Hob looks around for the beige woman, but she's nowhere to be found.

*

Tuesday rolls around again, and Hob has to beg off his usual meeting with Morpheus to sleep on camera. Hob's already been filmed tossing and turning on the narrow cot in the printer's shop (a corner of another BBC production's period drama set, while they were off for lunch), and groaning with exhaustion in a fetid boarding house bunk (a hastily slapped together set of plyboard and just-dried paint that still smelled strongly when his nose was next to it).

Now they've retrofitted the actual bed that he used to share with Eleanor with a bunch of modern supports to prevent the ancient frame from cracking under his weight, and a modern mattress disguised to look like a feather tick.

On the floors below him, Harriet is making herself comfortable on a bedroll by the bread oven, which as a kitchen maid she has to keep hot and ready at all hours; Glenn is in the servant's wing, enjoying a bed with a frame at least, but he'll still have to be up at dawn to begin his duties; and the graveyard shift skeleton crew are luxuriating in their campervans on the front drive. Robert Gadlen the Third gets to sleep until he damn well feels like it. Hob, however, has an alarm set for 8:00am so he can pop out to one of the campervans for a shower before reporting to wardrobe and makeup to begin a new day.

At least this shot is easy. All Hob has to do is stand alone in the bedroom, look into the camera mounted in the corner, remove his wrapper and cap, say a few lines, and crawl into bed. They'll then film him sleeping, and speed up the footage in post to provide a timelapse of his comfortable, cozy night's rest to juxtapose it against Harriet's and Glenn's restless one.

Hob gets the go-ahead from the crew manning the monitors outside over the walkie on the mantelpiece out of frame, claps loudly so sound can get a speed count and level on the boom mic that's mounted beside the camera, and then steps into the shot. The camera's red light blinks once, twice, three times, then glows steadily.

"For the master of the Elizabethan Manor, staggering to bed drunk and sleeping late was only for Saturdays and special occasions," he says, doffing his cap and hanging it on a peg driven into one of the posts by the head of the bed. "If he was a good god-fearing protestant, it was early to bed, and early to rise. Sunday mornings saw him, and his family, off to church or face a stiff fine. Work days for the Lord ended around sunset, no matter what time of year it was, unless he literally wanted to burn the midnight oil getting his accounts and correspondence up to date."

They had filmed that bit earlier in the afternoon, so now Hob peels off his wrapper, leaving him in only a tired old knee-length night shirt and his leather house slippers. Wardrobe had offered him a vest or pajama pants to wear under it, but Hob was quite comfortable. He'd worn something like this to bed for hundreds of years.

"But this particular lord," he gestures at himself, "has had a long day hunting, and riding, and I'd like to not waste candles needlessly. So, I'm off to count sheep. Sweet dreams."

Hob sits down on the side of the bed, swings his legs around, and pulls the blanket up to his chin. And then he screws his eyes shut because he's already had one emotional breakdown today, and he's not keen to have another by thinking too hard about how the canopy of his old bed has not changed. 

"Clean take, Doc Bob," some AD or other says over the walkie talkie. "It's in the can. We're done."

"Sweet dreams," Hob calls back as a sign off.

"Same to you, Doc," the AD says, and the walkie goes quiet.

Hob peeks at the camera, with it's red eye. It's still recording as agreed, so Hob, exhausted and genuinely sleepy, sinks into the pillows and closes his eyes.

He dozes for a bit, and comes back to awareness in an exact replica of the room his sleeping body is currently in. It takes him a second to figure out what disturbed him, and then realizes it's the sink and shift of the mattress beside him. For a second, he's terrified that he's dreaming about Eleanor. That he's going to roll over and find her laying there, dead and horrid, half-decomposed and skull-grinning on her pillow.

But a gentle voice says, "No nightmare would dare."

Hob lets out a breath of relief, and wriggles onto his side to smile at Morpheus. He is laying down over the covers, head on the pillow, face-to-face with Hob.

Incoguously, there's a single flower laid on the blankets between them, a small white-and-yellow daffodil.

"Hello, stranger."

"Hello, Hob. This is not your bedroom."

"It used to be," he whispers. "I missed you these last few nights. What brings you here?"

"You," Morpheus says plainly. "It is Tuesday."

Hob laughs. "Well, yes, I do suppose it is. But as much fun as it may be, Morpheus, I'm not spooning you in my dead wife's bed."

"Spooning?"

Hob snorts. "You know, for a god of sleep who has probably either seen or crafted every wet dream that every teenaged boy has ever rued, you are a bit of a prude, my friend." It's easier to joke about it in the Dreaming, when he is asleep and the pain is safely tucked away in the Waking world.

"I know what spooning is," Morpheus says drily. "I was simply unaware that you desired it."

"Hey, you're the one who popped up here." He gestures at the Dreamscape of his old bedroom. "You know, We used to share the bed all the time," Hob says. "Even the queen slept with her lady's maid when they were here, did you know that? This sleeping alone lark is a relatively recent phenomenon for us humans."

Morpheus gifts him with one of those ridiculous self-satisfied, haughty smirks. "I'm unsure if you've been paying attention, my friend, but I am the god of sleep—"

"Oh, shut up," Hob sasses. "I'm supposed to be resting. You know what, I've changed my mind about the spooning. Either get out or c'mere and give me a cuddle."

Morpheus looks reluctant to take Hob's invitation as a serious one, which absolutely cannot be borne. The skinny bastard is still touch starved, no matter how much pre-scheduled hand-holding they do on any given Tuesday.

Hob reaches for Morpheus' shoulders, attempting to push him onto his other side and snug up behind him. Morpheus resists, clearly deciding that as a celestial deity, it's his right to be the big spoon. The daffodil ends up above their heads on the pillow as they wrestle playfully.

Hob, who secretly has no problems at all being cradled by his Stranger, eventually lets Morpheus win.

They settle that way, Morpheus' hand played against Hob's heart, and he's suddenly quite glad that his groin isn't pressed up against his friend's arse when a puff of Morpheu's breath against his nape gives Hob some terribly naughty ideas.

And some places that they touch that Hob is pretty sure a body can’t–Morpheus seems relaxed enough to loosen his hold on on his human-shaped corporation. There are extra limbs tangling sweetly with his feet, a dark mist spilling over his shoulder like heavy incense, tangible but foggily opaque, the glow of stars in Morpheus’ eyes reflecting back at Hob from the canopy of the bed. It’s sweet, that he feels safe enough around Hob to be himself.

"Hob Gadling," Morpheus says gently, "Are you well? Only your sleep has been tumultuous."

There's no point lying to Morpheus, especially here. "It's a lot. It's—" Hob starts, before interrupting himself with an unexpected hiccough of a sob. He's cried enough for today, though, so he swallows it back. "It's just so much harder than I thought it would be."

The confession shreds his throat. Shame crawls up his face, flushing his cheeks and making his ears tingle with the heat of the horrible blush. He curls in on himself, a miserable comma. Morpheus presses himself in one long line against Hob, probably trying to comfort but instead making Hob tense and hyperaware of every place that they touch.

"Hob…" Morpheus says again, worry tinging his voice. "I did not mean to push you into an situation that would cause distress."

"And you haven't!" Hob assures him. "At least not on purpose. I just… it's a lot, is all. I had a good cry today, and they’re right, you know. It does help with the–" he does the pulling-heart-out-of-chest-squish motion. “I hate every second of it, but I’m glad of it, you know? It’s good pain. It’s… pain I’ve put off feeling for too long. A goodbye that I’ve let linger for centuries.”

“Like a nightmare whose lesson you ignore, it will only continue to plague you until you listen,” Morpheus murmurs, and Hob can feel his lips movings against the collar of his nightshirt which is absolutely unfair.

“Yeah,” Hob agrees, swallowing hard and pretending that the dryness of his mouth is from the old building, and not his situation. “And I mean, I feel like I’ve been gutted, you know. All my insides scooped out. But that’s okay, because maybe it’s time for something new to take its place.”

You, Hob lets himself think, but doesn’t dare say out loud. I wouldn’t mind if the emptiness was filled with you.

Morpheus raises his free hand, and gestures into the air. Dream sand sparks into existence in an arc, but instead of falling onto them, it hovers there, swirling and pulsing. Like a snowglobe, the sand moves in the open space beside the bed, forming figures and landscapes.

"Shall I tell you a bedtime story to soothe you to a more peaceful slumber then, Hob Gadling?"

"Bedtime story?" Hob says, sitting up. "Wait, aren't I already asleep—"

The door to his chambers pushes open. Hob's sore and swollen heart leaps into his mouth at the noise.

"Bob?" Henrietta calls into the darkness. "Are you still awake? I was doing my video diary and I could hear your voice through the chimneys and I… what," she hisses, freezing a few steps inside with her eyes the size of saucers, "the absolute fuck."

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[the-lady-general]

Best Starfleet XO by rowdiness

Ransom. Stabbed the captain's daughter AND tried to eat the ship AND gets on everybody's nerves with tales of his bench press high score. Understood the assignment, A+, no notes.

Burnham. Got so rowdy. Like, SO rowdy. Amazing XO. Ultimately didn't stab her captain, which is good for her, but bad for my personal entertainment.

Kira. Built a kiln and then burned it down. Pointed and laughed at Dukat. Got so rowdy she fought *for* the Cardassians at one point. Should have stabbed more people, mostly Damar.

Spock. The other S'chn T'gai. Tried to kill the captain, and he would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for that lousy doctor. Swordfought that lousy doctor.

Gwyn. Tried to stab multiple people, most of them on purpose.

Una. Knocked out two department heads in the same episode. Heck yes!

Seven. I haven't seen PIC, but I heard Jeri Ryan was in it and I loved her in Leverage, so I hope she got to stab lots of people. <3

Tuvok. Love that guy, the brain cell, trolled the Maquis. I saw like two episodes of Voy, no idea if he stabbed anyone, but I really want him to.

T'Pol. Points deducted for ending more fights than she starts as far as I've seen. Super secret super agent, but sadly, I have yet to see her stab Archer. She should stab Archer. As a treat.

You know, I can't actually remember if Chakotay or Tuvok were XO of Voy and I'm too lazy to look it up, so I would like to encourage someone else to sing his praises and tell me about how cool he was until I get round to it.

Tysess. Politely yet firmly told Janeway no that one time. Boo!

Riker. Got a little pouty that one time when his boss was abducted and his replacement boss made them all work less. Could definitely teach that man tricks with treats and clicker training, which is probably why the psychiatrist was into him.

[triplesilverstar]

Maybe somewhere to belong

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Body dysmorphia, Pre-Canon, Illnesses, Major Illness, Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Experimentation, Medical Examination, Dreams and Nightmares, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Heavy Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Fever, Running Away, Communication Failure, Soft Vash the Stampede, Mild Smut, Not Beta Read, Heartbreaking, Imprisonment, Dark Past, Murder, Cartoon Physics, Vashs' Coat as a blanket, Needles, Nightmares

Word count: Roughly 2.3K

A/N: Chapter seven of Even sand can't hide all the skeletons in your closet. The final chapter of this little arc in the series. Maybe someday I will write a fic in order as a long fic. I have my doubts. I also realized I can work smarter and not harder by pulling the AO3 tags on my stuff into a word document for easier posting.

The next few days pass in a blur or at least that’s how it feels to you, then again you are still recovering from your sickness. 

When you weren’t asleep you found yourself either in the atrium wandering around and feeling the muscles in your legs starting to have their strength come back after a week and a half of barely being used. Or in Brad’s workshop. 

When he told you he made Vash’s arm and hand he had your rapt attention, of course, you didn't tell him what a fan you were of some of the features of his hand. Or what you sometimes did with it. You did tell him however you had to agree, Vash’s prosthetic was a masterpiece of engineering and told Brad you’d do your best to stop Vash from breaking it as this was the older man’s largest issue with Vash. Claiming he was careless with his masterpiece, making you laugh.

Another reason you enjoyed being in Brad’s workshop was simple, Brad was the first person who seemed to understand how your specialized bullets worked and how to manufacture them.  

Glad you’d kept the casings for those rounds, instead of turning them in for salvage like Vash did. Or at least when he remembered to grab them. Sitting on the bench and making them brought you a sense of tranquility, repetitive work that some might have found mind numbing, left you calm. 

Brad also did a little tinkering to your ear piece once he learned a little more about it. Vash had quite the laugh when he walked in and saw a dozen or so wires connected to your head while Brad did a bit of reprogramming. You enjoyed it even more when Vash was put through a similar treatment with his earring, but at the end of the day it was worth it. You had handy dandy little communication devices connected to one another now. Well and in your case a far more fine tuned hearing implement. 

The day before you were set to leave Luida and Brad stated they had a surprise for you which left you feeling like a fish out of water.

“This should help you from having to come back so soon.” A small metal box handed to you, lifting the lid revealed a pen-like device with a short needle. Looking at both of them curious.

“It’s an injector” Brad supplied, reading the confusion on your face having learned from the twitching of your brows these last few days. “These” tapping the cartridges you could see built inside of it “contain flash frozen cultures of your white blood cells.” 

“Next time you get sick or injured, prime one of them like so” Luida showed you on a similar pen that wasn’t loaded, watching as the needle descended. “The device will thaw the sample instantaneously, then slamming it against your skin.” Again a demonstration, using a piece of paper. “The needle will inject it into your skin, and eject the used cartridge. Try to hold on to those if you can.” 

“Gave me a little trouble to think of, but nothing as complicated as my masterpiece.” Hearing Brad boast you laugh, looking at the case in awe. In less than a week, these two have shown you more kindness than some who had called you a friend showed you in years.

Tears of joy streaming down your face “I don’t think I can ever thank the two of you enough for this. You’ve both been so kind to me.” Gripping the case tightly and holding it to your chest, looking back to both of their faces. “I wish, I could repay you somehow.” 

“Bah. Don’t you worry about that Kid.” Brad reaches out smacking you on the shoulder in a show of gruff affection. “Just try and keep Vash from getting into too much trouble.”

“That. Is an impossible task” you deadpan, Vash looking at you like you’ve betrayed him in the most cruel of ways a few large fake tears forming in his eyes. Luida and Brad just laugh, Luida hiding her mouth behind her hand almost daintily. 

“Now. We have a surprise for both of you.” Heading for the door, Luida doesn’t wait for either of you. Leaving you and Vash to share a look of bewilderment, what kind of surprise could they have for both of you? A shrug of his shoulders before making a motion for you to follow behind her and Brad’s retreating form as both of you follow the pair.

Moving along the ship, down a few corridors and passing by Vash’s room the older duo stop in front of a door, opening it and gesturing for you to go inside. A wave of Vash’s hand, offering to let you go first, stepping through the threshold. The room is almost identical to one Vash has, just slightly larger, the bed double wide is the greatest difference. 

“Ugh. I already have a room?” Vash is clearly baffled, and you snicker as an idea on what might be being offered floats around in your mind.

“You do Vash. However, your partner doesn’t.” Luida sets her attention directly on you. “Since Vash is already a member, allow me as the leader of ship three, or more commonly known as Home, to welcome you. From now on, this room is both of yours. We had a meeting about you young lady, and it was decided to make you the same offer as Vash. Welcome Home.” 

That statement rings in the air.

Home. 

Four walls, something to call your own. Looking at Vash you can see he’s watching you as well, to see what your reaction to the words are going to be. Maybe someday, when you aren’t feeling as raw, you’ll tell him that he is your home but for now you smile letting it reach your eyes. 

Facing Luida, unaware of the twinkle in your eyes, the way your smile beams at the older pair soothing Luida’s soul in a way she hadn’t been expecting. “Thank you. For everything. I’m” pausing as the words don’t seem to have enough weight to properly convey how you feel. “Ecstatic to be here.” 

The older pair leave you and Vash to your own devices, moving your belongings from his room to your now shared room. It feels surreal. 

To have somewhere to call home. 

Items moved, Vash wastes no time wrapping both of his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and nuzzling your hair. “Who’d have thought? If I wanted a bigger room I just needed to bring a girl home.” Both of you starting to laugh, your own arms wrapping around his and relishing in the moment. 

“I get the feeling you wouldn’t bring just any gal home.” A low humming, tilting his head so your foreheads are together and his nose is pressing against yours. These last few days have been the longest you’ve seen Vash so unguarded. No sunglasses, no big red coat, he doesn’t need to put on an act for these people. They know him, he doesn’t need to hide behind a smile, behind the mask of a fool he’s perfected. 

“You’re right. She’d have to be pretty special.” Laughing as his breath washes across your face his lips so close you aren’t sure how they aren’t brushing against yours.

“Keep talking like that and I’m gonna have one hell of an ego.” Grinning at you, this close you have a front row seat to all the micro expressions crossing his eyes. Wondering if he can see all the same expressions in your eyes. If not, you hope he can see the one you feel the most towards him right now, in this moment. 

“Nah. You know your limits too well to get a big head from something like that.” Closing the distance to slide his lips against yours. The first kiss the two of you have shared since you’ve arrived on the ship, full of longing and desperation. Breaking apart when the need for oxygen becomes far too great to ignore, yet the distance between you both is negligible. “I missed this.”

“Me too Sunshine. Me too.” Caressing your cracked lips against his for another fiery exchange, moving in tandem to the bed and falling on your sides together, trying to keep the space between your bodies nonexistent. 

Using your hips you roll Vash onto his back, blazing a trail of nips and licks down to his neck, while his hands are going for the hem of your shirt. Breaking more from his body as he tugs the garment upwards, helping you get out of the fabric before firing it across the room. Mouth going back to the tender skin of his neck, licking and sucking at his pulse point making Vash moan under you, his hips jerking upwards looking for a hint of friction. Starting to grow hard. 

“Tell me what you want baby” whispered against his skin, grinning as you looking down at the purple blooming on his neck. Both of your chests heaving as you stare at one another.

“I wa-”

The door to your room opening causing both of you to stiffen. “Hey if you two are…” The sound of Brad’s voice trailing off. “Lock the damn door!” Yelled at both of you as you hear Brad turn on his heels hard enough for it to make an audible sound.

“Who the hell walks into someone’s room without knocking!” You fire back, pulling away and sitting up. Vash slamming his hands against his face, crimson skin peaking through, the chub that he had been sporting gone flaccid. “At least you aren’t half naked Vash.” 

“We. Can. Never. Come. Home. Again.” Mortified at what happened all you can do is roll your eyes at Vash and his dramatics. 

“It’s not that bad.” Getting off him and the bed, striding towards where your shirt had landed. “Might as well go see what he wants since that moment was sort of ruined.” Sighing and heading for the closed doorway. 

A hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling your body back into Vash’s embrace, a quick peck to your forehead. Then beside your right eye, your chin, then your lips. “Next time Mayfly. There’s always next time.” 

At least Brad was also a shade of pink when the door opened, tapping his foot and looking down the hallway. “What'd you want ya pervert?” Slipping from your lips making Vash flail, even more embarrassed and resulted in Brad giving both of you a lecture on how to lock a “damn door.” 

As your final night before departing to continue on your journey came, you found yourself back in the atrium, laying on your back beside Vash looking up at the stars visible through the massive panes. 

“I still can’t believe something like this exists on Noman’s land.” Whispering as you stare up into the sky. 

“It does, which is why it’s a carefully kept secret. Just enough people awake to keep the terraforming efforts on track and not draw on too much plant energy.” Voice flat as Vash speaks, the fingers of his prosthetic tracing the scars and lines of your right palm. 

“I won’t tell anyone what I learned here today Sunshine.” A promise, something you don’t often do, but damn you want to keep this one. Keep this place safe, because it might be a long time coming and you already feel a connection to this place. This home , and the support for what they want to do, doing the right thing even if it takes a long time. It’s the best plan. The right plan.

And the best things take time. “Hey. A shooting star! Oh wait, sorry, as you said that one night you got drunk, it’s just a piece of space debris burning up as it enters the upper atmosphere.” His exuberance doesn’t fade as his words shift to teasing taking a clear jab at you and the one night on this planet you don’t remember.

“Sounds like something I’d say.” Laughing as you keep looking towards the sky. No matter how long you’ve been here, you still miss it, flying the great traverse between them. A long sigh, it’s been a long week but you’re glad things are starting to go back to normal between the two of you. 

“The moon is beautiful, Isn’t it?” you feel yourself frown, what the hell is he talking about? Through the glass dome, you can see two of the moons, turning to ask him which one he means. Except the words die in your throat. His gaze is ardent staring at you, those expressive eyes of his, a light with emotion. An emotion that through him, you’ve come to find again. 

Feeling your face grow warmer, certain you’re turning a deeper shade. “I think the moon you’re talking about is a little flustered.” Almost stuttering the words, reaching the hand he isn’t holding across to land over his racing heart. 

“It just makes that moon all the more charming.” A blush growing on his face too, shaking your head with a wide smile, choosing to shuffle over so more of your sides are pressed together. 

“As long as the sun keeps gracing the moon with its light.” Heart full, you both go back to watching the stars, an easy silence reining between you. 

When dawn comes the next morning, it’s a strange goodbye with Brad and Luida, especially for you when Luida pulls you into her arms. A whisper to keep yourself safe against your ear. A clap of a hand to your shoulder from Brad, before you and Vash both saddle up tomas, bags lighter then when you arrived.

You both left a few things behind in your room, things you won’t need that take up space in your bags. For you, that’s your cylinder that can no longer be locked. Another baby step. You’ll never find tomorrow, if you keep looking at yesterday. 

The past might define who you’ve become, but it won’t define who you are. If you can hold onto that one thought, you can find a way to make Vash see it too. That thought of having a future with him is a small seed planted in your mind.

Back to Masterlist for the series

[redfordart]

Working in the garden

Since my prostate cancer diagnosis my art and writing have taken on a new significance. You could say that the cancer has been the trigger. The diagnosis was as good a time as any to sum up my life and work out the best ways of handling the unwelcome news.

The weather in the preliminary months of the pandemic was extraordinarily fine; an encouragement to be outside in the garden and do ‘jobs’ rather than stay inside and labour away in the gloom and ‘waste’ the entrancing sunshine. My first job was to do something with the rotten fencing at the front of our house. It was an eyesore as fencing, but there was enough good wood to do something else with it, but what? There was one tree in our garden standing alone and from the moment we moved in it had proclaimed itself ready to have a bench made to surround it. I had never done it, so surely this was the time.

It was one of those jobs that at first sight seems easy, but craftily, the more committed you become the more difficult it gets. I was quite proud of how I went about it, taking measurements, making a plan and making sure that I did not make any miscalculations that would ruin it when all the sections were fitted together. I say ‘sections’ because it was obvious that since it had to encircle the tree, there was no way that it could be built in one piece. All the separate sections had to be the same size and constructed so that, when assembled, the hole in the middle gave enough space for expansion and irregularity of the tree. When it came to it, all my calculations resulted in, I thought, a pleasing re-use of he old timber. There was just one thing awry. When fitted together, there was a gap exactly the right size to accommodate another section. So much for my exactitude. My maths had told me that six sections was what I should make to encircle the tree. In fact it was seven. No big deal really, except for a few F words (gently spoken of course) it was another day or two’s work before I could assemble the whole thing.

My wife, Caroline, who is a retired GP, one morning shortly after diagnosis, had come out with the alarming question, ‘Do you want to die at home?’ I was non-plus send and wrong-footed. Even though I understood what the diagnosis meant the idea of actually dying was something that happened to other people. After all, I felt perfectly fit and healthy. She, as a doctor, was visualising what was likely to happen to me before I kicked the bucket.

The consequence, despite this, was to get the builders in and, having knocked the shed (which was my studio) down, replace it with an extension with disabled en-suite loo. My part in this, because the planned new room was slightly larger than the shed, was to demolish the dry stone wall that I had built 25 years before. This was to allow for a larger patio and wheelchair access.

Once I had demolished it, my job was then to rebuild it. This meant shifting lots of turf from the lawn and digging away masses of earth that had been underneath it and barrowing that away to another part of the garden. Then came the rebuilding of the wall. There is something intriguing about dry-stone walling. I am not saying I am much good at it, but I do enjoy hunting around for blocks of stone that look as if they might fit together, and then indulging in the backbreaking toil of carrying them and nudging them into place to see if I was right. In the end it all came to a satisfactory conclusion and I could move on to other things!

[superloves4]

I still taste the past - Chapter 13

Relationships: Curufin/Finrod, Celegorm/Aredhel (background) Summary: Finrod wanted to see Curufin, get his closure after all they had gone through, end things once and for all. What he gets is a journey through the memory of where they've been and the choice of where they will go. TW: none. A/N: Enjoy!

Masterlist - Also on AO3

"Well," Ambarussa began "Just think about everyone's faces when we get back," one of them snickered "The first great-grandchild."

Carnistir smirked "I can't wait to see how Angaràto will be overshadowed."

Tyelkormo smacked him on the arm with the book he was reading "Oi, knock it off."

"Not my business you have bad taste in friends," he shrugged.

"I'll tell Irìssë you said that."

Curufin smiled at the banter around him, hiding a grimace when the child kicked him again, so he adjusted himself. It seemed his child had decided to make any position a hell to try to sit for longer than a minute, much preferring when he was up and moving, something that conflicted with Curufin growing difficulties moving for prolonged times. Only his child would be this restless.

"Want another cushion?" his mother asked, stopping the clay sculpture she was making.

"No," he shook his head and raised himself from the couch "I think I'm going on another walk instead."

Everyone wished him luck, now used to his baby related comings and goings, and he was off. The house they were staying was far more humble than the Crown Prince Residence or Formenos but his father and mother had built it some time after Maitimo's birth, realizing that a couple sleeping in tents was easier than trying to do the same with a toddler. Somewhere in the middle of the road where they could be just family.

It made him think about Findaràto.

What was he doing now? Was he having fun, did he miss him? The questions were eating away at Curufin, had Findaràto finished the pavilion, with those eru-forsaken columns? Did he regret their love affair now that it ended?

It was a persistent melancholy, his very own fëa calling for Findaràto, a rather upsetting side product of pregnancy he'd found out after a few months, if there was one thing Curufin had never wanted was to be as an animal hoping for their mate to return. He didn't want this wretched desire, forlorn state, desperate wistfulness for someone he wanted to forget.

Instead, he missed. He missed. Deeply. Terribly.

"What did we get ourselves into?" he asked his child "Do you think daddy would want us now?"

The child, however, did not stir, content to be lulled by the walk.

Curufin walked the garden where many of his mother's prototypes resided, perhaps their unflinching stare would disturb others but this was the life he was used to, of all the places they had resided, this was the one that most felt as home.

Especially not the room in Tirion Palace.

He took some time to rest in the bench, taking in the light of Laurelin, letting it's warmth wash over him, wishing it would wash away the memories.

"Tiring, eh."

Nerdanel smiled at her son, sitting next to him.

Curufin sighed, looking cross at his bump "How did you do this seven times?"

She chuckled and leaned side-ways towards him, in a faux conspiratorial voice "It certainly helps that your father is almost all fëa"

He groaned, knowing what his mother was doing, but he didn't want to think about Findaràto, thinking was a temptation, after putting miles and miles of distance between them he just couldn't give in now.

Nerdanel gave him a pity smile "Sorry, I merely hoped I could've seen the birth of my first grandchild in happier conditions."

"I fail to see how this isn't happy, we're all overjoyed." Curufin shrugged but nothing escaped his mother for long.

"You're miserable, love," she told him "How did it get to be so?"

"Things," he leaned backwards, searching for words "ended badly..."

"That I can see," she said gently "I meant why did they ended so terribly?"

He looked towards the sky and pondered, he'd ended things, but what other options did he have? There was no common ground between them, their families were at each other's throats as it was and to see him with that Vanya, the person everyone wanted him to marry, someone that wouldn't hurt him as Curufin did... To accept Findaràto's love...

"Ammë?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever felt," his hand shook "not enough for Atto?"

Nerdanel frowned and stared at him for a long moment before exclaiming "If the father has ever told you you weren't enough, Atarinkë, I will personally hunt him dow-"

"No!" Curufin rushed to say, face completely red "It's not that! Just," his voice lowered again "answer please..."

Nerdanel looked at him doubtful but left it for now and focused on his question, she hummed "I wouldn't say there was ever a moment I felt unworthy of your father's love."

Curufin exhaled crestfallen, not sure what he'd expected.

"But..."

He stared at his mother once again, completely in awe, his self-assured mother, unshakable and firm as a rock mother, that she ever had doubts was only less surprising than the idea of his father having doubts.

She looked and him and chuckled "Oh, Atarinkë, very well if you wish to know," she looked upwards to follow a cloud passing above them "As you know, I'm not considered very handsome, no, don't try to argue that, I know myself, this does not bother me."

Nerdanel smiled at the cross face of her son.

"No, Fëanàro loving me was never something I doubted in regards of my appearance, nor our status, being a family with ties to Aulë himself is more than enough to put any Noldorin high lady to shame," she continued raising her chin as if reminiscing something "We spent much time together when we were studying together, I knew him well by then, so I didn't think I would ever doubt myself but then I was in Tirion Palace, looking into the mirror in my wedding gown, and I thought 'If tomorrow my hands could no longer shape marble and I could create no longer, would he love me still?'. I felt myself crazy in that moment."

Curufin looked at her eyes wide, that was a story they'd never been told before "How did you do it? How did you still married atto then?"

"I did the only thing I could," she smiled "I trusted that your father loved me. Trust is a beautiful thing Atarinkë... I hope we will all remember that before long."

Curufin didn't know what to say to that, could he bring himself to believe that Findaràto loved him? Could he believe in that love more than in his fears? If he could have trust, would he have Findaràto by his side again, raising their child together? His heart could burst for the anxiety but perhaps that was a future worth fighting for.

He smiled at his mother, completely missing what she'd said last he instead got up and thanking Nerdanel he waddled back to the house, ready to make his bags.

In that moment, Nerdanel truly believed her family was to be made whole again and decided to take another walk around the forest, she needed inspiration for another statue, her clay figurine was nice but not what she wanted.

"Oh my!"

Tyelkormo looked towards his second eldest brother and chuckled knowing his way of trying to get attention "Very well, I'll bite, what's so interesting?"

Makalaurë grinned "It seems our family shall expand very soon!"

"There are two babies about to be delivered, I sure would hope so."

His brother rolled his eyes "Someone's about to get married idiot."

"That is what you get for being so theatrical," Tyelko smiled "Anyway, who is it this time? It's not Irìssë or I would know, it's not Findekàno or we would have known so from Nelyo, I seriously doubt anyone is mad enough to marry Artanis, Arakàno is too young, so Aikanàro?"

Makalaurë shook his head and Tyelko paled "It's Findaràto! There is a whole publication about his engagement in the papers today!"

Tyelko was going to make sure Findaràto mysteriously vanished in the wood. It was decided.

"Are you absolutely sure it's not some crazy rumour?"

"Yeah, saw it myself, announced by the palace and all that."

Tyelkormo swore.

"Huh, something wrong?" Makalaurë asked him.

Carnistir chose that moment to appear at the door "Oi, are you two coming?"

They had previously decided to go into the city nearby but now Tyelko had an objective to accomplish, so he just bade his brothers and father goodbye and then quickly began scouring the house for those blasted papers. He nearly missed Curufin, the fastest he'd seen his brother since the other's belly had covered the vision of the other's feet.

"Oi, what are you doing?" he asked, trying not to sound too agitated and having his voice crack.

"I'm leaving!"

Tyelko ran.

"To where?!"

"Tirion? Alqualondë? Wherever Ingoldo is!"

"But why? I thought you had decided not to tell him anything, things were over right?"

His heart sank when Curufin smiled at him "It doesn't have to be, I need to talk with him, I want to talk to him, I think I can fix things you know!"

Tyelko had no idea how to make his brother rethink without revealing what he'd just learned "Wouldn't you rather wait? Maybe until the baby is born?"

"No, too long," Curufin was rushing to grab his baggage, throwing clothes inside without much care. Tyelko was sweating.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to just leave? What if... what if you forget something?!"

Curufin looked blankly ahead then dashed out of his room, Tyelko thought he was being awfully agile for someone that could barely stay on his feet for more than a few minutes at a time, right at the worst timing possible.

"You're right, I need to leave a note, wouldn't have the others worrying."

Tyelko covered his eyes and sighed "That is not what I meant."

However the moving had stopped and when Tyelko looked up to see why, he froze.

The Eru forsaken papers. The papers. The papers in Curufin's hands.

Whatever manic energy had taken his brother had been depleted in one move, instead Curufin let out a sob, Tyelkormo truly worried his brother was about to faint and tried to hold him but Curufin pushed Tyelko away, just shaking his head and a single, mirthless laugh, pushing his head back to keep the tears from falling.

"How foolish."

Tyelkormo didn't respond, just let his brother close himself in his room.

It would only be later, much after their father and their brothers had returned and asked where Curufin was, something Tyelko could only quietly answer 'room', much after their mother returned, strangely surprised to find that Curufin was still in the house, much after, only when everyone else was resting, that Curufin allowed Tyelko to enter.

The room was a mess, broken ceramic everywhere and Tyelko could still see the wet patches on the bed where Curufin had been crying and screaming. Curufin himself, laid haphazardly in the middle of the bed, red eyes staring blankly ahead, every once in a while a tear would fall down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I tried to keep it away from you," he said, sitting by Curufin's head, gently caressing his brother's hair.

"Why are you apologizing," Curufin whispered, voice rough "I was about to make a stupid mistake, you were trying to help."

"It shouldn't be this way."

"It wouldn't have been," Curufin moved just enough to place his head on Tyelko's thighs, curling into himself "I should've just trusted myself from the start. Our family are the only ones we can trust."

Tyelko said nothing, just comforted his brother.

[misterjauthor]

FULL-SERVICE MEN: BARBER

“HAVE a seat, bro.” The black man, built like a football player, gestured toward the cushioned bench against the wall. “I’m almost done with his haircut.”

Who’s this guy? Where’s Tony?

I closed the heavy glass door, which rang the bell above it, and went to take a seat.

The buzz-cut man resumed his work on a middle-aged white guy sitting in the shop’s only barber’s chair.

A small pole with red, white, and blue stripes spun on the upper left corner of the mirror.

Maybe Tony was sick and asked this guy to take care of his customers today.

At least the guy was hot. A welcomed change from seeing Tony’s fat ass whenever I come here.

The barber’s tight black wifebeater showed off his tattooed arms from shoulder to wrist. A thin gold necklace hung around his neck, contrasting his dark brown skin.

And, damn! The bulge in the front of his gray sweatpants was impressive.

While waiting my turn, I couldn’t help but stare at his crotch.

“Next.” the muscle-bound barber said.

I snapped out of my trance and got off the bench. “Oh, that’s me.”

“Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.” He shook the hair off the cape before going to the counter to process the other guy’s payment.

After sitting on the bulky barber’s chair, I looked at myself in the mirror and combed my fingers through my slick back hair.

At thirty-five, some gray has mixed with black. It stressed me out. But my wife loved it, especially the ones in my beard.

The bell on the door rang after the customer left.

“So, what can I do for you today?” The barber covered me with the black cape.

“A haircut and beard grooming. Look at this.” I opened my phone and showed him a picture. “That’s how Tony usually cuts my hair.”

“Are you a regular?” He started working on my hair.

“Yeah.” I sat still and looked at him in the mirror. “Where’s the fat bastard, anyway? Are you filling in for the day?”

“The shop’s mine now. He sold it to me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. I haven’t been around for a while. That’s why I needed a haircut.”

“He wasn’t able to tell anyone because he needed to move to Seattle to take care of his sick father.” The barber offered his hand. “I’m Omar.”

I brought my hand out from under the cape and shook it. “Miguel.”

Omar resumed cutting my hair. “Is this just a regular haircut, or are you getting ready for a special occasion?”

“My wife and I are having dinner at Chef Dino’s. It’s our thirteenth wedding anniversary.”

“Fancy. Happy Anniversary, Bro. I hope my fiancee and I will last as long or longer.”

“Thanks, man. Have you two set a date?”

“Nothing definite yet. But we’re thinking most likely after the baby comes. She’s seven months pregnant.”

My phone vibrated inside my pocket.

I brought it out to see if it was my wife with last-minute instructions before I went home to get ready.

It was from Jason.

The preview of the message showed an eggplant and peach emoji.

My heart thumped inside my chest.

Before the straight barber saw, I put the phone back under the cape.

After our first encounter at the house, I had sex with the plumber multiple times. I would usually go to his place or sometimes to his office on the pretense of delivering plumbing supplies from my hardware store. His employees had no idea their boss fucked me from behind while bent over the desk.

The phone on the counter rang.

“Bro, I’ll be right back.”

“Go ahead, man.”

Omar walked away.

While he talked on the phone, I replied to Jason’s message: ‘I can’t. Dinner plans with my wife.’

‘Don’t you rather want to eat this?’

A picture of the dick I’ve been sucking for the past few weeks showed on the thread.

Shit!

My dick came alive inside my boxers.

I turned the phone over and looked toward Omar.

He lifted a finger and mouthed, “One sec.”

After giving him a thumbs up, I typed a reply: ‘I can’t. Anniversary.’

“Sorry about that, Bro.” Omar stood on my right, holding a beard clipper. “I don’t have a receptionist yet.”

I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “It’s okay, man. I know what it’s like when you’re understaffed.”

My phone vibrated again.

But I ignored it.

“You have your own business?”

“I own Chavez and Son.”

“That big hardware store near here?” He whistled.

While running the device through my beard, something soft and meaty pressed against my elbow.

My whole body tensed at the unexpected contact.

Blood rushed to my dick, tightening my pants.

Oh, my fucking god. Was that Omar’s dick?

The bulge in his sweatpants lifted off.

I relaxed and discreetly adjusted myself under the cape.

“Did you see the basketball game last night, Bro?” He asked.

Pretending nothing happened, I said, “It’s fucking crazy, man. I lost a bet with one of my buddies.”

Omar went to my left while talking about the awesome plays last night.

I grunted and nodded to whatever he said, distracted by the phantom pressure of his dick on my elbow.

Stop overthinking it. He didn’t do it on purpose. It was just an accident. “Are you okay?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at him holding the beard trimmer. “Yeah, sorry. I just remembered something.”

“Don’t worry, Bro. All I need to do is shave the edges, then you can go home and get ready for your dinner with the missus.” He reclined the chair, making it almost horizontal, and went to the mirror.

I held onto the armrest in silence.

Omar returned with a small can of shaving cream and stood next to the chair, squeezing some on his fat fingers.

His massive bulge was inches from my face. An outline of his dick showed on the sweatpants.

Heat spread throughout my entire body, making my arousal more intense.

Good thing the cape hid my crotch, or he would have seen the teepee under it.

As he leaned over, his dick pressed on my arm and stayed there while applying the cream to my cheeks and neck.

My heart pumped faster, sending more blood into my raging dick.

I wanted to grab the straight barber’s meat and massage it. But instead, pushed my arms into his dick without making it too obvious.

Jolts of electricity traveled all over my body as more of the black man’s fat sausage touched my skin.

Closing my eyes, I gripped the chair tight and savored the feel of it, wishing it stayed on me longer.

Omar stepped away, taking his dick with him.

No! Don’t go.

I sagged on the chair and squeezed my hard-on under the cape while he couldn’t see.

He picked up a straight razor from the mirror, leaned over me, and started shaving the edges of my beard.

While trying to stay completely still, I avoided looking at his stubbled face.

The beefy black man moved closer to shave the other side of my neck, pressing his bulge against the back of my hand.

I gasped, and my whole body stiffened.

Oh, god.

“Are you okay?” He made eye contact before checking my neck. “It doesn’t look like I nicked you.”

“No, I’m okay. I was just surprised. That’s all.”

His dick stayed pressing on me as Omar resumed.

Sledgehammers pounded inside my chest.

My dick twitched, and precum leaked out, soaking my boxers.

Was he doing it on purpose? Does he want me to…? If I’m wrong, I’ll have to find a new barber when I leave the hospital.

Oh, fuck it! I’m doing it.

Slowly, I rubbed the back of my fingers against the meaty bulge.

Omar kept working, unfazed by my actions.

I continued but with more pressure.

“Miguel, if you tease the snake, it might get angry.”

Without moving my hand off his dick, I looked up at him.

My heart pumped a million times a minute.

“Can you handle the snake when it’s angry?”

“Y-yes.”

A smirk showed on his face. “Just let me finish this.”

I nodded.

Omar wiped off the excess foam with a towel when he finished.

My erection pushed against my pants like it would burst out like an alien from a movie.

He returned the chair to its upright position and removed the cape from me.

“What if customers come in?” I asked.

“Easy.” Omar went to lock the door.

While waiting in silence, I vibrated with excitement.

After pulling the blinds down, the muscular black man stood next to the chair.

I grabbed and massaged the sizeable bulge through the sweatpants.

He cocked his chin at the massive tent on my crotch. “Looks like someone wanted to make my snake angry this whole time.”

“You’re the one who’s been pressing his dick into me.”

“It’s because I knew you were a fag the moment you came in. And you’ve been staring at my crotch while waiting for your turn.”

“How did you…?

“The shop is full of mirrors. You think I wouldn’t notice the fag who keeps looking at my dick?”

Fuck! Am I that obvious when checking guys out? I need to be more careful.

“It’s a good thing you came in. With my fiancee pregnant, I need someone who can take care of my dick. You want to do it for me?”

“Oh, god, yes.”

“What are you waiting for?” Omar put both hands on his hips, showing off the muscular tattooed arms.

I shoved my hand inside his sweatpants and stroked him through his underwear.

“Look at you,” the straight barber scoffed. “Pretending to be straight by getting ready to celebrate your wedding anniversary with your wife. But right now, your hand is inside another man’s pants, holding his cock.”

“It’s a big cock, man. It’s not even hard yet.”

“You like big cocks?”

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“How about big black cocks?”

“Even better.” I inserted my fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down until they dropped to his ankle.

The shape of a meaty dick pointing down pushed the front of his white briefs.

I resumed stroking him through the cotton.

“Go ahead, fag. Show me how much you want it.”

I pulled the elastic and hooked it under his low-hanging balls.

A full bush of pubes surrounded the black, cut dick.

Using underhand, I wrapped my fingers around the fat shaft and jacked him off.

Omar pushed his briefs halfway down his thighs. “Yeah, that’s it. Make my dick hard.”

I leaned over the side of the chair, took his dick into my mouth, and started bobbing.

He gasped and gripped the hair behind my head.

While holding onto his thighs, I sucked the barber’s dick harder.

His dick grew between my lips.

“Motherfucker! Your mouth feels so good.” He pulled his wifebeater up and hooked it on his neck, revealing more tattoos on his ripped torso.

I produced more spit to make the blowjob wetter and smoother.

“You’re fucking talented. Better than my fiancee or any bitch I’ve been with. Have you sucked a lot of cocks before?”

“Let’s just say this is not the first cock I’ve sucked.” I resumed sucking while sliding a hand up and down his abs, feeling the contours of the solid muscles in my palm.

Omar’s hard dick filled my mouth.

“Where were you the past couple of months? I could’ve used this amazing mouth when I needed it.”

I held onto the base and stroked the spit-slicked shaft. “If I knew you would let me, I would have visited sooner, man.”

He put his dick back in my mouth. “Don’t worry. You can make up for it by coming here whenever I tell you. Do you want that?”

“Mm-hm,” I mumbled with his dick in my mouth.

“Whenever I don’t have a customer, come over and service me. I may even make you when I have customers so you can service them, too.”

Fuck!

I moaned at the thought of being passed around by different strangers.

Omar chuckled, “Someone likes the idea. Let’s see if I can make that happen.”

As I continued sucking, I jacked the bottom half for added stimulation.

“Fuck, I miss getting good blowjobs like this.”

I took him out of my mouth and slid my lips on the side of the shaft, from base to head.

“Get back on that dick.” He gripped my hair and made me suck him again. “Take it all.”

Adjusting my mouth, I tried to take more.

With his hand behind my head, he pulled me into his crotch, burying his meat deeper.

The head hit the back of my throat, activating my gag reflex.

But instead of pulling away, I took more until it went down my esophagus.

A hand touched my neck. “Damn! I can feel my dick stretching your throat.”

While the big black cock plugged my airway, I looked up at him.

“Such a talented cocksucker.” Omar petted my head. “From now on, I’ll feed you my dick every chance.”

I pulled away to catch my breath and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

He pushed his briefs down to the ankles, stepped out of his sweatpants and shoes, and stood in front of the chair. His big black cock pointed up at an angle like a flag pole on the side of a building.

I wrapped my hand around it and stroked it.

Precum collected at the tip.

“Look at what you did to my cock, you fag. It’s leaking.” Omar swiped the clear liquid with a finger and shoved it between my lips.

I sucked the sticky man-juice off his fat finger.

He pulled it out and pointed to his meat. “Clean that up.”

Leaning forward, I sucked his leaking dick into my mouth.

More of the salty nectar burst inside my mouth.

“Fuck!” Omar leaned against the mirror’s counter.

I held the dick at the base and swirled my tongue around the head.

He gripped the counter tighter.

As my tongue ran the sides of the shaft, I slid my hand up his muscular torso until it reached his nipples.

“Yes, play with them.”

After taking the dick back in my mouth, I rubbed the erect nubs between my fingers.

Omar thrust his hips, burying his dick in my throat with each bob. “This mouth is the best. I wonder if the other end feels good, too. Do you get fucked?”

“Mm-hm.”

He pulled out. A long rope of spit stretched from his dick to my mouth. “Take your clothes off. I’m gonna fuck that pussy.”

I got off the chair and removed my clothes.

Omar turned me around, facing the mirror, and bent me at the waist.

I grabbed the counter and looked at him in the mirror. “Do you have lube?”

“We can use this.” He grabbed the bottle of beard oil in front of me.

“That would be better than nothing.”

After putting some on his fat finger, he pressed it against my hole and pushed in, stretching me open.

I shut my eyes at the intrusion.

The digit started slowly moving in and out. “I’ve never fucked a man’s pussy before. Can you take my big black cock, fag?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Just loosen me up first.”

Another finger went in.

“I bet I’m not the first black man you’ve had.”

“No.”

“You’re such a fucking slut for cock.”

Once he had three fingers fucking me, he pulled out and put some beard oil on his dick.

I looked at him behind my shoulder. “Please, put that big black cock inside me, man.”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna stuff your pussy good.” Omar slapped my ass cheek and pushed the head through my hole.

“Fuck! That’s a big cock.” I gripped the counter.

His dick stretched my anal ring with each inch.

“You’re so fucking tight!”

“Tighter than your fiancee’s?” I asked.

“Tighter than any bitch I fucked.” He put one hand on my hip and pushed his length further in.

“Loosen it up with that big black cock. Wreck it until I walk funny while taking my wife to dinner later.”

Omar growled and started fucking slowly.

I wrapped my fingers around my dick and stroked myself to match his pace. “Yes, keep going. Fuck my pussy, man.”

“Look at you.” He grabbed onto my shoulder and fucked into me faster. “Trying to fool people you’re straight and macho, but what you really are is a faggot who wants real men to use your pussy. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Say it. I want to hear you say what you really are.”

“I’m a faggot who wants real men to use my pussy.”

Omar fucked me harder and faster until his dick bottomed out inside me. He would pull until only the head remained and slam the whole thing into me in one go.

I braced myself on the counter.

The slapping of flesh, mixed with my whimpers and his grunts, filled the barbershop.

He pulled out. “Get up on the chair and stick that ass out.”

I climbed up and knelt, facing the backrest, arching my back to present my gaping hole to the straight barber.

“You have the best pussy ever.” Omar stabbed his big black cock back inside me and started fucking again. “I can’t believe I’ve never had it before.”

“It’s yours now, man. Fuck it anytime you want. You can use me as your cumdump even after your fiancee gives birth.”

The chair shook with each thrust.

I grabbed on to keep myself from falling over.

At this angle, his dick rubbed against my prostate.

“Oh, shit! Keep fucking me right there.”

Omar bent forward, pressing his chest against my back, and grabbed my shoulder while pounding me from behind.

“Please, you’re getting me close.”

“Did you let Tony fuck your pussy like this, too? Admit it. The fat bastard has been fucking your ass for a long time.”

“No, he never fucked me.”

“I bet you wished he did,” he whispered in my ear.

“Oh, god, yes. I fantasized about him pinning me down with his massive body, helpless while getting fucked. Shit, I’m cumming!”

My dick exploded, shooting cum on the leather backrest and the seat until nothing more came out.

“Fuck, I’m gonna shoot, too.” He shoved every inch of his black cock inside me.

“Breed me, man. Make me go to my anniversary dinner with your load inside me. Mark me as yours.”

“Ah! Here it comes.” Omar let go, injecting his creamy load inside me with each slam of his hips. “Take it all.”

After draining his balls into me, he stopped thrusting but kept it inside me.

“That was fucking intense,” he said.

Our sweaty bodies pressed together while we caught our breaths.

Once we recovered, Omar pulled out and gave me the towel he used to wipe the shaving cream off my face.

I cleaned my jizz off the chair with it.

After putting our clothes back on, I paid him and walked toward the door. I need to go home and get ready for my anniversary dinner.

“Hey, Miguel.”

I looked behind me after grabbing the handle.

“If you need my services again, you know where to find me.” Omar grabbed his crotch and winked.

Miguel’s encounters will continue…

Previous Episode | Next Episode

---

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I truly appreciate the support. It inspires me to continue writing.

If you enjoy my stories, please let me know. Or at least Reblog it.

Mister J

[alilbihh]

!!!!! um... I don't know if you want to write about new ones or not... but I also can't think of any new ideas since I'm freakin out a bit but I'll do some more thinking so.... um... a short little drabble or maybe a snippet of their lives in spring leaves after they confessed, how life is fr them now....?

i had a really fun time with this one, thank you to my designated spring leaves fan for requesting :) I hope it's up to your standards!!

masterlist

words: 1.5k

There is a quiet peace in marriage that you’re still coming to terms to.

It goes beyond learning each other’s habits, or making time for each other, or even whispered words of love. It is more the realization that you are loved— the knowledge that you can take care of yourself, but now, you are creating a space where you can take care of each other. That you could be trying to open a particularly difficult pickle jar and Jimin could take it and say “Let me help you,” that in it, there exists a prayer for which no words are said: You could do it yourself, but why should I let you, when I am here, and you are loved?

That being loved in this way is a choice, one that you both continue to choose.

Jimin chooses this, still, as he runs in tune with your pace, when you both know he could leave you in the dust.

(That morning, a gentle arm tries its best to slip out from under your head without waking you. When you groggily come to, even in your haze you can see the guilt on Jimin’s face. 

“Sorry,” He says, pulling his arm out the rest of the way to run a hand through your hair.

“S’okay,” you croak, cupping the back of his head to pull him back down to bed. He’s smiling as he complies, lets himself be pulled, be held, and when you wrap your arms around his neck, he wraps his arms around you, too.

Just as you’re trying to gather your thoughts into one coherent sentence, Jimin pipes up from where his nose is pressed into your shoulder, body twisted into an awkward angle as he leans into you, “Gotta go.”

“Where?” You say, then, “Oh. Running? Don’t go. Let’s cuddle instead.”

You feel his lips move before the words are even formed, feel the way they curve into a smile. “I can’t. And we cuddled all night already.”

“So what? Are you tired of me? Am I not appealing to you anymore?”

“So dramatic.” He laughs quietly. “You could always go running with me.”

You think for a second. It’s not like you don’t want to keep him company, moreso that if you were to try and get up, you’re pretty sure your legs would turn to jelly. You would barely walk, let alone run, given that it’s—you squint at the clock(oh my god, is that a seven?)— well. Very early.

Except.

“I’ll run with you.”

Jimin blinks. “What?”

“Yeah. Cuddle for thirty minutes and I’ll run with you.” He gives you a dubious look. “I’m serious! Set an alarm. Thirty minutes.”)

As he stops you from snoozing the alarm for a third time and practically puts your shoes on for you, you’d already accepted the fact that he’s well built. Jimin stretches, and jogs, and lifts, and it’s not like you can’t run, rather that you’d prefer to be doing, well, anything else.

Still, he works to match your pace, a gentle rhythm on the pavement as you make your way around the house, through the garden, past the greenhouse. Not through the forest like he usually does, since it’s dry around this time of the year, and the fungi would rather be left alone.

Well. A water break would be nice.

“We’re almost at our bench,” He’s saying, and you’re struggling to understand him past the need to lie down on the dirt and die. “We could rest up a bit and continue, yeah?”

“Good. Good plan.”

You practically collapse on the bench. You’ve sat here plenty of times, what with the way it sits neatly between the garden, the hydrangeas and the back of the house, but never have you felt so relieved to have leftover humidity and dried up dirt on your butt. You pat the bench in thanks. Good bench.

Your head lolls against his shoulder. “I don’t like you.”

“You offered to come! We made a fair transaction!” He laughs, his skin sun-kissed and sweaty and pretty. He leans his head over yours, “C’mon, it’s just a mile left, back the way we came.”

“A mile? Still?”

“It’ll be quick! We can walk the rest of the way.”

Your voice is muffled from how your cheek is pressed to his shoulder, “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of going on a run?”

“If you can be a smartass that means you don’t have to sit anymore,” He feigns getting up long enough to draw a whine from you, and he’s laughing when he leans back. You move to glare up at him indignantly, and take the opportunity to stare. He’s so bright. The sun rose twice this morning.

You bump your forehead back against his shoulder, and he seems to take that as an opportunity to kiss the crown of your head, hands working their way over your arms and down to your hips. “Still don’t like you,” You grumble.

Another kiss. “What was it you said to me yesterday? Something like...'You’re weird and that’s why I like you?’” Jimin presses a trail of them up to your jaw, letting them linger.

“A lapse of judgement.” You say, but you’re melting into him anyway, and when he laughs, it rumbles through his chest and down your throat all the way to the tips of his hands where they now touch your bare skin, the very edge of where hip meets belly.

“Brat,” He smiles against your neck, half-whispered. His hand trails down further until it reaches your fingers, playing with your wedding ring. Something fond flutters in your chest. “Do you ever think about our wedding?”

“All the time,” You say, voice embarrassingly breathy, but you’re too scraped raw to come up with excuses for it. “Still dream about it sometimes, too.”

“Yeah?” He says, soft, but there’s a trepidation, there. Like he’s still trying to find the best way to words his thoughts. You love that about him, so you hold his hand back, letting both your rings tap together delightfully, giving him the space to think. After a while, he continues, “I still regret those first few months. How I treated you.” You open your mouth to reply, take a breath and everything, but he pinches the skin of your hand to stop you, “I know you say I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Because that’s the thing about Jimin: he gives too much of himself away, loves too openly, too eagerly. Never asks to be more comfortable, as long as the other person is. His heart stretches to make room until it bleeds, like a mother’s womb, and you’re worried about what will happen if it ever were to stretch too thin.

(You’d told him, once— you don’t have to please anyone, you know— and, please, put yourself first sometimes, Jimin smiled, a little sad, said: I don’t know how, anymore.)

“I never blamed you for it.” You’re so close you can feel each time he draws a breath. It’s soothing. “There was nothing to forgive.”

“You say that, but. But.” He makes a soft noise. “I didn’t make it any easier.”

I am very much in love. It’s not new, nor a belated sort of realization. It was a belated realization at one point, surely, but not now. Now, it’s as worn through a fact as any other you know, something else to tuck away for safe-keeping.

You are in love, and so is he, and so even if the beginning was rough and unfair, everything that happened in your life that led up to it has been worth it.

You hold him a little tighter. “Not everything can be easy.”

For a moment you both sit there, listening to the gentle breeze, the distant sounds of the waking world. There’s a far-off chirp, like that of a baby bird learning to sing, and overhead, the early morning dew is giving way to a foggy sky. Spring is on its way again. Each one is getting easier than the last.

After what feels like a long time, Jimin raises his head. You stare. Not everything can be easy, but this is. Loving Jimin is the easiest thing in the world.

“Do you want to get married again?”

For a moment, you feel the world’s axis start to tilt towards the sun.

“What?”

He smiles, something slow and tentative. “Wll you marry me?”

Inexplicably, you laugh. “Again?”

“Again.”

“Jimin.” You feel Jimin grow in happiness. You feel like you’re growing, too. “If this is because you feel bad—”

“No. I want this.” He draws circles over your fingers, tightens his hold. “I want this very much.”

Never has the world felt so vibrant, and so, so lived in.

“I think.” You breathe. “I want that, too.”

(“Can we celebrate both anniversaries?”

“Brat.” Jimin laughs, all curled up around you. Has he always been this warm? “I’ll make sure to schedule the wedding on the same date as before.”

“What the hell!”

He’s still laughing as he kisses you, both hands cupping your neck, and there’s no hesitance in how he loves you.

You think, for a moment, about how every question you had about loving Jimin has been answered: He smiles into his kisses. He rolls his head back when he laughs. And—

He tastes like the sun.)

[selfshipping-shapeshifter]

Ignoring all the serious stuff that happened recently, here's a few nice little updates that also happened:

I can't remember if I ever mentioned this but I've been writing a self shipping fanfic that's a Beauty and the Beast AU for Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarves where Prince Average is the Beast and I'm Belle and so far I have the prologue fully written (but depending on how I write something later I might change the end of the prologue a tiny bit to add something for later) and I have a lot of Chapter 1 written (I'm at the point where Gaston appears)

I have to completely rewrite my Hazbin Hotel fanfic (for the Helluva Hotel fanfic I've mentioned before) but I have multiple ideas that incorporate the show and I started writing a bit of Chapter 1 but I need to completely change my demon design because I don't want the whole "shapeshifter" thing to be too op since the only other shapeshifter is Lucifer and I don't want people going "ummm your self insert is a Mary Sue... :/" (not that there's anything wrong with Mary Sue ocs as long as they aren't badly written but I don't want people to say my oc is too op or something (also making demon designs for my self insert are fun)

I hung up some posters on my own and cleaned up my room a bit and felt ✨responsible✨

I've been playing Animal Crossing New Leaf a lot recently (ever since the beginning of January and I skipped a few days so now it's sometime in March) and I've gotten a lot done which include:

- Upgrading the museum to have a second floor and also donating a bunch of bugs and fish and fossils (and paintings whenever I get them) and I got the silver tools for the fishing rod, shovel, net, and slingshot

- Opening a cafe, becoming a regular there, and starting a part-time job there (Brewster likes me! :D)

- Upgrading my house a bunch and buying all the rooms, having a secret storeroom, expanding a few of the rooms, and upgrading the outside to have a castle exterior

- Got the froggy chair everyone's obsessed with when one of my villagers gifted it to me a few days before moving away (I missed her so I built a bench where her house was)

- Opened up Kicks, Shampoodle, the Garden Shop, the Dream Suite, and Club LOL and expanded Nookling Junction to T.I.Y. (I'm in the process of trying to get the fortune telling shop open to finish town square)

- Dyed and cut my hair every day for two weeks straight so I unlocked all the boys hair styles so I can have the hairstyle (and color) that matches my real hairstyle as close as possible

- Got a perfect score on my town so I built a flower clock to celebrate

-Got all the Pavé furniture which was annoying as hell cause I had to play all day just to catch a bunch of stupid colored feathers but hey I got a bunch of bells out of it

- Got a bunch of fruits from the island tours and made it so the island is easier to catch expensive bugs

- When the villagers first moved in I sent them all a welcoming note and a gift and I managed to convince all but one villager to stay in town (though today one of my villagers told me he was moving for the second time after I convinced him to stay so I won't convince him to stay again (and also I want to see a new face in town) so he'll probably be moving unless he changes his mind again)

And I think that's it really

[toalloftheboysivelovedbefore]

R.A.R.,

I listened to this song a lot in the fall of 2017. When nothing made sense. When everything hurt. When one moment you had picked me up from class and drove me to my car because you wanted to see me. The next, we were sitting on a bench while you told me all of the reasons being with me wasn’t enough to risk what you had at home.

That shit sticks around.

It took me years to undo that mentality. That I am good for a fuck but not for a life. I am good when you need validation and comfort, but not good enough to build a life with. I am good when you need an escape from the life you built that in the end, you didn’t really want, but you feel pressured to build.

You kept driving around in circles, afraid to call this place our home.

This song gave me hope. That our silver lining would be delivered soon. That one day, we would be there. That one day, we would be laying in front of the fireplace in our home while I played with the dog, the big dog you always wanted to have but your wife never wanted.

Now, you have your dogs, but not me. I have my peace, but not you. Kind of a fucked up ending to that story if you ask me.

September the first has rolled around and passed once again. I didn’t feel the emptiness I have felt the last seven years, but I still have your daughter’s birthday on my calendar. You’re not here and yet you are. You probably always will be, to a degree. There is an imprint of you on my soul. Some days it hurts, but most days I just carry it. It’s like the massive wounds I care for on patients. Even if you do get the wound to heal, it will never go back to the way it was. The skin is puckered and twisted. Disfigured and discolored. There is an indent on the surface. It will never look the same. The scar is carried around, even though the wound is healed.

I wonder if you thought about me on September 1st. I wonder what you think of me when I cross your mind. I wonder if you look back on me fondly or if you hate me. I wonder what kind of scar I left on you.

Happy September,

H.L.F.

[lilyblackdrawside]

After playing Xenoblade 2 for a while now, I can say with confidence that I still like the combat system of 1 the most. 2 and 3 both have their merits, but they also both suffer from the same problem to different degrees: The characters don't feel distinct.

In Xenoblade 1, every character felt unique to play and to play with. Now, it's been a few years since I played that one but off the top of my head: Shulk: The Break Guy, also has Daze later on. Obviously the Monado Arts, but he's also unique in that he has exactly enough skills to fill the bar and no more. Also his cute little heal.

Reyn: The Topple Guy. He's your reliable buddy, he'll tank for you all day long from the start of the game to the end and with Sword Drive and certain gems can deal massive burst damage to initiate fights (or oneshot enemies outright) and is great to finish a chain combo with.

Sharla: Unique Talent Art that isn't something to actively use, but acts as a limiter gauge. She heals. Sometimes she shoots! But she also gives barriers and removes ailments. Sometimes her gun overheats.

Dunban: Force-Topple to bypass break resist with Gale Slash into Electric Gutbuster. Can also Daze, a bit gimmicky. Naked build. Born in a world of strife! Against the odds! We choose to fight! Blossom Dance!

Melia: Unique Talent Art that doesn't have its own cooldown, but is used to fire the elements she primes. Very forward-looking gameplay where you stack her elements to build up the buffs of their auras. She can do a bunch of different things depending on which elements you want to use/build from Just Damage with Bolt, Flare, Wind and Ice to heavy damage over time with earth or even healing with Water. Her enemy control with hypnosis and shadow stitch is great too and her iconic Spear Break into Starlight Kick combo to force Topple is just so good.

Riki: The Guy Everyone Thinks Is Useless When They Play For The First Time But It Turns Out That His Grab Bag Of Stuff Is Actually Really Useful. The huge group heals he can do are so good, nice bleeds too, can be either built for physical or arts damage, Happy Happy for quick party gauge charge. Also notable for running into the HP maximum at a time where a lot of players will get to it, which is kinda funny. He's very healthy. (In more than just this way)

Seven: Notable for providing an incredibly powerful skill to Link onto Melia so she can raise her Tension to max instantly with her Talent Art and then getting benched forever. I don't know what she does cause I don't like her. I think she just autoattacks enemies and buffs herself to do it. Whenever I had to play her to get her friendship with Melia to the point to link that skill I pretty much fell asleep at the wheel.

And this is mostly just Arts, if I went into my save and checked Skills I could probably go on.

Now Xenoblade 3 has... nothing unique to any character. Aside from the Seven Star Sword that Noah has and the Oroborous fusion forms, everything is transferrable. It's a job system, which I usually like in the Final Fantasy games, but it just didn't do it for me here, because in Xenoblade I actually care about the characters a lot and after 1 expected more of the gameplay adding to their characterizations. Everyone does have slightly different base stat values, but the difference isn't relevant. I played Eunie as a tank the entire game.

Xenoblade 2 has a similar thing going on, because Tora aside (and Vandham I guess) everyone can equip two extra blades. This means only their main blade is unique to them.

Rex is Fire/Light and can topple and has a little bit of healing, Pyra/Mythra are dps.

Tora is a tank through and through. He's Earth and Fire and whatever else he might cook up in the future, has Topple and Smash and can switch between Block Tank and Dodge Tank. With Poppification you can change his elements and roles too, but I haven't messed with that (entirely because I haven't found a single book that unlocks more stuff and Tiger! Tiger! hasn't dropped much of any relevance.)

Nia is Water, has Break and Dromarch is healer. She actually feels the most unique to me because of Dromarch being a healer, cause I've not needed to have a second character with a Healer Blade equipped, so when I think of Nia I think "Healer".

Mòrag is the dodge tank. Fire. Has Break.

Zeke is dps. Electro. Has... Throw? Lift? Whatever the third combo step is called.

Beyond that, what your characters are is up to you. I've had Nia with an extra Healer and a Dps Blade, Mòrag with another Tank and a Dps Blade and Rex and Zeke both with two extra Dps Blades. You could have Rex as a Healer and Mòrag as a Dps. Nia as a tank is probably a bit awkward unless you play as her directly cause she might get the bright idea to switch to Dromarch to heal if the party is in danger only to get herself killed in the process.

The thought of full customization always seems really nice and enticing, but Xenoblade 3 has shown me how good a rigid, predetermined character build can be. (By lacking that quality)

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for july 9 of 2024 with Proverbs 9 and Psalm 9, accompanied by Psalm 20 for the 20th day of Astronomical Summer, and Psalm 41 for day 191 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 9]

Lady Wisdom has built her house;

she has supported it with seven pillars.

She’s prepared a feast:

She’s slaughtered her animals, poured a spiced wine,

and set her table.

She has sent out her servants with the invitation to come to the party;

she, too, calls out from the highest point of the city:

Lady Wisdom: Whoever is young and gullible, turn in here.

You are welcome in this place!

Then, turning to those who are naive, she says:

Lady Wisdom: Come in. Come, eat my bread,

and drink my spiced wine.

Give up your gullible ways, your naive thoughts, for true life.

Set your course for understanding.

Whoever tries to discipline a scoffer should expect a hail of insults in return.

Whoever tries to correct an evildoer is likely to get hurt in the process.

So do not correct a scoffer unless you are ready to be hated,

but correct the wise and you will be loved.

Give instruction to the wise, and they will become wiser.

Teach upstanding people, and they will learn even more.

Reverence for the Eternal, the one True God, is the beginning of wisdom;

true knowledge of the Holy One is the start of understanding.

Lady Wisdom: Through me your days will be lengthened,

and years will be added to your life.

If you are wise, wisdom is its own reward.

If you mock what you don’t understand, you alone will suffer the consequences.

Compared to Wisdom, the Lady Folly is rowdy and loud,

naive and ignorant.

She sits by the door of her house,

on a bench at the highest place in the city,

Crooning to passersby

who hurry straight on to their destinations:

Lady Folly: Whoever is young and gullible, turn in here.

You are welcome in this place!

Then, she turns to the naive.

Lady Folly: Stolen water tastes so much sweeter!

Bread secreted away is much more satisfying to eat!

But those who pause to listen to Lady Folly do not know death is the next stop,

that her guests are walking cadavers.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 9 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Lady Wisdom has built a house, prepared a feast, and now invites the young, the simple, and the naive to come to her party. She wants her house full of guests and spilling over with life, yet hers is not the only invitation. There is competition in the streets. Another woman vies for the attention of the young and impressionable. She, too, wants her house full, but of deceit and seduction; and when it is, death and misery join the revelry.

Wisdom addresses a broad audience. First, there are the wise who already know and worship the one True God, who do what is right in God’s eyes, and who experience the resulting benefits. They need only to be reminded about God’s ways. Second, there are the mockers and fools who reject God’s teaching and consistently do what is wrong in spite of its consequences. They need to be confronted and called to change their ways. Finally, there are the naive who straddle the fence, one day going this way, another day going that way. Wisdom extends herself to reach them, to point clearly toward the decision they have to make.

[Psalm 9]

For the worship leader. A song of David to the tune “Death of a Son.”

All my heart will give thanks to You, Eternal One.

I will tell others about Your amazing works.

I will be glad and celebrate You!

I will praise You, O Most High!

When my adversaries turned and fled,

they fell and died right in front of You,

For You supported my just cause.

From Your throne, You have judged wisely.

You confronted the nations; You have destroyed the wicked.

You have erased their names from history.

The enemy is finished, their time is up;

their cities will lie in ruin forever;

all memory of them is gone.

Still the Eternal remains and will reign forever;

He has taken His place on His throne for judgment.

So He will judge the world rightly.

He shall execute that judgment equally on all people.

For the Eternal will be a shelter for those who know misery,

a refuge during troubling times.

Those who know Your name will rely on You,

for You, O Eternal One, have not abandoned those who search for You.

Praise Him who lives on Zion’s holy hill.

Tell the story of His great acts among the people!

For He remembers the victims of violence and avenges their blood;

He does not turn a deaf ear to the cry of the needy.

Be gracious to me, O Eternal One.

Notice the harm I have suffered because of my enemies,

You who carry me safely away from death’s door,

So that I may rehearse Your deeds, declare Your praise,

and rejoice in Your rescue

when I take my stand in the gates of Zion.

The nations have fallen into the pit they dug for others,

their own feet caught, snared by the net they hid.

The Eternal is well known, for He has taken action and secured justice;

He has trapped the wicked through the work of their own hands.

[pause with music]

The wicked are headed for death and the grave;

all the nations who forget the True God will share a similar fate.

For those in need shall not always be forgotten,

and the hope of the poor will never die.

Eternal One, arise! Do not allow mere mortals to win the day.

Judge the nations Yourself.

Put the fear of God in them, Eternal One!

Remind the nations they are mere men, not gods.

[pause]

The Book of Psalms, Poem 9 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

In the Hebrew manuscripts, Psalms 9 and 10 work as a unit because together they form an acrostic poem, meaning each stanza begins with a successive letter of the Hebrew alphabet. This literary device has several functions. First, it provides a mnemonic device for easier memorization. Second, it is inherently beautiful; the rigid structure is a showcase for the author’s literary talents. Finally, it conveys the idea of completion by describing the reasons God is to be praised “from A to Z.” Psalm 9 offers David’s thanks and praise to God for defeating his enemies. Psalm 10, on the other hand, is a lament complaining that God is far off while the poor and helpless suffer.

[Psalm 20]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

May the Eternal’s answer find you, come to rescue you,

when you desperately cling to the end of your rope.

May the name of the True God of Jacob be your shelter.

May He extend hope and help to you from His holy sanctuary

and support you from His sacred city of Zion.

May He remember all that you have offered Him;

may your burnt sacrifices serve as a prelude to His mercy.

[pause]

May He grant the dreams of your heart

and see your plans through to the end.

When you win, we will not be silent! We will shout

and raise high our banners in the great name of our God!

May the Eternal say yes to all your requests.

I don’t fear; I’m confident that help will come to the one anointed by the Eternal:

heaven will respond to his plea;

His mighty right hand will win the battle.

Many put their hope in chariots, others in horses,

but we place our trust in the name of the Eternal One, our True God.

Soon our enemies will collapse and fall, never to return home;

all the while, we will rise and stand firm.

Eternal One, grant victory to our king!

Answer our plea for help.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 20 (The Voice)

[Psalm 41]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

Blessed are those who consider the helpless.

The Eternal will stay near them, leading them to safety in times of bitter struggle.

The Eternal defends them and preserves them,

and His blessing will find them in the land He gave them.

He moves ahead to frustrate their enemies’ plans.

When sickness comes, the Eternal is beside them—

to comfort them on their sickbeds and restore them to health.

And me? I cry out to Him,

“Heal my soul, O Eternal One, and show mercy

because I have sinned against You!”

My enemies are talking about me even now:

“When will death come for him and his name be forgotten?”

As they sit with me under my roof, their well wishes are empty lies.

They listen to my story

and then turn it around to tell their own version on the street.

Across the city, crowds whisper lies about me.

Their hate is strong, and they search for ways to harm me.

Some are saying: “Some vile disease has gotten hold of him.

The bed he lies in will be his deathbed.”

Even my best friend, my confidant

who has eaten my bread will stab me in the back.

But You, Eternal One, show mercy to me.

Extend Your gracious hand, and help me up.

I need to pay them back for what they’ve done to me.

I realize now that Your favor has come to me,

for my enemies have yet to declare victory over me.

You know and uphold me—a man of honor.

You grant me strength and life forever in Your presence.

Blessed is the Eternal, the True God of Israel.

Always and Eternal. Amen and Amen.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 41 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

The first four books of Psalms end with a variation of the doxology found in verse 13: “Blessed is the Eternal, the True God of Israel. Always and Eternal. Amen and Amen.” This declaration not only provides a natural break—a seam—between the five books, but it also summarizes an essential theme of the psalms. You see, the Book of Psalms is primarily a book of praise to God for His creation, mercy, and salvation. Even when life is hard, our enemies strong, and our health poor, God can be praised for life itself and the ultimate victory to come for those who trust Him.