#chest binder that says this with a black harness over it

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Full name: Kohaku Usagiyama

Pronunciation: ko-Haku U-sAgi-yama

Meaning of Name: Kohaku means "Amber"

Hero/Villain Name: White Rabbit

Nicknames: Ko-Chan, Haku-San, Bunny-Bunny, Bunny Fu-Fu

History of Nicknames:  Bunny-Bunny and Bunny Fu-Fu were both gifted by their mother since birth and only she can call them this

Aliases: NA

Nationality: Japanese

Quirk:  Rabbit Hole - With a stomp or hard hit, grounds, walls, etc get turned to crumble waste

Birthday and Astrology Sign: December 4th, Sagittarius

Age: 15

How old do they look: 15-14

Gender: Nonbinary (they/them)

Orientation/Sexuality Preference: Pansexual

Birth date: December 4th 21XX

Birth place: Musutafu, Japan

Appearance: Eye color: Bright Cherry Red

Eye shape: Almond Shape

Do they wear contacts or glasses?: No Hair: Neck length (usually in a up-do) messy greyish-blue

Height: 5'4 (5'6 with ears)

Weight: 93 lbs

Body build: Slim and fit

Body shape: Semi-Hourglass/Toned

Complexion: Dark Olive

Cup size: B-Cup, smothered in a binder

Blood Type: AB

Handedness: Left Hand

Hand type: big hands, tiny hands, delicate hands, long fingers, short fingers, calloused hands, etc.

Nails: long, short, dirty, clean, etc.

Movement: Easy and calm

How do they walk: Slight hop in their step

Posture: Straight back and stuck out chest

Flexibility: Pretty flexibility thanks to training and genetics

Speech Mannerisms: They speak calmly though do small quiet quick breaths through the nostrils when frustrated

Scars: One scar on the low right side of their neck

Birthmarks: None

Piercings: None

Tattoos: None

General face structure:  Looks a lot like their mother

Defining physical traits: Their ears and scar

Clothing: Uniform: UA uniform that switches the boy's uniform and the girl's

Casual outfit: A black hoodie with a blue and white mushroom design on the sleeves, dark blue ripped jeans and white sneakers and a beanie

Preferred outfit: Light grey cropped tank top and black basket ball shorts

Hero/Villain costume: A skin tight black turtle neck body suit with a silver and blue sleeveless short pant legs body suit over it, red goggles with a black strap that tied behind their head and above their head around their ears, two black weapon holders on their outer thighs and hips, a black harness on the chest and torso area, white gloves that reach the elbows

Equipment / Support Items: A pair of black gloves that cover all their fingers except their index fingers in society, two black boomerangs when fighting/training

Characteristics:

Personality: Nice, calm, curious, easily annoyed, sweet, serious, dorkish, emotional

Big Five personality traits: Calm, Curious, Emotional, Dorkish

Most prominent personality trait: Good

Best traits: Understanding, sweet, gentle, gets along well with others

Worst traits: Emotional to the point they'll cry a lot when angry or scared

Likes: Training, drawing, veggie burgers, their friends, their family Dislikes: Being misgendered, when someone talks bad about their friends or family, losing their things, not getting their emotions under control

Quirks:  (not the superpower but little silly things they do) When they think real hard or is really really mad they thump their foot in small stamps and their ears twist and flatten. Some deem it adorable but they don't Fear: Something happening to those they care for and love deeply

Hobbies: Drawing and training

Skills/Talents: Good at drawing and writing poems

Strengths: Fast running and high jumper Weaknesses: Their ears being grabbed and their family and friends though they don't want to say it

Reason to keep on living: Friends and family

What is their self-image like: Pretty low due to self esteem issues

What superstitions do they have: They cannot for any reason step under ladders since childhood

Coping mechanisms: Drawing or someone petting their head when getting hugged/cuddled

Any life motto or quote they live by: "Life's too short to think on the negative, think it more of the sunrise everyday than the gloom."

Favorite things: They love the color purple, their favorite flowers are sunflowers and daisies

Health:

Physical: Pretty Healthy

Mental: A bit low in self esteem but besides that healthy

Emotional Stability: Low self-esteem

If faced with crisis, what is their go-to: They would freeze for a second before fighting and fighting hard

Nutrition: Pretty healthy, is vegetarian

Habits: Foot stamps when mad, draw on their pant legs and notebooks when really bored

Family History: Never talk about it

History, Background, and Future:

0-4: Kohaku was born around midnight to pro-hero Mirko and ex-villain turned good Tomura Shigaraki and has always been a daddy's no.1 fan child since infant-hood. By age four they made plenty of friends with Yuzuriha, Zora, and Rose.

5-8: In kindergarten they got picked on for Shigaraki's past in which they were taught to not be hurt by their words cause "the past hurts but the present eased all the pain", by the time they were 7 years old the got their first sign of their quirk though it was unsure

9-11: At nine, after some bullies picked on them and their friends they smacked the ground which led it to break and the bullies fell to the ground bellow terribly injured which revealed their quirk's full growth accidentally. As the years went by, they started training and learning their quirk and studying hard. At 11 was when they started to do silent research on their gender idenity

12-14: They started their pronouns and coming out more at 12 and continued to study hard all while bonding a lot with their friends and family

15-Present: A few weeks after the entrance exam they get accepting to UA along side their childhood friends

Did they like their upbringing: Yes they did

How has their upbringing shape them: They were shaped perfectly, although they do wish it was a bit less anxiety made from bullies and stares.

What did they enjoy most about their childhood?: Spending time relaxing with their dad

What did they hate most about their childhood?: The bullies and people staring at them when in public

Current Dream: Becoming a pro-hero and making the world better for both heroes and villains and those in the middle

Long-term goals for Future: Be pro-hero, get married, make family proud, clear their father's name

Home: A home near campus with their parents next door to the apartment complex Rose and her family lives in

Home Life as a Kid: abusive, supportive, neglecting, etc.

Home Life Now: abusive, supportive, neglecting, etc.

Quick Family background: Doesn't know much about their father's side of the family due to trauma but has visited their graves/burial sights before, only lives with their mother and father since birth Any Friends: Yuzuriha Midoriya, Zora Midoriya, Rose Takami, Mitsuri Ashido-Sero, Tsuki Bakugo, Hoshiko Bakugo, Arashi Jiro-Yaoyorozu, Chiharu Jiro-Yaoyorozu, Hachi Kaminari, Gou Iida, Sakura Todoroki Any Family: Tomura Shigaraki (father), Rumi Usagiyama (mother)

[peterparkerstarker]

Employee Benefits - Starker

Written for my lovely Crush Anon who requested trans!Peter as a go go dancer at a gay nightclub, feat. “daddy kink, praise kink, humiliation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, the good stuff !!!” 

Note: this fic uses the terms pussy and cunt to describe Peter’s junk as a trans man. I chose to use those terms because that’s what he was comfortable with as it plays into the humiliation kink, but it might not be for everyone and that’s okay. As a (mostly) cis writer, I tried really fucking hard to be as respectful as I could be about the trans experience, and make the humiliation more about Peter being desperate for Tony to fuck him than about his trans-ness.

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Peter was nervous about tonight.

It was his first shift at his new job, and anybody would be nervous on their first day, he reminded himself. It was normal, totally and completely normal.

Except for the fact that this wasn’t a normal job. Not in the least bit. He knew what he was getting himself into when he’d applied. But now that he was actually here, all dressed up and ready to go, he suddenly wondered if this was a bad life decision.

Go go dancer at a gay bar. What the hell was he thinking?

Sure, he and MJ had spent so many late nights practicing his moves, and Ned had lent him the money for his outfit, or at least what little clothing it comprised of. And they’d both lied their asses off to get Aunt May to believe he was safe with them, at an overnight astronomy club field trip. He was 18, so he was perfectly within his right to get a job dancing at this bar, but May would’ve thrown a fit and grounded him, so this was the best option he’d had. 

He shifted awkwardly in his outfit, a red leather chest harness that distracted from the binder he wore under it. At least he hoped it did. Ned had spent all his savings to help Peter order it online, and while Peter had insisted he’d pay him back by Christmas, they both knew there was no way he could afford to. 

He had tight blue shorts on as well, into which he’d securely tucked his packer, another gift from Ned with MJ’s help for his birthday last year. Peter glanced at himself in the mirror one last time before deciding there was nothing else he could do to get ready and would have to just go out and do the fucking job. This is what he’d willingly signed up for, after all. 

He took a deep breath and left the dressing room.

But now, as he stood there at the back of the stage, trembling, he wondered yet again what the fuck he was doing here. But something within him kept pushing him forward, made his legs keep moving until he came into the pulsing neon lights that lit up the club, the bass pounding and thrumming through his body, and with shaking hands he climbed into the cage that would be his work space for the next hour.

“We like to start the new guys out slow, so you’ll just be dancing for an hour at a time, with 30 minute breaks. We’ll see how that goes and then go from there,” the manager of the club had told him when offering him the job. An hour suddenly seemed like a lifetime now.

He let out a haltering breath, clicked the cage closed around him, and closed his eyes, feeling the music beat deep in his chest, connecting with it, letting his hips follow. 

This was the easy part, the part that made him want this so bad. It made him feel high, or drunk or something like that, he honestly didn’t know what either sensation was like, so he had to guess this was similar. Regardless, it felt so fucking good. Like his brain disconnected just enough from his body to be okay. He wasn’t Penis Parker when he danced, he wasn’t the kid at school that everyone gawked and laughed at, he wasn’t any of the shit they put him through. He was just Peter, vibing with the beat and letting his body talk for him. And he didn’t hate his body in those moments. He felt like himself, and that also felt so fucking good.

He opened his eyes, surveying the dark and crowded dance floor, and smiled. People were watching him, entranced by the way he moved, some were even copying him, trying to look cool. Some were significantly more successful than others.

One song blurred into another, faster and more erratic, and he began to let loose a little more, taking up more space in the small cage, grinding against the bars and feeling warm, sweaty hands grope him, desperate to touch him. And fuck, that felt good too. It made him dizzy, being so wanted and desired by these men. They saw him and couldn’t help themselves. And he wanted it just as much as them.

The hour passed in a flash, Peter lost in the music and the groping touch and the high of it all. He saw the light flash that signaled shift change and he begrudgingly let himself out, stopping to wink at a few of the more handsy clubbers on his way out and went back onto the main stage 

‘God, what a fucking trip’, he thought to himself. ‘I could get used to this.’

He stumbled backstage, suddenly so much more tired than he had realized, eager to sit down and take off his shoes. They hadn’t been hurting when he was dancing, but now he was so uncomfortably aware of the way they pinched his right pinkie toe and was desperate for reprieve.

The break went by quickly, shoes off, making sure to drink water and adjust himself in the bathroom, and then being whisked back on stage by the manager because he’d been such a hit that they wanted him back as soon as they could. 

This time, he stepped in with confidence, eyes locking on a gorgeous man with dark rumpled hair, olive skin, and a tight black tank shirt. His skin glistened, tight muscles in full display as he stared back at Peter.

Hungry. That was the look the man was giving him. 

Hunger. 

It made him shiver with need, and god, he wanted to be pressed up tight against this man’s hard sweaty chest, grinding and kissing and nipping at his neck. He kept staring, never letting himself lose sight of the man, dancing just for him this time.

Other hands ghosted across his skin, streaking him with glitter, but he didn’t pay them any mind. He had his sights set on one conquest, and he’d be damned if he lost tonight.

Peter didn’t really have experience with sex, but he didn’t intend to let that stop him. He knew what he liked, knew all the fucked up, degenerate things he craved, and he would be damned if his inexperience was going to hold him back tonight.

He danced out the rest of his second set, eyes locked on the man, daring him silently to come closer, but the man was playing his own wordless game. He never came close enough to touch, never seemed to pay mind to the hordes of man grasping for any skin contact they could get with Peter’s soft, creamy skin. 

He seemed almost… amused now. Like there was a joke only he was in on, and that only made Peter want him more. He wasn’t begging for Peter’s attention like these other men, he knew in no uncertain terms that he deserved it, and was going to get what he wanted. 

It made Peter need him all the more.

His second set finally ended, and as he was climbing out of the cage, pushing away clingy hands of strangers, he lost sight of the man. He’d turned his back for a minute and suddenly the man was gone.

Fuck. 

So much for that…

It was the end of his trial shift and he’d been hoping to sneak onto the dance floor to get up close and personal with the stranger, but try as he might, Peter couldn’t spot him anywhere.

He sighed and hurried back to the dressing room to peel off his sticky clothes and clean up. Tonight had been good, great even, but he was sad about the missed opportunity.

He walked into the dingy backstage room and blinked at the bright light, confused.

The man, the one he’d the past hour eye-fucking while he grinded mostly naked against metal cage bars was sitting there, looking calm and expectant. 

Peter blinked again, confused and speechless. The man smiled a half-cocked grin and extended a hand as if to shake. “I’m Tony. And you are?”

Peter just kept blinking. ‘Jesus’, he thought, ‘Say something!’

He stuttered out his name and felt a blush rising hot and fast to his cheeks. Why was this guy back here? No one but staff was supposed to be back here.

“Bucky didn’t tell me he’d hired a new kid, and I’m gonna have to give him extra hell for not telling me just how incredible you look up there.”

Peter cleared his throat, working up the courage to say, “It’s my first night.. I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Tony. I thought we just went over this?” he said, grinning again and leaning back in the dressing room chair Peter had used earlier.

“No, I know your name’s Tony, but why are you back here? Only staff is allowed, and I don’t want to get in trouble with the manager. He looks like he could kick my ass,” Peter said, finding the courage to square his shoulders and face this man head on.

“Calm down, geez. Bucky isn’t telling anyone shit apparently. I’m Tony, the owner of this bar. Bucky works for me, he’s the bar manager, and he oversees the scheduling and hiring when I’m away for business trips, but this is my bar, I can do whatever I want. And to be quite honest,” he said, looking Peter up and down slowly. “What I want to do right now is you.”

Peter felt like his brain had short circuited just a bit.

This gorgeous man wanted him. And not just in an across a crowded room way. He’d come back to proposition Peter. 

And fuck, did Peter want him. His body was aching and sore, but he wanted to do whatever this man asked of him, his need for this stranger overpowered any need for rest after hours of dancing on display.

Tony quirked his head to the side and added, ”Of course, if you’re not interested that’s perfectly fine, no harm no foul, welcome to the Iron Man team, we’re glad to have you and it’ll be strictly professional from here on out. But I get the sense that’s not what you want, is it?”

Peter shook his head no, maybe a little too eagerly, if Tony’s bark of a laugh was any indication.

Tony gestured to him to come closer, and Peter did, getting close enough to touch, but he refrained.

“I want you to kneel for me.”

And Peter did, falling to the ground wordlessly, entranced by the sheer power this man held over him with a look and a few simple words. He would do just about anything to feel Tony's touch, but that wasn’t the game they were playing, and he was more than happy to play this one out.

Tony stroked his cheek, gently, warm and sweet and never broke eye contact. Peter felt himself practically panting, needy and desperate for more.

“I’m probably twice your age, you know?” tony whispered

“I don’t care.”

“I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Well, I never knew my dad, so what does that matter?”

Tony grinned devilishly at that. “Daddy issues huh? I can most certainly work with that.” He unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock, and letting Peter stare doe-eyed at it in excitement. It was just as gorgeous as him, long and thick and just slightly curved up, cut and defined and glistening at the head with pre-cum. 

A wet dream come to life.

Peter’s mouth watered, he needed so badly to get his tongue on Tony's cock. Needed to taste and feel and suck and swallow. Needed to fuck him and let Tony have his way with him. Needed to be used.

Tony nodded, ever so slightly, and Peter took that as a sign to start, licking up the length of him gently, ever so gently, and smiled as Tony let out a deep groan. He’d never done this before, but he’d watched enough porn to know the basics. 

He knew it wasn’t the best head of Tony's life, but he didn’t care. He was sucking off a stranger on a dirty floor of a gay bar where he was now a gainfully employed go go dancer. Peter wasn’t going to waste a second worrying, he was too lost in the silky texture of Tony’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth, the way his hips thrust to meet Peter’s lips, the panting breaths Tony let out, the little moans of pleasure that encouraged him to keep going, let him know he was doing good.

“Ah, that’s it, such a dirty slut, on your knees for a man you just met. God, you’re gorgeous, lips wrapped around my cock. I wanna wreck you with it, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tony asked.

Peter eagerly nodded, still too focused on licking the head of Tony's cock to properly reply, and Tony grabbed his chin sharply, pulling his face up to look up into his eyes.

“Such a cockslut. You can’t even focus enough to tell me that’s what you want. Bet I could lift you up and fuck you on this table right now and you’d be begging me to fill you. Is that what you want? Me to fuck you till you can’t take any more? Of course, I wouldn’t stop until I was done. I’d keep fucking your tight little hole, make you scream and cry. Do you want me to make you cry Peter?”

And Peter let out a moan ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. He’d never wanted anything more. He could feel himself dripping wet, his shorts were probably soaked through already. 

He needed Tony to pound into him until he came, screaming and crying and begging for more. He needed to be tony’s fuck toy, humiliated and used. His whole body ached with the need to be wrecked by Tony's huge cock. 

Tony saw the desperation in his eyes, the way his lip trembled, and suddenly lifted him up off the floor and onto the cluttered table top. Items clattered to the ground to make room for Peter’s slim body, but they didn’t pay attention to them, too caught up in kissing frantically, biting and sucking, Tony working his mouth down Peter’s neck, hard enough to leave bruises. It hurt so bad, but the minute he lifted his mouth from each spot, a wave of endorphins crashed through his body, like a high he’d never imagined before. He wanted tony to hurt him, keep hurting him enough to make him cry out, anything to keep feeling this fucking good.

Tony unceremoniously pulled down his shorts, packer and all, and stared in wide eyed hunger at Peter’s uncovered skin. 

He suddenly felt so shy, so self conscious. Humiliated. A searing flash of heat worked its way under his skin. No one had seen him like this. Peter didn’t even like to look at this part of himself, but the way Tony looked at him, like an animal ready to pounce, starving and greedy. He pushed those feelings aside. He needed tony to fuck him, needed tony to know how much he wanted him, how wet he got for him.

And Tony did touch him, rubbing his swollen wet clit, gentle circles at first, getting a feel for Peter's body, and then faster, harder, brutal and wonderful all at once. As soon as Tony knew Peter could take a little, he would go full force, overwhelming him with sensation. It made him shake with need. He needed Tony to stuff his cock into him.

Peter let out a whine, grinding hard against his hand, and Tony grasped onto his chin again, holding him  tight with the hand that wasn’t pumping away. 

“Daddy doesn’t like greedy boys, you understand? You'll take what you're given and be grateful for it. Cum sluts don’t get to set the pace. You’re mine right now, and I say when you can come, understand?”

Peter looked away, embarrassed to respond, and Tony clinched harder onto his chin, grip tight enough to bruise. At the same time, his fingers slipped into Peter, two, maybe three? Peter wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Tony filling his pussy up was the best goddamn feeling in the world, and he needed more.

He nodded feverishly, letting out a breathy “ Yes daddy,” and was rewarded with Tony's fingers curling up inside him, hitting a spot that made his vision blur a bit.

“Good boy, such an obedient little thing when you want to be. Daddy’s gonna train you so well. I’ll have you coming all over my hand on command soon enough. You’ll be begging to drink my cum after I'm through with you.”

And as he said that, he took out his fingers, held them up for Peter to see his own pre-cum dripping and glistening in strands between his fingers, and then he was thrusting himself deep into Peter's cunt, the head of his cock hitting deep inside him. He was going to be so sore tomorrow, and the thought of feeling a reminder of tony’s cock deep inside him tomorrow made  him shiver with excitement.

Tony pounded into him, a brutal pace that left him breathless. All the while, he bit and sucked bruises up Peter’s exposed collarbone, the waves of adrenaline hitting even harder with Tony buried deep inside him. He could feel it building, like waves of heat crashing over him. 

“Fuck, Tony, I’m gonna… I think I'm gonna…” 

“That’s it baby boy, come for daddy, want you to come all over my cock, wanna feel you tighten around me, you can do it, come for your daddy.”

And he did, clenching and wet and screaming out Tony's name. He hoped the pounding music from the dance floor was enough to drown out his yells as he came.

And then Tony was yelling along with him, spurting deep inside him, coating him with sticky wet cum, marking him, claiming him. 

They lay there for a minute, Tony's heavy body pressing him down hard against the top of the table, sweaty and panting and grinning at each other like fools. Tony leaned down to kiss him. Gently, ever so gently. A tender kiss that made Peter fall in love that much more.

As Tony pulled out, Peter could feel his cum squelching inside him, oozing out of his gaping hole, cooling as it trickled down, a messy reminder of what they’d just done.

Tony helped Peter up, helped him clean himself up as best as he could, and gave him another kiss, turning Peter’s bruised chin up to stare into his eyes.

“Tomorrow night I want you here an hour early for your shift. We’ve got some extra hands on training to do… understand?” Tony asked, and Peter early agreed.

He collected his stuff, only just now starting to wonder how the hell he was going to hide these bruises from aunt may. He’d just have to tell her he was staying the night at Ned’s tomorrow, and ask MJ to help him conceal them with makeup.

He was about to leave, still floaty and out of it on how good it felt to be fucked like that, when Tony called out, “Make sure to tell Buck thanks from me on the way out, will you?”

Peter stared back, confused.

“He’s been trying to find me a new boy for a while now, he must’ve taken one look at you and known how badly I’d want you.”

Peter flushed, pride and shame swirling into each other. 

“Don’t forget, an hour early tomorrow, and be ready to make daddy happy, understand?” he added, with a wink that made Peter wet all over again.

‘Not too bad for a first night on the job,’ he thought. He could certainly get used to these benefits.

[doberbutts]

 Okay so this is going to get long and more than a little bit tmi but it’s a post summing up some strides I’ve made regarding my own transgender journey and I wanted a place to talk about it and maybe help some BabyTrans figure themselves out along the way so I’m putting it under the cut but it’ll go here >:V

Anyway long story short my insurance settlement from my car accident finally figured itself out and I found myself suddenly $30k richer and immediately spent about $10k of that digging myself out of a very deep debt hole I’ve been wallowing in for a while so now I have some actual financial stability plus have some money to throw at some things that would probably make my life a bit better.

And since I have the money to throw at some things, I bought myself a few new binders and also a packer. Binders because my old one was literally disintegrating- part of that is my fault, washing binders in an industrial machine on high heat plus throwing it in the dryer means your binder falls apart faster than it should. Remember I’m from the very end of Ye Olden Days of transmasc products, which means previously most binders lasted a year at most. My binder made it 2.5 years before giving up and becoming a sports bra instead. I’ve learned from my mistakes and treat my binder(s) much more gently now, plus I have more than one so I can rotate them out and not wear the same binder 8-12 hours daily for 2.5 years and kill it doing exactly the same shit.

For reference sake, I’m 5′10′’, 180lbs, 36C bust, and fit a XL from gc2b. Which is who I bought both my previous binder and my current set from. They are low cost, lightweight, well made, and LGBT-owned and operated which makes me super into buying from them instead of some of the other companies offering something similar.

Being that I am biracial and finding something my skintone is always somewhat... interesting... I followed the internet’s suggestion and went with PeeCock for the packer. I’d bought a zip binder from them a few years ago and actually found that to be the most comfortable binder I’ve ever used in the history of ever, but I will say the durability of zip binders is low compared to pull-over binders in my experience, as the zipper exploded one day when I bent down to pick up a small dropped item. I’d had the binder and was rotating its use with my pullover gc2b for about 6 months when this happened, and was in public when I went from flat chested to big uncontained tiddies in the span of seconds. Not great. I’ve been told that probably means it was a little too small for me, but PeeCock is a company based in Singapore, and their sizes like most East Asian clothing do run quite a bit small (I was a XXL in PeeCock sizes when I wore a size L gc2b binder) so there’s not really a lot of wiggle room for me to go up in size. Additionally their sizing taps out at XXXL so anyone who’s bigger than me in the chest/torso is a bit out of luck for their binders. A shame, because that zip binder was so comfortable I fell asleep in it forgetting I even had it on more than once.

Anyway. Since I did like that binder even though we had the wardrobe mishap, and the internet had pretty good reviews on the PeeCock packers because they are multifunctional and actually make correct skin tones for black dudes, I got one. Since money wasn’t an issue I did get the most recent model which was not cheap (~$300) and so far I like it a lot. I got so used to wearing it that when I take it off to clean it, it actually really bothers me. The weight of it is... comforting, in a way.

HOWEVER I did see a bunch of reviews about how I would be super likely to pee on myself the first time using it and then used it and went “wow I don’t have any idea what you guys are talking about this is easy” aaaaand... then peed on myself by accident. Gotta control your stream or things are going to overflow and you’re going to be really sad. And wet. And stinky. Thankfully I had the forethought to practice at home before actually doing this at work/public restrooms but be warned. Being that this is my first one I can’t say if this is common with all packers however I told several of my transmasc friends that do pack and use STP about this experience and they all assured me they did the exact same thing on and off for the first couple weeks and most of them do not have the same brand. We’ve yet to have a repeat at least?

Plus there’s a little attachment rod so I can use it for sexy times with the boyf and also feel what I’m doing to him so there’s that too. 10/10 A+ experience would recommend. The packaging warns you to be careful how you pack because of the way the silicone works, and your partner cannot be on top or ride you, so keep that in mind if you’re considering it. Cleaning is pretty straightforward however and packing feels correct and natural as long as you follow a few rules:

I’ve discovered that whatever size you consider a perfect fit? Unless you like really relaxed fit for your pants, you’ll need to go a size up. I wear tighter clothing and usually skinny jeans at that, and my exact perfect size has been 34/32 for some time now. When packing I need to go up to 36/32 because otherwise wow that crotch is way too tight. I can’t sit down in one of my pairs of jeans and I’m legit sad about it. I also can’t have anything in the pockets of a different pair of jeans or else I have the same tight crotch problem. I went up a size in underwear and that was more comfortable, so I ordered new pants from online and I’ll see if that helps as much as I’m expecting it too.

Speaking of underwear, ymmv, but I genuinely did not expect this. Jockstraps? Super comfy, super durable, and super convenient. Additionally unlike boxers or even briefs, I don’t need a special packing-specific design to be comfortable in one. I never wore one before and honestly this doesn’t even feel like wearing underwear. They’re really just a banana hammock anyway so that’s probably a large part of it, but honestly I would definitely recommend trying them if you haven’t yet. I do have a few pairs of packing briefs and boxers, as well as normal briefs and boxers, and I’ve been alternating between the various types of undies to see which ones I prefer, but I already know my decision so I bought several because I can. One word of advice, though... if your pants ride down understand that your entire butt will be out. I don’t wear low rise pants because they draw too much attention to my waistline and make me super dysphoric, but those that do, watch out.

Jockmail is highly rated and multiple transmasc websites recommend them for packing and I can absolutely see why. Usually the waistband of my underwear irritates my skin and so I was dubious because Jockmail stuff- being that it’s for athletic wear- has a minimum waistband of about 2in... but it’s actually more comfortable and less irritating, rather than the other way around. They also have briefs, boxers (more like short shorts), and boxer briefs, which I also have of the same brand, but... not as comfy. Once again Jockmail is a Hong Kong company so like all East Asian clothes, they run small. I’m a M in most men’s clothing sizes... I am XXL in Jockmail. I also had purchased a brief harness from PeeCock (goes by inches for waist) as well. (Also where I discovered you need to go a size up- I bought a 34in waist brief from PeeCock and it’s a tad tight. I bought a 36in waist brief from Jockmail and it’s perfect. I have been buying 34in waist things for the past few years now- I didn’t suddenly gain 2 inches at the waist, I did suddenly gain a need for a deeper crotch)

If you look down your body from above it will be super obvious that there is a dick there and you will go “oh god I look like I have an erection”. I have been reliably informed that it is actually not true and if you pack correctly a bulge will be there but not so obvious that it looks like you have a raging hardon the whole time. Better to look in the mirror, rather than down your tummy.

(Additionally I voiced my doubts to my boyf who immediately reminded me that most people don’t spend their time staring at someone’s crotch and as long as I wasn’t constantly messing with mine, no one was likely to notice even if I did have an obnoxiously obvious bulge. He then gave me some tips on how to let it hang if I wanted a “natural” look, and when we walked around while I had it on he made sure to check in on my mental health. He’s cute y’all.)

Some (cis) guys will have a specific leg they like to let things hang against. Some switch it up. Some are okay with it hanging straight down provided there’s not a lot of squish happening. Find what feel comfortable and needs the least amount of adjustment for you, and then stick with that. For me, I’ve found straight down or off to the left feels better- a friend of mine prefers off to the right, another straight down only, etc. Also can depend on the size- some (cis) guys I know are a bit smaller down below and are more comfortable with straight down than those with larger weiners.

If you pack you probably need to shave. I was very uncomfortable until I shaved. Now I feel much better packing. So trim that jungle or else you might feel a pinch every few minutes when a hair gets pulled.

And there you have me this morning before I got dressed. As you can see, both fit very nicely. I’m not particularly happy with my stomach or feminine hip set but eh, I cover those with layers and no one bats an eye.

At this point it’s figuring out the whole hormones thing, yelling at my insurance to cover certain surgeries, and... fixing some minor details with my wardrobe... and I’m feeling way more confident than I was a few years ago.

Anyway if anyone has questions feel free to hit me up

[harringroveheart]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren Summary:

Cantonica welcomes Kylo Ren with a storm.

-- Or --

The First Order is broke and Hux forces Kylo to go on a fundraising campaign to Canto Bight. Clone shenanigans ensue.

Chapter One

Cantonica welcomes Kylo Ren with a storm, the wind rising up around him hot and hard, tearing at his hair and cape, urging him with rough intent towards the edge of the flight pad and the sea boiling hungrily some five hundred feet below. Far away, out on the purpling horizon, a spider leg of lightening touches the rind of the world – a smattering of applause and bell-like laughter from the city behind him, one monster waking to greet the other.  

Canto Bight.

The city is just now beginning to rouse, her lighted windows cutting inviting shapes against the darkening sky. Distance turns the nascent sounds of celebration melancholy, almost wistful — tinkling glass and sudden bursts of music, amplified and then snatched away by the unfurling storm — and then drowned out entirely by the deafening beat of repuslorlifts as the First Order shuttle drops out of the atmosphere above him.

The transport bobs gracelessly, engine whining as it struggles to land against the surface’s fierce updraughts, scoring the night air with the metallic taste of ozone. The flight pad, like most things Canto Bight, is more decorative than functional and it had been a welcome validation of Kylo’s piloting skill that he had been able to land his fighter without skating off the platform and into the sea. The rest of the port is empty, the yachts and pleasure cruisers of the galaxy’s wealthy elite stowed away for safekeeping. A shame. Kylo would have liked to see them.

He shakes his head slightly, trying to parse the intrusive memory from his own thoughts.  

Canto Bight had been a favorite story of Ben Solo’s. He'd asked for it again and again as a boy, enraptured each time, tucked into bed by droids the approximate shape of his mother: a city within an island within a tempest — or so the stories went. Kylo sneers half-heartedly at his own nostalgia, a clammy cast on his skin he can’t seem to shake off. In the stories, the city itself was a fortress of jewels, polished and moulded by the desert planet’s fierce winds during the day, glittering as bright as a new star at night, a beacon to greedy trespassers and hungry-hearted adventurers from all corners of the galaxy. In the droids’ stories, the real treasure was always something insipid — a friendship, forgiveness. Love. Now, looking at the city, Kylo is fairly certain the only real treasure of Canto Bight is to be found in a lucky hand of sabacc.

Credits, Kylo reminds himself fighting his distaste for the place and his purpose here. Billions and billions of credits.

The transport has drawn attention, the city unfolding and preening as obvious as an old dame waiting for an audience before putting on her earrings. The house musicians find cohesion, a warm brassy tune soaring to life, fighting the dull blast of landing gear. The streets flood with light, shifting gold and purple, a string of halo-lanterns springing to life along the perimeter of the race track and all the way down to the landing platform. Some of the casino’s early guests drift out onto balconies and terraces in pursuit of the smallest entertainment, opera glasses and libations in hand. The brutish utilitarian shape of the Order transport is an unexpected delight for them, Kylo gleans, a divertissement during the spell of unfortunate weather.

His hand twitches at his side, the feathering of his nervous system in response to the rising thrum of excitement and expectation of the men assembling at his back. He breathes in their nervous energy and turns his attention to the city, its domed plume-like buildings and broad curving balconies, its stepped amphitheaters illuminated by strings of rosy halo-lanterns, its secretive lovers’ gardens and sparkling fountains. The opulence leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Kylo wants to run through every last topiary with his lightsaber.

The stormtroopers are in awe. They have been conditioned not to dream, but this, they think, this must be what dreaming would look like. This is almost as beautiful as the firing of the superweapon.

Kylo allows them their petty fantasies. Under their boots the galaxy is shrinking, planet after planet, almost subdued, and one day this pretty little casino town will be too — even if it won’t look so much like a jewel when they are done with it. And in any case, their childish excitement tastes better than their confusion and their disquiet — both of which Kylo knows the exact rancid smell of. But the salt flats of Crait are far behind them all now, the hollowing ache of doubt soothed by a dozen more recent successful campaigns and a merciless propaganda drive. They have learned to bury their disappointment and their failures in the dirt, under the salt.

There are no graves deep enough to hold Kylo’s failures. He scrubs brine from his lips and turns to survey his company over one shoulder.

Two squads. A token show of force, unnecessary and inescapable. Behind the stormtroopers is an even larger group of non-militants huddled together against the weather: officers with their caps stuffed under their arms; Kylo’s terrifyingly intuitive attendants; the dozen or so bookkeepers and bodyguards in the employ of Jessamine Sphess of Kuat Entralla Industries; and Sphess himself, still ambling down the transport ramp at a glacial pace, a droid at each elbow to prevent the frail old relic from blowing away.

The sight makes something sour in him. In the stories the droids told him the little force-sensitive hero was always alone, always brave. He always stole into the city by himself.

“Orders, sir,” the squadron leader asks at his back.

“Follow,” Kylo says quietly, not bothering to make himself heard over the blowing wind.

A ripple of excitement goes through the ranks regardless, plastisteel rattling as they snap to attention; ready, loyal, their minds gelling one into the other, an expanding mass, a wave of will surrendering to him louder, deeper than the first roll of thunder on the horizon, except for—

There. A sudden splinter of irritation; a familiar itching annoyance, pinching at Kylo’s awareness: Hux, elbowing his way out of the throng of troopers and crew to stab Kylo in the abdomen with his latest weapon of choice: a triple ring binder full of funding requests.

“Excellent flightmanship, Supreme Leader,” Hux says acidly, his face already ruddy with windburn. “How would you like me to account for the excess fuel spend for the venture? As a scouting detail or a joy trip?”

“It’s just called flying, Hux.”

“Oh,” Hux says, all faux-surprise, “Is it? Is that what we train our pilots to do?” He waves a hand behind him at the two black-clad pilots fussing over Kylo’s idle TIE fighter. “I had no idea.”

The wind hardens, whipping around them in a flurry so that the edges of Hux’s greatcoat slap against Kylo’s boots. Hux keeps one arm banded firmly over his chest to keep it snug across his shoulders, determined to look impressive, but the wind has flattened his hair over his forehead, somewhat mitigating the effect.

Kylo scowls down at the binder Hux had just attempted to disembowel him with and shoves it uncaringly at his hovering ensign. “Find it,” he says. The young man bobs out an awkward curtsy under the weight of the thing. “What’s this one then?” he asks Hux disinterestedly.  

Hux sniffs as if he isn’t already pitching a tent over the opportunity to rant about his latest project. As if he hasn’t been staring daggers at the back of Kylo’s head the entire past week, rehearsing.

“An essential initiative, Supreme Leader,” Hux says, falling into step as Kylo takes off over the long spindly walkway towards the city proper. “A non-active asset that will vastly augment our latent military firepower. In layman’s terms—"

Kylo hands over his pilot’s gloves to a valet who has run up alongside them, swapping them for a lighter smoother pair. “I’m not a layman.”

“Of course not,” Hux says slickly. “A pseudo-orbital quantum converter then.”

“What’s that?” Kylo says absently, already intent on not listening – his usual approach to anything Hux says that came with an explanatory memorandum.

“I’m so glad you asked, Supreme Leader—”

The sad thing is, Kylo thinks as Hux launches into one of his characteristic, jaw-droppingly boring speeches, is that he genuinely is. Glad. To have the opportunity to brag about his work, this latest and completely transparent attempt to spend their dwindling reserve of money on an outlandish and improbable feat of technology that will vault his name into the annals of galactic history. Hux has a lack of conversation partners aboard the Finalizer – something which he convinces himself is because of his unmatched intellect, but in truth, Hux just lacks the social skills to recognize that his colleagues don’t enjoy being assaulted with all the glorious minutiae of invention in their rostered lunch break.

His old master, Snoke, pre-bifurcation, had often laughed about it behind Hux’s back – how easy it was to reel the general in with a little flattery, to make him feel singularly intelligent, visionary. Unique. He had only trusted Kylo with that little joke. Only Kylo had been true enough, worthy enough, to share in his master’s contempt…

“—sized reactor that could potentially harness an unprecedented amount of kyber extract—” Hux is saying, working himself into a lather, his pupils turned to pinpoints. Kylo increases the length of his strides so that the man has to skip every fourth step to stay alongside him. Hux has frustratingly long legs, but his commitment to good posture and his uniform typically keeps his steps tight and choppy. Kylo can usually escape him.

“—and with reduced full-power recycle we can achieve pinpoint accuracy, or as I like to call it, pin-planet accuracy.” Hux is chuckling to himself now.

The long crossing from the flight pad to the city has no guardrails and narrows at points. If they continue to walk side by side he can make it look like an accident.

Stars, Hux would just love that. The man has a dozen contingencies in place for his canonization in the event of a wrongful death. He’d probably have to spend the remainder of his leadership staring at a life-sized carbonite statue of the prick.

“What’s the shape?” Kylo asks abruptly, already knowing the answer.

Hux gives a little cough, his rant coming to an abrupt halt. “Spherical,” he says, too neutrally. “A sphere.”

Kylo raises his eyebrows. “Death Star-shaped, would you say?” He holds his hand out without looking back. The ensign passes him two pages of flimsi from the brief.

“Chapter twelve and again in the appendices, sir,” he yells over the wind, grappling with the cumbersome binder and its wildly fluttering pages. “He’s word-replaced Starkiller but there are several truncating inconsistencies, including ‘Untitled Project-Killer Base.’”

Hux scoffs, turning red. “The capabilities of my weapon—”

“You’re not getting funding for Starkiller Two.”

“Of course not. I would never be so on the nose as to call it that,” Hux lies.

The ensign pipes up from behind them, “He’s got Captain Peavey executed again, sir. At page 300 — and again at 313.”

Kylo rolls his eyes. “Remove it.”

“A terrible oversight,” Hux concedes, already holding out a sheaf of replacement pages, paginated and in laminate. “Why kill a man twice.”

“Why kill a man at all,” Kylo mutters.

“Yes, that sounds like sound logic, Supreme Leader,” Hux says snidely.  

“Ensign, announce General Hux’s immediate demotion.”

“Very well, but I would like my binder back,” Hux says.

“Ensign, destroy the binder.”

Hux makes a sharp gesture. “Belay that, Ensign—” His words terminate in an uncharacteristic gasp. In making the gesture he has released his grip on the lapels of his coat and it rips off his shoulders in a whirl, shooting out over the churning water like a giant black bird. Kylo catches it without thinking, a reflex, drawing it back into his grip with the force and shoving it at the general’s chest, taking off towards the city once more before the other man can comment on it.

It only takes seconds for Hux to catch up. “You might at least consider allocating a measure of funds to the commission of some more fitting regalia.” He sounds breathless but his disdain is clear, and Kylo doesn’t need to look to know Hux is eyeing his usual dark clothes with distaste.

“Of course, General,” Kylo says, flip. “Yellow robe or gold?”

Hux levels a scowl at him. “I suppose I should be thankful you’re not in combat blacks. These are friendly negotiations you will remember.” He eyes the lightsaber hilt hooked to Kylo’s belt pointedly. “I’d hoped you would represent the Order in something a little more…diplomatic.”

“That’s rich. I seem to remember a suggestion from your direct superior — that would be me, Hux— that you wear your new dress uniform to the negotiations.”

Hux blanches. “It’s ceremonial.”

“I would prefer you wear it,” Kylo says benevolently.

“I would prefer it weren’t orange.”

“It’s not orange,” Kylo says, enjoying the displeased turmoil of Hux’s emotions. The general preaches against vanity and yet is quite preoccupied with the trappings of his own status. Whenever Kylo grows bored or suspicious enough to tune into Hux’s private moments he more often than not finds the general reverently stroking the rank bands on his uniform sleeve or polishing his jackboots with a fervour unique to the deeply sexually repressed. “I’m surprised, General. I thought you would be well pleased to wear the color of your precious order.”

“My order, sir?”

Kylo clenches his jaw – and then consciously unclenches it, wary of the remaining half-life of his adult teeth. He settles instead for the usual fantasy of Hux being slowly trash compacted to death and shouting ow ow ow quite satisfactorily.

“Our order,” Kylo amends. “That I rule over.”

“Oh yes,” Hux says snidely, ignoring Kylo’s dark tone of warning, “I suppose that’s why you took the title of Supreme Ruler.”

“Actually, I like that. Ensign,” Kylo calls over his shoulder. The young man continues hop-skipping awkwardly to keep up with the two taller men, head buried in his work. “Start new dictation: new call sign and rank: Supreme Ruler.”

Hux’s face drops. “Ren, you— Don’t be absurd. We don’t alliterate.”

“Ensign. Further dictation: Head-General Hux.”

“Stop it, please.”

“Admiral Armitage?”

“Is that an official promotion?”

He’s circled in front of Kylo eagerly, walking backwards, completely undeterred by the wind that pushes him to stagger from side to side. Kylo uses the force to keep him from gaining too much momentum and marching himself right over the edge. Hux doesn’t notice this kindness of course, too busy running his mouth and ruining Kylo’s good mood.

“You know, if the negotiations here go well we may be in a bargaining position with our generous investors to ask for an advance on more than another weapon. We may even be looking at enough security for” — he licks his lips — “fleet expansion.”

“We have a fleet.”

“Not a very big one,” Hux says, his voice lowered, so that only Kylo can hear. “I’m just saying, if you could find it within yourself to be civil to our new business partners for the next few days, you may find we catch more flies with honey than with poison.” He punctuates this statement with a completely fraudulent and objectively terrible smile at someone over Kylo’s shoulder — probably Jessamine Sphess, who, incidentally, Hux is poisoning to death.

“Vinegar.”

Hux looks confused. “How do you kill a man with vinegar?”

“No, that’s not—” Kylo sighs. “Remind me how someone with your backwater upbringing made it up the ranks so fast.”

“The same way as you did, Supreme Leader,” Hux says, slippery as an eel. “With hard work and determination.”

“More like nepotism and assassination,” Kylo mutters.

“Yes. As I said, the same as you.”

Kylo shoots him a warning glance in place of a hand on the other man’s throat. “Careful.”

A small congregation of officials from the Barosi trade delegation have come out to meet them and they huddle together under a gazebo, their vestments snapping on the wind like flags. Their clothing is sheer, Kylo realizes as they draw closer, designed to move and flow with the weather.

“Well, great, everyone’s naked.”

“A cultural eccentricity, Supreme Leader,” Hux says, spinning on his heel to face the delegation, falling back into step at Kylo’s side. Kylo can hear the distinct nasality in his tone that means he is suppressing a smile.  

“You could have warned me.”

“But I did, Supreme Leader. During the initial brief. If I recall correctly, you were ‘just resting your eyes’.”

“Sire!” one of the sheer-robed attendants yells, breaking away from the group to greet them. He bows prettily, his whole cock and balls exposed by an errant gust of wind.

“I believe it is a Barosi custom to exchange greetings in the form a kiss,” Hux says, as insincere as a junker orphan.

Kylo rolls his eyes. Hux and his counterfeit patrician values, assuming that such small intimacies could possibly embarrass Kylo when he’s spent a whole other lifetime bending to kiss papery-dry hands and powdered cheeks at the behest of his mother, and later, to lick blood with adoration from the boots of his master.

“Don’t embarrass me in there,” Kylo says without looking back. “This isn’t Arkanis. People don’t eat with their hands.”

He doesn’t bother to turn to see if the barb lands, already stepping forward to receive the first kiss. The force beats like a second heart under his ribs, quickening to purpose.

[saralaurensmagalona]

Stepbrothers, A Thorki fanfic by Magalona, Chapter one

Hello everyone ! This is a teenage modern day version of Thorki ! With Loki as a moody teen, grieving for his dead mother and Thor a nice quaterback. Lots of hurt, comfort and.... smutty smut ! Enjoy !

It had been a year since the death of Loki's mom. And it wasn't going to be any better for the child she left behind...

Some progress had been made. It was less hard for Loki to see the beautiful grand piano, black and shiny in the reception room, her most treasured instrument, now silenced forever. Loki's mother had been a well-known concert artist. Once upon a time, she had hoped her son would walk in her steps. Of course, Larry Laufeyson, her husband and Loki's father, was not that much enthusiastic about it, having planned for his son and heir to take the reins of his law firm. Before his mother's illness, Loki was fine either way, but had made no definite choice. Then Francesca fell sick, very sick. And then she died and Loki's world collapsed. So being a pianist or a lawyer went to the far bottom of his list of priorities. His father shut down, heartbroken. Their relatives and friends were not much of any help, being as shocked as they were. Beauty, brains, talent, breeding, success, all gone to dust overnight... Who could blame them ?

Loki managed to carry on but barely. As a family, even as wealthy as they were, father and son still had the occasional issues. But the death of Francesca destroyed them both and life since then looked pointless. Each morning, Loki had to go through the same routine. He got ready for his ridiculously expensive private school. His father still in his office, Loki took a breakfast prepared by their governess on his own. As good a cook and sweet a woman as Manuelita was, she wasn't Francesca. She wasn't his mother. As for his father, he kept himself to himself, lately... He and his son were now leading separate lives, barely meeting at supper time and not sharing much anyway. Loki gritted his teeth a lot these times. Sometimes his jaws hurt at night. It happened less and less but it was still very painful. But what more could he do except trying to keep his head out of the waters ?

***

Loki tolerated his high school. And again, “tolerated” was a fairly kind term. Because of his father's money (Larry was one of the main sponsors), or rather thanks to it, he was left in a relative peace. No bullying for him. No one dared for the Laufeysons had a piece of every business pie in town. Attacking Loki Laufeyson meant trouble for you, especially if your Pa (or even your Ma), had a job even remotely connected with Larry Laufeyson. Loki appreciated it. It gave him peace in an usually stressful environment. He was isolated, surely, but he didn't care. He had witnessed firsthand rich kids' bullyism towards kids with lesser means, on scholarship or otherwise. Before his mother's death, he frequently intervened and, as he had been put on a shelf by his father, he had been respected as a protector or a meddling busybody, considering either side's point of view. After his mother died, he retired in his own head and chose not to care anymore. From being a peculiar independent student, he became isolated and definitely creepy...

As class was starting, no one had spoken or even saluted Loki yet. Even his desk was slightly shifted away from the others. Loki preferred it to be so. No useless chitchat or teenage nonsense. Loki felt too old for this shit, to put it bluntly. At only seventeen, he felt decades old, actually. As he was getting his desk ready for the already long day, he heard a rumble throughout the room. Excited muffled squeaks from the usual mice, the stupid cheerleader gang. To Loki's eyes, they were nonexistent, as were their male partners, the sporty gang, but when they were being noisy they were a nuisance. They were running to a group of student to another, looking over their head. Loki couldn't guess what the commotion was. Probably the last Dolce bag or Louboutin shoes or whatever, he internally sneered. Yet, annoying voices made their way through his reluctant ears. “... So handsome ! Came right from...” “... Seen him ?! He's taller than Harry and...” “... My god ! Blond and blue eyes like...” Loki wanted to blow a loud raspberry but his mother would have considered it vulgar. A new jock ! A damn, stupid new jock was all that was about. Well, what else ? Loki hoped that it was not going to be another bother. He already had much on his plate without it... Loki proceed to his usual business, hearing the teacher demanding orders and the ruffle of feet to take place at their seats. He didn't bother raising his head when he heard ridiculously girly gasps and an ominous silence. “ Class, this is your new classmate. Thor Odinson from Dallas. He will...” Loki barely paid any attention. He deigned raising his head to avoid any comment from the teacher. He knew his indifference was an issue for her. So he forced himself into a good look at the stranger. Not bad for a jock. Indeed, a tall blond with a light golden beard and sparkling blue eyes and a restrained but confident smile. He was obviously wearing the biggest size of the school jackets they could have found and still it was a little tight. He scanned the whole class, still smiling to everyone. Already, the girls were ready to swoon and the boys were already toughening up at the sight of the new threatening alpha male... Loki couldn't help but give a little sneer looking at his classmates. It was such an age-old scene, the pack reacting to the new challenging stranger. It could have been a laugh if it hadn't been such a cliché... Loki thought then that the up and coming days would be interesting, full of soap opera dramas. Great. And then he felt the eyes of the stranger on him. Loki had a bothersome chill in his back. The jock was giving him a weird look, as if Loki was something totally out of place in the scenery. That didn't bore good. Loki had a bad history with jocks, athletes and overall guys who thought they were the new sheriff in town. As usual, Loki's defined but slim silhouette, long black hair and cat-green eyes on a desperately pale skin challenged their definition of manly maleness and other societal rules. Loki was a bit impressed but refused to avert this eyes. New jock in town had to know you don't mess too much with Loki Laufeyson, not if your daddy wanted to keep his job safe... Curiously, instead of the usual monkey-like gestures of defiance, the blond jock gave a strange lopsided smile, as if Loki had passed from UFO to something at least interesting. He turned his eyes first for the teacher was asking him to present himself. He did, but Loki didn't hear much of it. Something about being a transfer from Dallas and a former football quarterback. Loki couldn't help but think that Josh Randall, current school's Johnny football hero, popular guy and of course star quarterback wouldn't be pleased to hear this. The incident was over, as far as Loki was concerned. He didn't need that kind of hassle in his life. As he saw the big blond being cheered and settling down to a nearby empty seat. Loki decided it was the last of any interaction or interest he was going to have with mister new guy...

***

The rest of the day was spent in relatively normal routine. Loki was going around from class to class. Sometimes he would have a peak at Mister New Guy, already the center of a court of giggling damsels or at the center of “muy macho” friendly dudes. He had already lost any sign of shyness and was fitting in as he had always been the master of the hen house. Loki gave a neutral smile. Hooray for him. Why would he care as long as Mister Perfect stayed out of his way ? And finally it was time to go home. On his way to the portal, Loki's head was already full with the assignments he had to prepare. After his mother's death, his schoolwork had been less than acceptable. Reality had woken him up when he had realized that his grades would never allow him to go to the college of his dreams to study law. And he didn't want his father to pull any string. He wanted it to be his success. So he had to focus on his work and hard if he wanted to impress and have a perfect recommendation. He was caught up in his thinking that he didn't notice New guy coming to him and bumped into his large chest, making his books and binders fall to the ground. “Sorry ! Sorry ! Here, let me...” New guy scrambled to the floor to pick up the scattered items. Loki, a little upset by the shock, wanted to slap his hand off his stuff but didn't. After all, he was not paying attention and New Guy was trying to be nice... Apparently. “No, no worry... I'll...” Loki tried to argue but New Guy was faster and handed him all the things with a big bright smile that Loki felt as … creepy. Why was he so courteous ? Loki didn't like it any bit. Why were they meeting and in such a stupid way ? Right out of one of these ridiculous TV dramas... “I... Thank you.” Loki didn't know what more to say. New guy smiled again but in an uncertain way. He looked as awkward as Loki. -Look...” The blond decided. “We're in the same class now. I'm Thor Odinson...” He pulled out his hand and Loki reluctantly took it. He didn't want to engage conversation but he didn't want to be rude either. His mother would have never tolerated it. -I know...” Loki said quietly. “You've been introduced this morning...” Thor gave a stupid laugh. -Well, you didn't seem that much interested ! I thought you would not have even noticed... You look really dedicated to your work ! Apparently New Guy wanted to be Fun Guy. Har, har... That started to crawl on Loki's nerves. But self-proclaimed Fun Guy seemed to be in a mood for chat and went on. -You're Loki Laufeyson, right ? Larry Laufeyson's only boy ? Loki frowned. Why the question ? -I am. Seemingly not taking offense of Loki's deliberate coldness, New Guy smiled a broader smile. Loki thought he should audition for a toothpaste commercial or something... -Well, my Mom's Fran Odinson and I think her and your dad...” Before New Guy could say any more, Loki heard a brutal honk. That was his father's chauffeur that usually brought him back. José was Manuelita's son and not a patient man when late on schedule. Loki ran to the car after a quick farewell to a baffled Thor. He was almost ready to thank José for that. The blond guy was a bore and he had no interest about his nonsense...

***

As soon as he had arrived home, Loki felt hungry. He was surprised to find his father in the kitchen. He was joyously pouring himself a drink. He looked feisty. Loki couldn't remember a time when his father had even made the shadow of a smile, after his mother's death. This was... eerie. “ Good day, father ?” He said matter-of-factly trying to make a conversation. Larry cringed. He hated when Loki called him father. -Everything's well and fine, you brat...” He used that word sometimes to tease his son. “Everything's dandy...” He chuckled to himself and went back to his drink. Loki was puzzled. It was the first time in years that his father had seemed so relaxed and … Yes, happy. He chose not to push the matter any more. A light mood was a rare treat for Larry and Loki didn't want to spoil it...

***

The following days had a different touch afterwards. Loki's father was indeed in a better mood. It influenced the whole house for Loki's mind weighed less and even Manuelita and José seemed more light-spirited than usual. Even school was less boring for the presence of New Guy, well, Thor Odinson, brought its daily arrival of excitement. As Loki could have predicted it, Thor became the new king. Josh Randall and his Neanderthal crew were relegated to the shadows, to their great rage. As Thor had proved many times his talents to Coach O'Hara, the much famed role of quarterback had been bestowed on him. So, no revenge was even remotely possible until further notice, for going after Thor was going after Coach O'hara, the football team and thus, the whole school. Loki still didn't care but the sight of Stacy Markson, captain of the cheerleader team and former soul mate of Josh Randall, openly flirting with Odinson. She had ditched the fallen king the very morning after Thor's nomination. It was laughable. Stacy Markson and her whole crew together barely amounted to 50 point of IQ. He hoped Thor had good ears for the hen house's futile giggling was particularly loud... Loki liked being mean... The only peculiar point was that Thor seemed adamant to talk to Loki. It didn't look like harassment. Thor's attitude was not particularly threatening. He was looking for Loki, obviously, showing up at places where he was supposed to be, looking for him in the library, the lab, the hall... Problem was, whatever it might be, it didn't interest Loki and he did everything possible to avoid him. Whether Thor realized or not, he didn't care either. He just hoped Thor would give up and all of this would stop.

Other things were on Loki's mind. Much more disturbing things. A week after Thor's appearance, his father was a totally different man, smiling, laughing and even singing while shaving himself... Loki knew for his father had a very off-key and loud voice when he sang... He came out at evenings and returned late... Loki was sure all of this meant he had met someone. He didn't know what to think of it. It had been barely a year and he was already forgetting the so-called love of his life ? On one hand, Loki wanted his father to be happy, but on the other... It looked like treason. Period. Loki decided to confront his father after a little while. After much dallying, humming and hamming, Larry finally admitted that, yes, he was dating someone. Loki was mad at himself to feel so hurt. He tried to control it. The idea that someone could be replacing his mother in his father's heart was simply unbearable. He tried at least to look amiable, not to push his father's off. Larry Laufeyson was not known for his patience... “And who the lucky lady might be ?” He hoped that his voice didn't sound too sarcastic. His father gave an embarrassed laugh. “That's our new CEO at the firm, a lady from Texas, can you imagine ?” He laughed again and his cheeks turned red. “Her name's Fran Odinson. I think her son has integrated your class. You are of the same age. Haven't you met a big blond guy named Thor ?”