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ok but jason momoa with fangs 👀 I am frothing at the mouth
#the grimy long nails are kinda doing it for me too..#my mom put on this movie#i also think nemo's dad is kinda hot 😏#I'm just a dilf lover can u blame me#but back on the topic#jason's character can GET IT#kinda want jason to play a werewolf#I'd say a vampire#but I'm getting werewolf vibes from him#slumberland#slumberland 2022#c
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Operation: Protect The Kid
Brotherly Jake Seresin x Reader
Warnings:past child abuse, confrontation happens, religious guilt tactic is used against the oc, insecurity/self doubt,reader is 23—jake is 36, Jake protecting his wingman/woman idk, sprinkle of curse words, mentions of alcoholism
Summary: “I’d never thought…I was worth being protected and saved. Since I was a little girl the only two words I knew were unlovable and broken”. Tilliy sighed, placing her head on Jake’s shoulder.
ofc:Tilly Lewis/ i couldn’t think of a callsign.
AN: this is the fic from the poll, i’ve started like 3 diff fics and finished half way trying to nail a brotherly jake. I made Tilly’s and Jakes age gap bigger, even tho cannoically I feel like Jake way younger than 36, and also i feel their relationship is bro/sis whilst also being mentor/mentee— since Tilly probably graduated like year or two ago. Enjoy reading ❤️ :)
- kinda short/kinda long, idk if i like the ending
—
Everytime I look in the mirror, I see the little girl who gotten beaten for just breathing and teenage me getting knocked around for looking in their direction.
—
It was small things at first. Smackings across the face, belt marks covering her ass, soap in her mouth each and everytime her parents deemed she talked out of turn. It’s normal— Tilliy thought as a little girl, it was drilled into her head like that..not until her freshman year of college she spent thirty minutes in her dorm crying after a child abuse seminar did she realize it wasn’t.
“Matilda Patrice Lewis, you look at me when I’m talking to you”. a belt ripped across her back. “I don’t love you sweetheart, and to be honest no one ever will”.
“Don’t cheat” Hangman smirked handing her a poolstick, before he walked away to get another beer.
They noticed Tilly first, before she could even get a chance to hide. She ignored the feeling of danger lingering around her, shrugged it off as guilt from the uranium mission still in lingerin. Its been so long since Tilly had to protect herself that she forgot the feeling of hatred and anger getting closer.
“Sunday’s is for worshipping god, not for drinking with the devil Matilda”, Tilly inhaled heavily—she hoped that voice didn’t belong to her, quite honestly Tilly had long gone forgotten her mother’s voice only time she remembered it is when she’s was having a bad day. Like always her mother had a way when with commanding attention to herself, Tilly could feel her mother’s anger—it was getting thicker and thicker by the minute.
“Matilda, dear I recognize those ugly back scars from anywhere”, Yeah because you and dad put them there, Tilly so badly wanted to say but her inner conscious reminded her father was behind her mother—and he never hesitated to beat the shit out of her.
Tilly had no choice but turn around, she always did feel cowardly under her mother’s gaze.
“Oh Matilda we’ve been waiting for you come home”, her eyes glistening with the tears, her shoulders close to shaking— if only she meant it, if only her mother’s sadness and her father’s grimy face were actually sincere. Too many lessons nagged at Tilly’s face, the memories of beatings coming back at full speed. “How can we love someone so broken?”.
“Inhale and exhale.. Tilly, your parents have no control over you any more… you are free”, Doctor Mandy words echoed in her mind.
“You left us alone Matilda, we didn’t know if our daughter was okay”, her father spoke, “Do you not love us?”.
Tilly shrinks back at that, does she love them?, do they finally love her?
She feels someone step behind her, she immediately realized who it was his cologne is a dead giveaway. Hangman. Tilly slighty caught his stance out of the side of her eye, protective and angry.
“Are you okay Tilly?”, before she got a chance to speak she was cut off by her mother’s harsh words. “Matilda, her name is Matilda— Tilly is too childish for a twenty three year old woman”.
“With all do respect ma’am Tilly, Is what she wants to go by and I fully respect it”. Jake says with a fake smile, any chance too show off his teeth.
“We weren’t speaking to you boy”, her father bit out, and Tilly could see his alcohol rotted teeth, three to five packs of beer a day coming back to bite him in the ass.
“I’m Jake Seresin, Tilly’s bestfriend and wingman” Jake held up his hand, not giving either a chance to speak a word. “You two, should be proud of your daughter because despite being shitty parents, Tilly made sure she didn’t become like y’all”.
“We—”, her mother tried again.
“I’m not done”. Jake crossed his arms over his chest.“You too need to listen, Tilly owes you both nothing… she had a choice to walk away from you both and yet here she is for some damn reason hearing you too out”.
“Goodbye Matilda” her father says and her mother looks almost disappointed that Tilly didn’t fall for her trap again. They didn’t give Tilly a chance to answer, they both turn on their heel. The sound of the hard deck door closing was the best sound she’s ever heard.
“Thank you”, Tilly says and its barely above a whisper.
“No need to welcome me kiddo”, Jake drapes a arm over Tillys’s tender shoulders, easily relaxing her. ”You have my six, I have your six”.
“C’mere kiddo” Jake softly commanded, his eyes are softer than ever, “I love you Tilly”. Tilly fell into his embrace— she finally allowed herself to breakdown, the nagging pain of a little girl who had only wanted to be loved was far too much to hold back this time around.
“I’m sorry Jake”, she whispered into his chest.
“For what Tilly?”, he’s rubbing his hand up and down her back.
“For…not being brave enough to stand up for myself” a sob falls from her mouth. “Im so sorry”.
“Oh…Tilly, you’ve been brave for too long— you need to know there someone in your corner”. he pressed a kiss into Tilly’s head.
“Ok”
“Come on kid, lets go back to my place”. Lets go home.
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Long Way From Home
A/n: Idk what this is or if it will become anything. Just a little idea I had running around in my head and I haven't had enough motivation to write something long. I know that the reader's part of this doesn't entirely make sense but I mainly just wanted to post something since I'd like to post more this year in general. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy and had a happy holiday season!
Word Count: 721
Pairing: Loki x gn!reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings: little bit o' angst, kinda rushed writing
Summary: Loki finds you while time slipping
Loki didn’t know why he was here, why he was in some Midgardian town of all places. Ouroboros, or Doug he supposed, had told him to think of someone he cared about. At first, he had thought he was back on Asgard but he didn’t recognize the cabin that was at the edge of the woods and the palace was nowhere to be seen. As he followed the cobbled path to the house he spotted the reason he was brought here, you. “You’re home.” You hummed with a small smile as you looked up at the god. Loki, on the other hand, had frozen in place. You weren’t crouched in the garden, hands in the dirt as you worked on planting the newest addition to the lush flowers around you. He hadn’t seen you in years, millennia even. When he was younger, he had dreamed of a home like this, a home with you. But that had been ripped away from him like many other things in his life. “Close your mouth love, you’ll catch flies.” Your voice pulled him from his trance, he hadn’t realized that his jaw had dropped until you mentioned it. Doing as he was told, he closed his mouth before closing the gap between the two of you, sitting by your side and pulling you in for a tight hug before he could think of the consequences.
Your hands flung out and away from his cloak, not wanting to make a mess of things as he held you closely. “I take it it's been a long day.” You mused, your smile never leaving your lips. “Why don’t you head inside and rest? I’ll follow you in after I’ve finished planting and then start on dinner. Loki shook his head which was buried in your neck. “I think I’ll stay out here.” He mused “Perhaps you need help in the garden?” You looked at him, bewildered “You have never once wanted to help me in this garden. You’re always worried about the dirt getting under your nails and looking grimy. I believe you said, and I quote ‘the royal advisor must always look his best, even if it is his brother who is king.’ Or something about looking unkempt.” You had dropped your voice a few octaves to try and match his, straightening your back and pointing your nose to the sky as you mimicked him. He never thought he’d be so happy to hear you mock him. He’d always pretended to hate it when you did that, the both of you knew he’d secretly loved it though, just like everything else about you. “Perhaps just this once,” Loki spoke, trying to play his old self as best he could, not wanting to worry you. “I’ll just have to take extra care washing tonight.” “I suppose you’ll want my help with that as well.” You feigned a sigh as you went back to planting the few plants you had left. Even if Loki never lifted a finger, you’d be happy to have the company. “Who knew a prince would be so helpless.” You continued to tease.
As the last plant went into the ground, he helped you stand and walked over to the fruiting plants as you picked a few things for dinner. He noted that they were all the ingredients for his favorite meal. The knowing smile on his lips was not lost on you as you worked, handing him a berry from one of the bushes to check its ripeness. “We’ll need to pick these tomorrow.” You hummed “Perhaps I can make some mead with them. And jam.” You mused aloud before turning to head into the house. You opened the door and held it for him, turning behind you to find the garden empty. You sighed, looking down at your basket, and frowned. You’d known it was too good to be true. Taking a deep breath you made your way into your home and began to make dinner, serving a small plate to the place at the head of the table that had remained empty since Loki had sent you and the other Asgardians to safety after spotting Thanos’ ship.
Loki blinked as he stood in the room with O.B. He had to get back there, back to you, he just didn’t know how.
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The sun was setting as rays of sunshine were shining into your office, Taeyong laying his head on your thighs while you were finishing up a phone call with one of your assistants, he always caught you when you got busy.
"Yes, yes we'll talk more on this tomorrow Norilyn" your red nail was swirling in his silver hair, his eyes looking at all of the large custom made pictures of him from his 2019 SuperM mini album photoshoot that was one of your favorite shoots of all time that was plastered all over your walls.
"Okay, okay! I'll see you tomorrow! Bye!" you hung up the phone as you took a long sigh "I'm sorry about that, you always come in here at the wrong time, little rose " the phone getting thrown on the other side of the couch, your hand running through his hair while you smiled at him.
"It's okay goddess, I wanted to see you though, I missed you"
"I was just downstairs an hour ago, sweetheart"
He giggled and played with one of the rings you bought him as he looked at the pictures again.
"I never realized you had so many pictures of me in here, I don't come in your office too often since you're always busy with business stuff and I'm always cooking and cleaning"
"You know that you're always welcome in here! Surprised you didn't know about these pretty pictures of you in my office"
"I remember the day these pictures were taken"
"Oh God, please don't bring that day up, it was pure chaos"
Your finger ran over his gorgeous scar under his right eye, bringing back a memory from that photoshoot "I hate to bring this up, but do you remember that lady who made that nasty comment towards you?"
His brows furrowed in confusion until he realized what you were talking about "Oh yes yes! I don't remember exactly she said but you weren't very happy about it"
"OH I WAS FUCKING LIVID"
The shoot was coming to a close while you watched Taeyong do a bunch of sultry poses in front of a grimy bathroom wall while Norilyn was standing next to you, noticing how your eyes were glued to him.
"He looks great"
"Make sure that jacket gets packed up and put in the car, i'm taking it home with me! And these pictures are going up in my office"
“Boss, that jacket is $4,000!”
“They can bill me. $4,000 is nothing”
Taeyong gave you a shy smile as you looked at him, you kinda went a bit dramatic with your outfit and hair to match the vibe of the shoot theme. Not only were eyes on him but they were on you as well since you always wanted to make a statement everywhere you went.
"OH TAEYONG YOU DID A WONDERFUL JOB!" A young woman said while walking over to him, fixing the studded Celine jacket and other parts of the outfit.
"Oh thank you!"
"Pictures came out very nice except for one thing…" her eyes go to the scar on his face.
"This scar you have, it makes you look ugly. You have a gorgeous face and everyone loves it, but this scar is an issue" Norilyn's ear perked up when she heard the lady speak with an attitude in her voice.
"Oh but don't worry, we'll fix it in editing" she gave an evil giggle before walking away to the back, Taeyong's eyes glued to his white boots.
"Oh y/n is gonna flip" she said as she watched Taeyong walk toward her looking upset and his eyes just staying toward the ground.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay"
"You don't look like it...did that woman say something to you?"
His head lifted as he heard heels clicking, your eyes already knowing something is off.
"What happened?"
"Tell her! If not then I will!!!"
"Heard what?" Your brow raised in confusion as you watched him shuffle his feet, Norilyn turning to you quickly before he good open his mouth.
"This woman was talking about his scar, she said it made him look ugly and how it'll be taken out with editing"
"She. Said. WHAT!?"
Your mouth fell open as you took a double take to what you just heard, rage started filling your eyes as you looked around you, trying to find who said the comment, then looking at Taeyong with pure frustration.
"Taeyong, who said that to you? Tell me right now"
"Boss, let's not get hostile now" she tried to touch your shoulder, but you pulled it away.
"NO NO NO! Nobody isn't gonna make snarky comments towards my clients, especially not towards him! Taeyong you have five fucking seconds to tell me…WHO TOLD YOU THAT?"
A photographer came over wanting to take a few more photos of Taeyong before ending the shoot, a perfect time for you to find who made the rude comment. You asked him where and who she was, she was his boss who had stepped away from the chaos of the shoot, she was in a room that was down the hall.
"Stay here with him, I'm gonna go find this bitch"
"PLEASE don't do anything crazy" Norilyn knew how aggressive you can be when you were pissed off, especially if it involves your #1 client.
"I'm just gonna go talk to her, after this is over, bring Taeyong to his dressing room and I'll meet you in there" she looked at you as you walked down the hall to the door appearing right away as you banged your fist hard against it.
"COME IN!!"
The woman turned in her chair as she watched you walk in, closing the door behind you.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Y/N L/N, Taeyong's manager" you crossed your arms as the woman gasped and laughed shortly after "So you're the one who was bossing people around when I wasn't here! How are you? Also I didn't know that his manager dresses like a whore" you rolled your eyes at the weak dig she threw at you.
"Oh don't start that shit with me, I came here to talk because I heard you made a sly ass comment toward Taeyong, something about his scar? My assistant heard the whole thing"
"Hmmmm oh yeah! I told him that we were gonna edit out that ugly scar, it's gonna ruin the picture" your eye started to twitch severely as you stared at this vile woman. Taeyong was insecure about his scar, he thought that it was ugly until he started getting many sweet comments from his fans about it looking like a rose or a butterfly, you actually forget that he had until you look at him dead in the face and you thought it was beautiful. It was also one of the reasons why you called him "little rose".
"I just wanted to come in here and ask that you apologize to him" the woman laughed as she got up from her chair "And what if I don't? You gonna do something about it, bitch?" You took a deep breath as you pulled her arm and pulled her back toward your chest.
"HEY! LET ME GO YOU-" the woman stopped talking as she felt something sharp poke her back, figuring out it was knife that you had hidden on your thigh under your black body-con dress.
"Listen here cunt, I'm gonna give you 30 seconds to give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you. I recommend that you walk your frumpy ass out of this room and apologize to my little rose for that comment you made or I'll slit your fucking throat"
A smart ass chuckle left her mouth "So you're gonna kill me if I don't apologize? Does Taeyong know that he's managed by a psyc-" the knife poked her back a little more "Okay okay okay okay! I'll apologize, take it easy with the knife"
"Don't let what she said get to you, she's just jealous" Taeyong sat in the chair looking upset still from the comment, messing with a eyeshadow brush while Norilyn stood by him, waiting for you to come back.
~"Where did she go?"~
Norilyn thought as she heard a knock at the dressing room door, running to go answer, then opening it to see you standing there.
"There you are! Did you find the lady?"
"I did"
You smiled as you pushed the woman into the dressing room, your assistant moving out the way as he turned in the chair facing you "Norilyn, can you step out for a minute?" She nodded as she walked out the room, your hand nudged her shoulder to get her to speak, hoping no poisonous words leave her mouth.
"I'm very sorry for making that comment towards you. It was very inappropriate and rude of me to say that, kinda showing how unprofessional I was, if you don't accept my apology then I understand"
You nodded your head as you glanced at Taeyong, his pretty face looking at her with confusion, not knowing that you had a knife poking into her back while she apologized to him, still keeping your promise that you would kill her if she did or said anything stupid.
"She won't be editing out anything off your pretty face, isn't that right Francesca?" She nodded at the question as she gulped from the pain of the knife in her back, a small smile appearing on Taeyong's face as you let the knife up off her back "How about you be a good girl and get out of here and start working on those pictures, hm?" Francesca gave you a fake smile as she walked out of the dressing room, the knife hiding behind your back as you watched her walk away.
"I'll be back, Taeyong!"
SLAM
"Now was that hard to do?"
"No...."
"Good, Now I just wanna set one thing straight with you. If you ever hear you say something about Taeyong again, I will have you killed on the spot, are we clear bitch?" The knife poked into her stomach lightly "Nobody and I mean NOBODY threatens my rose…I'm not the bitch that you wanna fuck with" Francesca gulped lightly as you turned your back away from her, going back into the dressing room while giving her a nasty glare, the knife going back under your dress.
"Psycho bitch….nobody fucking threatens me”
Back in the dressing room, you counted down from ten to regress your anger from Francesca. You were happy that she gave an apology but you knew that Taeyong was still hurt by it, which was totally understandable. You took a seat on the counter of the vanity, your finger going under his chin to make him look at you.
“Little rose, now I've taught you to always speak up if something happens, okay? You don't need to keep your mouth shut if someone is being disrespectful towards you. Do you understand me? I'm not gonna let people treat you like shit, you don't deserve that”
Taeyong was still quiet after hearing you speak, you looked at the Celine jacket and was just amazed by how unique it was and how good it looked on him. Trying your hardest not rail him on the couch.
“Answer me, little rose”
“Yes ma'am”
“That's my good boy, also can you get up for a second?”
"Okay!"
Once he got up, you pushed his whole body against the couch and your lips crashing into his in a split second, the both of you in a flutter of messy kisses. Your lips going down the side of his neck and sucking hard to make sure you left a hickey or two. Pure terror appeared in Taeyong's chocolate eyes as he looked at you.
"Love it when you get all scared when I do things like this to you, little rose"
"G..goddess, s..someone could walk in!"
"Relax. I'm just gonna mark you a little bit so everyone knows that you're mine. And if we can't make it till we get home, then we'll fuck in the car. You look too good in this jacket for me to not ruin you"
The blush on his cheeks made you smile along with the knife appearing in the mirror that just made you realize you would do ANYTHING to protect this boy.
The End.
Fun fact: I was originally gonna post this mini on October 4th of last year which is SuperM's debut date for their anniversary but I never got around to doing that 😂😂 I really do feel like tyongfs would root for this woman honestly 🙌🏾 she fuckin threated to stab a bitch for Taeyong...that is CRAZY 🤯
Anywho! Hope ya'll enjoy 💋
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❣️🚫💓 for anyone you wanna answer for !!
doing all these for daryl lalalala
❣️describe a time one of you almost took a chance at making a move on the other, only to chicken out.
during the farm era daryl still was like. def not feeling it. he doesnt even really think about romantic gestures or whether or not somebodies making a pass at him to begin with unless somebody is very blunt about it and im anything but blunt when it comes to romance stuff bc im a pussy. anyways we were getting friendlier ofc but i started to get my first inkling of a crush here and tried to test the waters. i am a bit of a natural flirt but in a way that i dont even know im doing it so when i flirt with intention its very awkward so he def thought i was just talking to him and maybe nervous for unrelated reasons. i just kinda gave up bc my game is abysmal.
🚫 what was holding you/them back from making a move or confessing your feelings?
im like. so intensely scared of rejection bc my rsd makes me spiral to a point of suicidal ideation (awkward!) so i really just do not confess unless i know its reciprocated and even when its obvious i need like verbal confirmation most of the time. its something im working on but it def prevents me from confessing for yearssss like sure ill flirt and make jokes about us getting together but its just toeing the line of plausible deniability given my general sense of humor and how often i flirt with my friends anyways that i can retract it without too much doubt
daryl on the other hand takes like actual years to develop feelings for anyone so he wasnt really holding back, he just didnt have them for a long time and once he did it was just kind of like. obvious it was reciprocated. anyone with eyes could see how i bad i want his grimy ass.
💓 (if applicable) what moment made you realize you were in love with them?
(light spoilers for s2 if u wanna skip til u watch!!)
it wasnt a specific moment but watching him try so hard to find sofia and go out of his way to comfort carol who he had no prior care for all just because he gets how it feels to lose a loved one kind of sealed the deal for me. like nobody really made her feel safe or like they were going to get her baby back like he did and i dont know if anyone else couldve anyways. he really fought tooth and fucking nail for that girl.
#shit self#asks#stonedstevie#i tried not to be too spoilery but its inevitable with that last answer#my daryl is very demi if that wasnt clear#daryl tag 🏹
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(Enby) Hange Hcs ♡
i love love love non binary Hange but i think some cis people just see enbys as just Girl/Boy But Quirky™ which is very transphobic btw!! ill write some more info abt writing enby characters under the cut if yall want some tips/info BUT ANYWAY
im trans and non binary so i have brought it upon myself make some super queer headcanons :)
((no tws minus some mentions of dysphoria and genitalia but in a non sexual way!))
( these are separated into AMAB and AFAB hange, i may do some intersex ones too after some research but let me know if yall like these hcs! ) ✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
General Hcs;
- they came out to their family relatively young, about 13/14 yrs of age. the only none family members they really 'came out' to were Moblit and Mike. after that, they didnt feel the need to explain their identity to anyone else and only ever corrected people on their pronouns (which they also gave up on later in their 20s /pos)
- always kinda figured they deviated in some way, theyve always been curious and love to learn so the concept of the LGBT wasnt new nor was it scary for them to realise they're nb. they accepted and embraced it really quickly!
- more so alignes with 'genderqueer' than trans but isnt super picky about labels as a whole. Hange is Just Hange™
- would describe their gender as 2008 Toyota Carolla with full confidence and no elaboration
★ AFAB Hange;
- either binds or got a reduction/top surgery; they sometimes dont mind their chest being more visable but most of the time prefer it flat.
- maxed out around 5'9 in college and they will ALWAYS brag about it smh
- hormone blocker kid! then they started testosterone for 2 and a half yrs before finishing their transition. theyre also super lucky bc they didnt need loads of vocal training to get their deeper voice
- naturally broader shoulders and narrow hips that really helped them with their dysphoria when they were younger
- Hange has a very very eccentric gender expression with odd jewelry and a lot of brown/gold tones
- flag hoarder; they dont really hang up flags in their home since theyre flammable and generally pesky to put up but they have many badges and patches (i hc that hange likes collecting random stuff, like a magpie). their favourite flags currently are the queer flag, genderqueer flag, they/them lesbian flag and a variant of the T4T* flag. YES they do have a mental encyclopedia of obscure lgbt flags and the girls who get it, get it
- makes strap on jokes more than ymir and they're not funny
★ AMAB Hange;
- doesnt take estrogen and generally isnt super dysphoric about their body. most of their physical dysphoria is about their voice.
- would identify as non dysphoric but they've definitely got social dysphoria** (though theyd argue it isnt super debilitating)
- naturally rounder shoulders and a slimmer waist, it helps on more feminine days (imagine them in a corset hh-)
- generally quite muscular with a little tummy and arm chub. just looking at them they look rather healthy but we all know hange eats like a raccoon
- they dont have a super big/prominent chest so every so often they'll wear a padded bra or cleavage enhancers
- Hanges expression is more 60s/70s inspired. kinda like a sexy unhinged science professor aesthetic
- Hange likes keeping their nails long but they get chipped and grimy and Levi things its gross lmao
- they definitely have a cute desk flag that maybe Moblit made for them (that was specifically curated to be fire retardant and easily cleaned)
- makes way more strap on jokes and they're actually kinda funny but nobody will admit it except for connie (because he isnt aware of the dangers of stroking Hanges ego)
°
°
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terminology + tips under the cut!
* = T4T stands for Trans4Trans aka trans people who prefer to or exclusively date (or are attracted to) other fellow trans people based on the commonality of trans experience
** = social dysphoria is dysphoria (distress/discomfort) triggered by not being perceived as your gender. for example, Hange may become dysphoric when people assume they are a man/woman or refer to them with binary pronouns.
TIPS; when writing for non binary people, please be conscious that you are representing a real community and identity in your writing.
((you can always google 'how to write a trans/non binary character' and get some ideas))
non binary people are NOT MEN OR WOMEN. thats the whole point. so try to write them with either both feminine or masculine traits for the sake of retaining gender ambiguity OR you can give them brand new traits that are separate from gender stereotypes.
its really transphobic and regressive when people write us and treat us like we're just men/women who are a little different. that completely dismisses our identities, experience and history. theres a big stereotype that nb people are all white afab/female people and that is also wrong. you dont have to be born or look a certain way to be non binary and trans people exist in all cultures and walks of life.
there is no trans experience that is exactly the same and as writers we need to be mindful and respectful of the people we are potentially empowering or hurting.
if you want to get an accurate picture of what being trans/non binary is like, literally just reach out to a trans/nb person and ask if they want to give you their input! this is especially helpful if you want to write about any struggles that a trans/nb character is facing.
for the record my dms are open for any questions, explanations or clarifications and i will try my best :) if you dont know any trans people and want to write about them you can also message me, im happy to provide any insight!
#aot headcanons#hange zoe#snk hange#snk hanji#hanje zoe#hange zoë#aot#aot imagines#aot hange#non binary hange#hange headcanons
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TomTom the Minotaur, Pt. 1
Minotaur man with human woman, vaginal fingering
When attempting to traverse an eldritch forest hell bent on leading you astray, it's vital to hire a guide with an excellent sense of direction. It's less vital that he be charming and sexy, but it sure helps pass the time.
“Worth every penny.” That's what his reviews say.
Seeing him in person, I feel less anxious about the journey ahead. Tall and broad, his skin a gorgeous dark brown speckled over in white freckles like stars, horns gleaming and wickedly curved and broad as his shoulders. He'd be intimidating if it wasn't for the kindness of his face. He's damn handsome, but that's not why I hired him. Well, not the only reason.
His mouth curves in an easy smile as I approach. He looks down at me as he finishes rolling the sleeves of his plaid button-down up, revealing the sculpted muscles of his massive forearms. “You must be Stella.”
I shake his hand, my own completely swallowed in his, though his grip is gentle and warm. “Yes, and you're Tom?”
“Yes, ma'am. Your email said this is your first time crossing the Briarwood?” he asks, friendly brown eyes crinkled at the corners in polite curiosity.
“It is, and I'm pretty nervous about it actually.” I admit.
“Understandable, it's a very disorienting place, especially for humans. I'll get you through it, don't you worry. My family has been guiding people through for generations, I practically grew up in there. I've never lost a traveler.”
His confidence is earned; he's legendary even among guides and has the rating to prove it on NaviGate. His services have the price tag to match. Too many people try to cross on their own, or turn to disreputable-but-cheap “guides” who most likely ditch their charges and pocket the money. Disappearances are commonplace. I don't want that to be me.
“I'm counting on your reputation's accuracy, TomTom.” I smirk.
“Are they still calling me that?” he grimaces, one hand rubbing the back of his neck(and putting his glorious biceps on display). “Embarrassing nicknames aside, I don't want you to worry. I'm taking you the safest way though the woods. It's the slowest route, but we won't run into trouble. Should be very boring.”
“Boring is good! I've got all my gear,” I gesture with my head to the large camping backpack I'm sporting. “I'm trying to just think of it as a long camping trip.”
“That's good, that's basically what it is. We're not getting anywhere near any settlements or dens in there, we shouldn't see anyone else the whole time. I hope you brought something to keep you entertained.”
“I've got a bunch of digital books and podcasts downloaded, and a solar battery. And a couple print books.”
“Good call, sometimes the sun doesn't break through the canopy for a few days.” Tom hefts his own massive pack onto his back, hooking his thumbs into the straps. “Shall we?”
I follow him as we take our first steps onto the trailhead that, with his help, should deliver me safely through the Briarwoods, one month from now.
“I kinda expected it to be more...creepy in here.” I say.
Tom chuckles. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. I think it would actually be less sinister if it did look more creepy and dark and gloomy. It's not just that the path shifts and changes, it's that the forest tries to distract you as well as disorient. Like...look up ahead there.”
He points off to the left, up along the trail, to a meadow of golden grass waving in a gentle breeze. The edges of the meadow disappear into a grove of quaking aspen trees, leaves shimmering like golden coins as they catch the light. Suddenly, the whisper of wings reaches me as hundreds of iridescent green butterflies rise from the meadow in a dazzling display of color.
“...Wow.” I breathe.
“Yeah. It's pretty. And absolutely a trap. You set one foot in there, you'll be asleep in seconds.”
I peek into the grass as we pass the meadow, making sure to keep my feet well within the trail. I see bones poking out of the dark earth, and a sunbleached skull staring eyeless at the sky. With a shudder, I turn back to Tom.
The first week of our journey is pretty straightforward. He points out the forest's traps and lures to me. After one incident where I nearly wandered off, following some windswept notes of birdsong(“That wasn't a bird...” he warns), Tom takes to holding my hand as we walk through particularly dangerous stretches of the trail. I certainly don't mind. At night he sleeps in front of the entrance to our shared tent, to keep me from wandering off without waking him. When it happens, he turns me back to my sleeping bag and gently hushes me until I lay back down and sleep. And then teases me mercilessly in the morning.
“If you're so keen on a night stroll, just wake me up, I'd be happy to keep you company.” he winks.
“It's not my fault! It's the damn sirens!” I laugh.
“They're not really sirens.” Tom says. “It's just the forest trying to trick you.”
We're sharing a meal during a lunch rest in a rather lovely spot next to a river. The sun has actually made an appearance today, so I have my solar charger out.
“What's the scariest thing you've ever encountered in the forest?” I ask.
Tom is very still for a while, brow furrowed as he considers his answer. “I think...the scariest times are when the forest has gotten to know you, and it knows what you're afraid of, and it uses that against you.”
He says this very quietly, with the manner of someone who speaks from experience. I don't pry further.
The river is safe, he says, and clear. We take the opportunity to wash clothes and refill canteens.
“Do we have to get back on the trail, or can I wash? I feel pretty grimy...”
“You set the pace, Stella, I'm just here to keep you out of trouble.” he grins. “I wouldn't mind getting clean either. You go ahead first, I'll keep my back to the water, and you just keep talking to me so I know you're alright.”
“Such a gentleman, respecting my modesty.” I tease. I peel off my trail clothes from that morning and give them a quick wash, hanging them up to dry on the line with the other clothes, while I chat with Tom's back. The water is cold and bracing, but invigorating.
“It'll be a few days before we come across another safe water source.” Tom says. “There's a spring we should run into tomorrow but you can absolutely not touch it.”
I drag my nails through my hair, raking the dirt and debris out of it before rinsing it in the river. “Is it cursed? Haunted?”
“It's a mouth.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I dry off with the superabsorbent camping towel I bought for this trip, slip on my pajama shorts and a tshirt, and join Tom where he sits on a log. “Your turn!”
Tom stands and steps back over the log toward the river. I keep my back to him as he strips off his shirt, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I glance back over my shoulder. He bends down to take off his boots, and I take in the sight of his impressive backside straining the seams of his jeans. I'm lost in daydreams when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the jeans and pushes them down around his hips, taking his briefs with them. The lines of muscle in his back, the play of light and shadow over the planes and curves of his body are stunning. He bends down to remove the clothes and catches me staring, doing a double-take at my expression.
“Hey, what about my modesty?” he asks with a cheeky grin, one eyebrow lifted in challenge.
I whip my head back around, cheeks burning. “I'm sorry, that was...so inappropriate of me!”
He laughs, voice like warm caramel. “Minotaurs bathe communally, I'm not shy.”
I keep my eyes focused on my shoes. “I went to a minotaur-owned bathhouse in Alberta with my mom once.”
I cringe. Why did I feel the need to say that?
“Yeah? What did you think?” he asks.
“It was nice, I really loved the olive oil soaps.”
“I have some in my pack, can you fish one out for me?”
My mind short-circuits for a second. I dig through the pockets of Tom's pack until I find one of the small bars. When I turn to face Tom, my mouth goes dry.
He's standing hip-deep in the river, sunlight reflecting off the water and making his rich sable coat glisten. His head is tipped back, arms up as he arches his back, and it's obvious he's putting on a show for me. So I indulge myself, and let my eyes trail over his biceps, his horns, the thick corded muscles of his neck, rivulets of water dripping down his body. The firm planes of his abs ripple under the smooth skin that replaces the coat of his shoulders and back. Those white starry freckles splash here, too, and I follow their trail down to a thicker nest of hair where his hips meet the water.
When I manage to drag my eyes back up to his face, he's watching me with amusement.
“I love the way your skin pinks like that when you're embarrassed.” his voice is a deep rumble. He tips his head down to look at me, the gold rings in his ears and nose sparkling at me. “Or...maybe you're turned on, not embarrassed at all.”
Feeling bold, I wade into the river, not caring that my shorts and tee are now soaked and clinging to my skin. From the way Tom is staring, he doesn't care either. I hold out the soap.
“Did you need this?”
“Thanks.” he plucks the soap from my hand, lathers it up, and begins working the suds over his chest, never breaking eye contact. “Your clothes are all wet, Stella. You should hang them up to dry.”
I consider the implications for a moment, before deliberately turning away and wading back to the shore, acutely aware of my clothes clinging to the curves of my ass, my breasts. I peel them off, bending at the waist with my ass directed Tom's way, and I'm rewarded with his deep rumble of approval. Straightening, I wring the clothes out and hang them on the line, glancing over my shoulder at Tom. He's washing his arms, flexing them more than is strictly necessary.
In for a penny, in for a pound...
I wade back out to him and hold my hand out for the soap. “Looks like you could use a hand?”
The smile he graces me with is wickedness incarnate. “Obliged, ma'am.”
I lather up the soap in my hands and move around him to his back, running my hands up along his spine and fanning them out over his shoulders, as high as I can reach. He makes a pleased sound, deep in his chest, as I massage the soap into his shoulders, where his coat is thicker. I use my nails to rake the soap through, gratified as his head tips back and he moans. Moving on, I scrub down his back, appreciating how hard his muscles feel under my hands. I palm his firm ass and he laughs over his shoulder at me.
“Enjoying the view?”
“Extremely so. Are you typically so hands-on with your clients?” I ask.
“Are you this hands-on with all your guides?” he counters.
“Only when they're as gorgeous as you.”
“So not frequently then.” he says. I laugh at his brazen confidence, deserved though it is. “Here, let me.”
He gently turns me around and massages the soap into my back, his large hands feel heavenly as they work out the knots and soreness in my muscles from a week of sleeping on a camp cot. I moan and lean into his touch.
“I like that sound. I'd like to make you make it again.” he says, digging his thumb into a stubborn muscle. I moan louder, my knees nearly buckling. I can feel his cock hardening against my back. His voice is low and heavy with promise in my ear. “I'd like to do a lot of things, if you're interested...”
I reach up and take hold of his hands, pulling them around to my breasts. He kneads them, slippery with soap, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peak.
He reaches one hand down below the water and brushes his fingers between my legs, a tentative questioning touch. I nod eagerly and spread my legs more to allow him access. Tom uses his other hand to guide my arms up around his neck, my back arched and pressed to his chest.
“Hold onto me.” he whispers as his fingers slip between my folds and find my clit. I whimper as he starts rubbing small, slow circles. His cock is hard and hot against my back as I buck my hips into his hand. His other hand reaches under my thigh to lift up my leg, spreading me further. “I've got you, I won't let you slip.”
I let go of his shoulders and grab onto his horns as he bends his head over me to kiss the top of my head. The finger on my clit pauses to push back the hood, then resumes its assault. The increased sensation has me crying out, emboldened by our solitude.
“Fuck, I'm so close, Tom...”
He slips a finger inside me, slowly working me open on his hand, then adds another. The stretch combined with the pressure on my clit is deliciously agonizing. I'm only dimly aware that I'm begging him to fuck me.
“Oh, you're not ready for that, Stella. Not yet.” he says, pumping his fingers in and out of me with deft turns of his wrist. “Need to work up to taking my cock, don't wanna hurt you.”
I whimper. “Please, I need more...”
Tom works his fingers deeper and faster, dragging them against the sweet spot inside me that has me seeing stars, and I come gasping. He slowly works me through it, whispering how good I feel spasming around his fingers, how he wishes it was his cock, how he wants to watch me ride him.
I'm limp as he lifts me out of the water and carries me back to the shore, the soap long forgotten and lost downriver. He balances me on one of his massive thighs as he digs in his pack for a towel to lay out, then lays me down on it.
“Wait, you didn't come.” I protest, reaching out for him.
“You can make it up to me later.” he winks. I watch him take down our dry clothes and the clothesline, pulling on his fresh clothes and boots. He brings me a change of clothes and helps me pull them on. “How're your muscles feeling?”
“They feel great.” I admit with a lazy smile. “You have some magic hands.”
“I look forward to showing you what else I can do.” Tom helps me shoulder my pack and we continue down the trail, away from the river's edge and into the deeper woods.
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So I wrote this story for my English class, and thought I'd share it here. It's kinda long, 7 word document pages I think, so I'll put it under the cut.
@ocfairygodmother @foxesandmagic @untestedtheory @amazingwynter @claryxjackson @oliviabelova
The Cure
A rat scurries along the edge of the subway track. Past a decrepit bench and a tipped over trash can, long since scavenged for anything of use. It scrambles over a fallen pipe, which clatters around behind it, the noise echoing through the tunnels.
A flashlight beam illuminates the rat and it freezes, beady eyes sparkling as if they were made of glitter.
A woman’s voice echoes through the tunnel, “Just a rat. Go back to sleep.”
The rat scampers off, nails clicking on the grimy tile. The woman clicks off the flashlight, sitting down near her dying fire. It’s burning in the cut off end of a barrel, the other half sits nearby, full of firewood. It casts dancing shadows on the tiled subway walls.
She uses a broken piece of stair railing to poke at the coals, stirring up sparks. Tucked back in a dim alcove, a young boy coughs under a thin blanket. He sits up, hoarsely asking, “You sure it’s just a rat?”
“Yes,” the woman looks up, “I saw it.”
The boy nods, and lays back down, glassy eyes and pale face reflecting the firelight like beacons.
Footsteps echo down the tunnel, and a flashlight beam rounds the corner. The woman stands, grabbing her crossbow from where it leans against the tiled wall.
A teenager approaches, headlamp on his forehead, and pistol in his hands. The woman sets the crossbow back down, and he joins her next to the fire. She speaks first, voice quiet, “Did you find it?”
“No, it was already gone. The other groups always beat us to it.” He clicks off the headlamp and puts it in his pocket.
“If we don’t find it soon, it’ll be too late.”
The teenager sighs, “I know.” He pulls a partially eaten granola bar out of his coat pocket and finishes it, pocketing the wrapper again.
The woman gets up and adds another log to the fire. When she sits back down, the teenager glances over at the boy, now asleep. He gently places his hand on the woman’s shoulder, “You know how much he means to both of us, since, since Mom died. But I don’t think we’re ever going to find the medicine we need.”
She stands, brushing his hand off, “I promised your mother I would look after you two. We will find that cure, even if I have to give my life to do so. As long as you boys are safe.”
He watches her move to the alcove, and lay on the other side of the boy, covering him with her blanket, and smoothing damp hair off his feverish brow.
===================================================================
The teenager stands near the subway tracks, pistol in hand. The woman is crouched over the tracks with a blow torch, and a crowbar. She blasts the metal track until it turns red hot and pries it up with the crowbar. It bends, with some effort, leaving a several inch bump in the track.
The woman steps back with a smile, “Just enough to derail the subway. You made sure the next one has a shipment of medicine?”
“Yes,” the teenager steps up beside her, “You sure that’s enough?”
“Your mother taught me. Of course, it’s enough.”
He just nods, and they both hide in an alcove further down the tracks. He turns off his headlamp, and they wait in darkness. After about ten minutes of silence, the tracks begin to rumble, and a bright light shines down the tunnel. The subway train rapidly approaches, and the woman pulls the teenager further back into the alcove.
But as it nears, it slows to a stop.
The teenager peers out of the alcove, “Why would they be stoppi-”
The woman clamps a hand over his mouth as the doors of the subway slide open, and four heavily armed men step out. They take up positions near the door, and a middle-aged, potbellied man steps out, dressed in a lavish lavender suit. He frowns at the grubby tiles. The light streaming out of the open subway doors makes his dress shoes shine.
He orders, “Give the signal.”
A guard nods, “Yes sir,” and waves a white flag.
The teenager whispers, “What reason would they have to come down here? They live their lives in luxury, why bother to pay any attention to us?”
“I don’t know. They’ve never bothered with us before.” The woman slowly and quietly loads a bolt in her crossbow, both peering cautiously out of the alcove.
“Should we try to leave?”
“No. It’s too risky, we’ll have to wait till they leave.”
The teenager nods.
Further down the tracks, a group emerges from a side tunnel, all heavily armed. At their center saunters a lady in a red leather cat suit, a pistol at her hip. Behind her are two surly men, clenching a scrawny young girl between them. She stumbles along, clothed in a ragged dress.
The woman swears softly and pulls the teenager as far back as they can get in the alcove. She does not risk peering out again.
The lady stops in front of the man in the lavender suit and demands, “I have my half of the agreement ready. Where is yours?”
The man nods to one of the guards, who steps inside the subway and emerges with a silver case. The man takes it and passes it to the lady, “That should be enough to cure twenty people.”
She opens it, and her coy grin is illuminated in a soft blue glow. One quick movement of her hand, and the surly men toss the girl at the feet of the man in the lavender suit.
The girl tries to scramble back, fear written all over her face. One of the guards grabs her by the arm.
The lady in the catsuit snaps the case shut, “You can have your fun with her.”
“We will be back in two weeks.” The man steps back into the subway, his guards dragging the now shaking girl in behind him.
The lady nods, “And we will be waiting.”
The subway door smoothly slides shut, and it moves back the way it came. The lady tucks the case under her arm, and walks back the way she came, her guards following.
“Now’s our chance,” the teenager whispers to the woman.
She nods, “I’ll distract them. You get the case and get it to your brother.” He nods as she readies her crossbow and creeps after the group. A deep breath, and she pulls the trigger.
The bolt thuds into the back of the rear most guard, and she loads another, firing again before the lady and her other guards have even noticed.
She takes out two more guards before they can draw their pistols. When they open fire, she jumps into the subway track, using it for cover. They continue firing, the shots shattering the tile above her head, shards of it flying everywhere.
The lady shouts, “You fools! Jump down there and get her!”
Her guards obey, and the woman takes off running. The moment it’s clear that the guards are following her, the teenager races out of the alcove, and right for the lady.
He draws his pistol and aims it at her head, but at the last second, switches his aim to her leg. He fires, and she screams as she falls, the case clattering across the tile toward him.
He scoops it up, “I’ve got it! Let’s go!”
The woman glances over her shoulder and vaults up and out of the track. She sticks close to the wall, so that if the guards fire, they risk hitting the lady sprawled on the tile.
She reaches the teenager, and he sprints after her. Behind them, the lady draws her pistol, face pale. But her hands are steady as she lines up the shot.
Crack!
Ahead of the teenager, the woman stumbles to halt, gaze shifting downward, to the rapidly spreading red stain on her torso.
The teenager streaks past her, and realizes she is no longer following. He skids to a halt and races back to her, “Come on! I’ll help you; we can make it!”
She presses her hands to the wound, “No,” a glance over her shoulder reveals that the guards are stalking toward them, “We’ll be caught if I come. Get that medicine to your brother.”
“I won’t leave you behind,” his voice shakes.
She smiles softly, “I promised your mother I would keep you both safe. And I won’t break that promise. Go.”
The guards stalk closer.
The teenager kneels and hugs the woman. She smiles and hugs him tightly before pulling away, her hand leaving a bloody stain on the back of his coat. She pulls back and pushes him away from her, “Go, before it’s too late.”
He scrubs a tear off his cheek and nods, taking off. He only glances back before he turns the corner into a side tunnel, then vanishes into a branching tunnel. His footfalls fade shortly after.
The guards grab the woman by the armpits and drag her back to the lady. She grits her teeth in pain but doesn’t make a sound.
With the help of her guards, the lady stands, pistol in hand, “You would go to quite lengths for those boys, wouldn’t you?”
The guards drop the woman and she lifts her head, voice steady, “I loved their mother. I promised her I’d keep them safe. I suppose you wouldn’t understand.”
“I don’t have such weaknesses. I hope you enjoy seeing her again.” The lady steps back and levels the pistol.
The woman raises her chin and murmurs, “I will.”
The trigger is pulled, and blood splatters on the tiles.
Down the tunnel, a rat starts at the gunshot and scurries away into the dark.
~~The End~~
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11. Preaching to the Choir
A continuation of 4. Baleful
The Southern Front was quiet that night, save for the chirp of insects and the far off rumble of engines.
The air was like breathing in hot syrup, though. Remeraux could feel it sticking to her skin, turning the inside of her armor into a swamp. Perspiration collected on her shoulders in rivulets, to trickle clear down the small of her back and right between her asscheeks. Unpleasant. She squinted her one good eye (her swollen eye came pre-squinted, and it smarted something fierce when the rubber eyepiece bumped against it) through her binoculars as she made another sweep of the battlefield. Leaning her elbows lazily against the burlap sandbags that made up their post, she drummed her fingers against the binoculars with one hand while the other went to fiddle with the focus. Her gaze settled on a squat little warmachina, creeping over a muddy ridge on its four flat discs of feet. Remeraux always thought those ones looked a little like ducks, at least in the face. A glowing blue lens made for an eye on either side of its 'head', and a perforated dark metal barrel for a beak. It was scurrying a little too close to camp for her liking.
“Nimrod. Eleven bells. Roundabouts… two malms out, I reckon.”
Remeraux’s voice was the first sound to break the silence.
“On it.”
The second sound, another voice, in reply.
The crack of a rifle, ringing a little in Remeraux’s pointed ear, was the third.
Through her binoculars, Remeraux watched the bullet find her target. Right through that shiny blue lens, exploding that glass into powder. It sputtered sparks and blue flame from the jagged impact crater, and like a puppet separated from its strings it ceased to move. The coast looked clear enough, after that. Remeraux kept her vigil for just long enough to check for any moves of reprisal. It was a relief to find that their enemy was fine to let them take a pawn of their own, for the time being. She lowered her binoculars and withdrew for the moment, sliding down the wall back down into their foxhole.
Remeraux fiddled in the pocket of her thick, armored coat for something as she watched the woman next to her take her knee off its perch on the edge of the sack wall, exiting her perfect rifleman's stance. Joining her within the confines of their cozy little pit, she lowered the butt of the rifle, rich woods and dull metals, to the ground at her side. Remeraux found herself having to crane her neck up ever so slightly to look at her, despite how similar they were in height. It was probably because, unlike her, Misija wasn’t leaning against the wall.
Now that she thought about it, Remeraux wasn't sure that she’d ever seen the woman so much as slouch.
“Chocolate?” Remeraux asked, as she produced a foil-wrapped square from her pocket. She put the fingertip of her padded gauntlet between her teeth and yanked the whole thing off. She wasn't fussy enough to not just open her mouth when she'd pulled her hand free and let the gauntlet just drop right to the floor (just a series of planks pressed into the wet earth). Freshly dexterous, Remeraux unwrapped the foil with grimy fingers. She broke off a messy square of the pitch-black bar with a snap, and held it out to the pale Roegadyn, who just gave a nod in the affirmative and took it first into her hand, and then her mouth. The corners of those equally pale lips turned up, just a hair. Remeraux nodded, smiling in return. She didn’t manage to get many of those from Misija, although to tell the truth they'd only started spending time together recently. But, she had taken plenty of opportunities to glance at her: from across the sands of Gangos, from the other side of Utya's Aegis when she was busy with the Ironworks staff and Remeraux should have really been focusing on taking inventory.
Something about the quiet intensity she radiated, steel eyes like searchlights, gave her the feeling smiling wasn’t something she did often. The few times Misija's own gaze settled on her, though, always made her stomach tie itself in knots. It was definitely doing so now. She distracted herself from the sensation by breaking off her own hunk and shoving it in her mouth. It was shitty chocolate, bitter as sin, but it was better than anything they’d had to eat in a while.
“How’s your eye?” Misija inquired, crossing one arm over her other. Remeraux waved her off nonchalantly with her free hand, as her jaws worked through the dense matter. She swallowed.
“Better than his, I reckon. Fer a soldier, bastard couldn’t throw a punch ta save his life.”
The two women shared a chuckle, briefly flashing teeth smudged with dark chocolate. It was funny, Remeraux thought in the moment before the expression faded from Misija’s face like a snowflake that just touched ground. Usually teeth were the only thing that shone white in faces turned to a sea of brown grime, out there on the Front. For Misija, it was the opposite. Grey hair on grey skin on grey eyes on grey lips. The chocolate on her teeth was the only splash of color present on her face.
“You really didn’t need to get involved, though.” Misija exhaled through her nose, those searchlights of hers scanning Remeraux’s face as if they'd find their answers by scouring them from her skin. “My honor is not a thing that needs defending.”
Remeraux rolled her shoulders. She can’t help but inevitably brush against her ears with her shoulderpads with the gesture, they were just that big. The ears, kind of, but mostly the shoulderpads. “Ain’ just fer you. Don’t stand fer that kinda talk around me. Learned ta punch ta get it to stop a looong time ago.” She chuckled, just a few sharp exhales out of her nose, and popped another square between her lips. She extended another to Misija, who broke off one of her own.
“...The Star may have its depths of cruelties, but few of them are novel, it seems.” Misija mused, her eyes appraising the chocolate as she tilted it side to side between two fingers, before putting it into her mouth.
“Ye’re tellin’ me….” Remeraux just sat in the evening's silence, for just a moment. “Ta find it true o’ Bozja though... that was a bit of a shock, I gotta say.”
The corners of those pale lips dropped back down to a line. “Well. Consider yourself informed.” It was a level response, matter-of-fact and cold. More silence. More chewing. Remeraux couldn’t stand the quality the silence had taken on forever, and was the first one to break it.
“...I know, I know. A mite naive, I s'pose” She shrugged, apologetically. She ran her tongue across the front of her teeth, picking up stray bits of sugar. “Jus’... grew up on folk tales, about it. Bozja, that is. From me mum. An’ she was the child o’ refugees, so I guess the truth got a bit stretched in the tellins." Remeraux scratched the back of her head awkwardly, dragging her nails through short-cropped hair drenched in sweat. "But a kingdom under the sun an’ sand… A goodly queen, loved by her people… An’ a 'fine republic' af’er that.” She sighed, looking around at the wasteland of a countryside. What few structures remained, south of the old ruined capital, still half-melted into crystal at their tips, blasted back and frozen in a photograph of the devastation. ”Even if it was over before my time, it was a nice thing ta hear tell about.”
Misija just took the words in, providing nothing in the quality of her expression to act as commentary. “A nation’s truth is never the stories that it tells about itself." She said pointedly, before turning her eyes back on Remeraux. "Judging by the way you responded to those soldiers, I wouldn’t guess you exactly believe in Ishgard, the good King Thordan and his knights twelve, and the mandate of the Archbishop, blessed first among Halone’s Children…”
Remeraux cocked an eyebrow. Misija just shrugged.
“Unless my intuition is mistaken.”
“Is there somefin’ about my face that just screams Ishgard?” Remeraux gave Misija a playful punch on the shoulder, and got another smile, however slight, out of the woman. "Izzit the ears? The teeth?"
“Mostly just your name. Although I’ll freely admit to having no firsthand knowledge of the place. Imperial education may be broad, but it was rudimentary in some areas.”
Another pause for chewing.
“...Imperial education?” Remeraux asked, as neutrally as she could make the words sound.
Misija gave those silvery eyes a roll, and held out her hand for another break of the bar. Remeraux obliged.
“Don’t look so surprised. Basjalsen himself was a Legion field medic for years. You’ll find that many members of the resistance first lived under the Imperial yoke before turning against their masters.”
Remeraux just shoved the last bit of the chocolate bar in her mouth. The bitterness of it made her salivate something fierce. It was welcome relief from how quickly her throat dried out nowadays, in the moon since... since the gassing.
And it was a better thing to put into her mouth than her own foot.
“...What was it like?" Remeraux mumbled the words from around a cheek full of the candy. "Imperial schoolin', I mean."
“It was… a lifeline.” The way Misija looked at her when she said that… it was as if she left no room for argument. As if it was fact that Remeraux had no choice but to accept. “The fortunate children of Bozja enjoy claiming their homeland of old was a bastion of equality… but, tell that to those not born to the privileged few, eh? You were either born high…”
“Or low.” Remeraux finished the sentence. She spat onto the ground. The chocolate in her spittle made it blend nicely with the mud. “Don’t I know it, sis.”
Misija nodded.
“When the IVth legion took control of the country, they implemented a policy of universal education. I was fed, clothed, taught a trade. I can’t imagine I would have survived, otherwise…" Remeraux recognized that look on her face, suddenly less impossible to read. It was a face she'd seen in herself in mirrors. "...It is hard to not be grateful even. For the occupation.” She exhaled through her nose, and scowled. “The Bozja I knew as a girl deserved what it got, in the end.”
Remeraux mulled the woman’s words over. “...Honestly? I wouldn't hold that against ya.” She gave a sigh as weary as she felt, and rubbed her hands together. One bare, one gloved, crumpling the now empty foil into a ball that she continued to roll between her palms as she spoke. “The Brume, they called it in Ishgard. The ‘wrong’ part o’ town, anyways. Cute little name, ain' it?" Remeraux sneered, choking on the faux saccharinity. "An' a righ' brume it was... stuck us wif all the fog and smog an’ run-off from a city that’s far too vertical. Spent me childhood suckin’ up smoke an’ fumes, as our folks barely could afford us bread on th’ table…” She tossed the ball underhand, caring not where in the foxhole it landed. “Knew I’d go mad if I kept livin’ like that, if I didn’t jus’ starve one day. I jus’... I dunno.”
She could feel those words creep up onto her tongue. They were words that were always rattling around the inside of her chest, until they had to try and climb out of her throat. They tasted acrid, caustic, and had grown in her like bile since the day she returned home for the first time, to a life frozen solid. The day she’d seen what had become of her sister. And every day it seemed, at some point or another, she had to swallow them down hard, and they scratched the inside of her throat as they travelled back down.
Remeraux looked at Misija, and something about the way she returned that gaze, as if appraising her anew, made the core of her being flare hotter than the air around them. Not for the first time, the thought of pressing her lips against Misija's own came unbidden to her mind. She could almost imagine what it would be like for the woman to explore her mouth. How small she would feel in the light of the woman's intensity. But now... she bet she’d taste those same words on Misija's tongue as she took it between her lips. And with that thought... for once, she let them spill.
“Ishgard deserved a hell of a lot worse.”
The corner of those pale lips turned up. Just one of them, enough to show a flash of teeth. Like a lion reminding you of the quality of its jaws. Something about the sight sent a new thrill through Remeraux. It was a dizzying thing, to let lose with words she'd nearly choked on and still be met with approval. A hungry approval. And for once, it was Misija to push through the space between them. She put a hand on her shoulder. It was a simple thing. A simple touch. Even through her armor, her palm seared into Remeraux’s skin.
“...We should get back to our posts, no?”
"...Righ'."
Remeraux swallowed, her mouth dry all over again, and clambered back up with her binoculars.
“...’Nother nimrod. Two bells. Jus’ over the ridge.”
“On it.”
Another crack of Misija’s rifle, as her bullet found its mark.
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More than just a flirt
John Hancock X OC
Hi hi! My smut hand be rusty but nothing like completely self indulgent OC smut to bring me back :)
So I’m still new to tagging and the like but my Fallout 4 OC is GN but I do insinuate female genitals. Soooo ye *finger guns*
If ya read it I hope a like it!
John was a flirt; that’s all he ever could be. He was charming. He was witty. He was an adventure covered in an oversized trench coat. What bed partners he had came for one thing. The experience. The ability to boast loudly about fuckin’ a ghoul. Like it was a damn badge of honor. His whole life had been a stream of one night stands, and cold beds. That's all he ever could be. That’s all he ever would be.
So then why did he wake up so warm?
Cracking an eye open John reached behind him searching blindly for what was heating his back. His burned fingers were a complete contrast to the soft flesh that greeted him. Slowly, he traces down it, following the flow of the dark muscular till he is holding on to an arm wrapped around his middle.
“Morin’.” His bed partner huffs in his ear. Chestnut curls tickle his cheek as they hug him closer. Whiskey and melon sweet breath bringing back memories of their lips against his. Last night clicks in place. Ophelia. John rose quickly as if burned. This was wrong, they are a friend. A good friend, a trustworthy hardworking leader. They deserved better than-than…
“John?” Ophelia rose uncaring of how the blankets slipped from their arms. Old fabric pooling around their bare waist. They rub at their eyes wearily. “You ok?”
He froze at the edge of the mattress. Long fingers reaching for his pants on a very recognizable floor. He was in Ophelia’s room; or rather this was their hotel room. Damn. He couldn't remember a thing from last night. What did he take? Fuck. He could kick himself. Of all the one-nighters, he wanted to at least remember this one. “Ye doll, sorry...just didn't wanna wake ya.” He smiles, covering his momentary panic.
Ophelia frowned, sleepy hazel eyes narrowing into a familiar piercing glaze. They size him up. Reading him better than anyone ever had before. John couldn’t help but squirm. They looked at him just like when they had first met. Strong jaw tense and their chin high, silently calling out his bullshit.
“I'm fine, honest. Didn't expect to see you is all.” Hancock tried again tugging on his pants.
“In my own room?” His friend snorts, rising to go open the curtains. “Where else would I be?”
John is silent. “I don’t know. Not here-with me.” He keeps his back turned. It was stupid to linger. The warm tingling of their soft body seeps down into the floorboards leaving him aching and cold. Staring at his irradiated hands he could almost cry. Almost- his tear ducts had been scarred shut years ago.
“John?” Ophelia comes within arms reach. He could sense their hand hovering close to his own boney shoulder. They drop it moments later. “You sure you’re ok? You coming down from a bad trip or somethin’?” John chuckles humorlessly. Was he that predictable? Stepping away from them he finishes dressing.
“Ye sunshine. Don’t worry about it. Ain’t my first time and sure as hell won’t be my last.” He tosses out over his shoulder. “I’ll give ya a minute ta get ready and meet you out front.”
If Ophelia had anything to say after that they kept between their pretty little lips.
“I think we should head for shelter.” Ophelia says, looking up from the fallen mutant. Their arms filled with loot. John follows their gaze. His black eyes reflect the eerie shade of green growing in the sky. Rad storm. Looked like a big one too. He lights a cigarette and sticks it between his grimy teeth before helping collect a few more useful items.
“Closest place is probably that supermarket couple o’ klicks back.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. If they hoof it they could probably get there and pick off any ferals before the worst of the storm hit. Ophelia sighs, John knew how much they hated backtracking. The decision was made for them when their pip-boy starts clicking in warning.
“Well-” They frown, throwing a glance back at the ghoul. “You alright with taking two steps forward and ten steps back?” John laughs, tipping his tricorn up to flash them a quick wink.
“Shit doll- You just summed up my life in a sentence.” Offering a hand he helps the sharpshooter over some loose rubble. “You keep an eye out K? I know you’re low on ammo so I’ll take point.” Ophelia nods. Their sniper rifle slung uselessly across their back. Readying his shotgun John follows behind.
The storm hit just when he had expected. Dropping rain and hunks of debris on the two as they struggle to close the supermarket doors against the high winds. Thanks to their combined dumb luck the place was empty. The sentry bots long since destroyed and even a few tins of food were still scattered about the aisle. Ophelia left him to collect some and scout out any hidden lock boxes, leaving him to set up the sleeping bags and start a small fire. Cracking open a room-temperature beer he stares idly into the flicking flames. It grew steadily as he fed it bits of cardboard and kindling. The yellow glow touches his skin and starts to dry his drenched clothes. John contemplates his predicament while he waits for Ophelia to return. The memories of last night slowly start to come back to him in the silence. The tastes, and smells of washed sheets and sweating skin permeate his senses. Ophelia’s sweet mewls and gasps echo around in between his ears. Who gave them the right to make his name sound so sweet?
Shit-He knew he shouldn’t dwell on it. First rule of one-nighters is to live in the moment then walk away clean. But damn if he wasn’t the worst at following rules.
He relives it all the best he can, parts still blurring and blocked, like a scratch in a holotape. But he’ll take it. He’ll take the phantom feel of strong, sure fingers mapping his body. The ghost of a tongue slipping against his. Washing away the taste of mentats and cheap drinks. He can’t remember the last time he had felt so warm and wanted. Made the sudden distance he put between them hurt even more. Fuck him for getting greedy.
John flicks the butt of his cigarette into the roaring flames and searches for another. He grumbles in irritation as each pocket bears no fruit. “Here. I got some.” A familiar red and white box appears in his peripheral. Ophelia’s chipped yellow nail polish clashing with the old carton.
“Thanks, sunshine.” He rasps, taking the box. He can’t bear looking up for the crumbled container. The thought of making eye contact with them while his blood and brains were living in his trousers seemed unholy. Pulling out the least damaged cigarette of the lot he lights it with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Found anything good?”
They shrug, putting a few cans of beans and corn in the growing amount of embers around the fire pit to heat. “Some ammo and super glue. Also-” They grin, forcing him to look up. “Got you a present.” They pull a bottle out from behind their back to brandish it at him triumphantly. He stares. Not at the bottle, but at the way that little pull of muscle brightens up their whole face. That signature gapped tooth smile warming him better than the beer and firelight combined. He reaches numbly for the bottle. A Nuka-Cola Quantum, the chill of the bottle a welcomed surprise.
He and the rest of the crew had learned over the years not to reject a gift, no matter how valuable. MacCready nearly had a heart attack when he was gifted with a shiny new sniper rifle. That pretty little custom piece came with all the bells and whistles. Not to mention a few boxes of specialized ammo. John had zoned out when the other man started rambling rapid-fire over specs clutching the gun to him like a newborn. Each of the core companions got some good shit from time to time. He had some absolutely sinful blades and an old bottle of pre war bourbon tucked away in his office. Valentine had gotten some fantastic upgrades to his hardware and repairs to his offices. Hell- Curie got a whole bloody body.
Can’t beat these job perks.
“What’s the occasion?” He pops the cap off with the blunt end of his pocket knife, taking a pull from the bottle. The rush of sugar and god knows what else damping his headache.
Ophelia shrugs from across the pit. Pulling off their worn boots to warm their feet by the fire. “I remember you said they perk you up after a particularly bad crash.” They pause, face closing down for a moment, before looking up in horror. “I would have thought- I mean. I- you-I hope I didn’t do anything last night that upset you. I know you were a bit buzzed and I was way past tipsy. But, if I stepped out of line you would tell me right ?” John looks at them beyond confused.
"What?" He asks dumbly.
" Is," Ophelia waves vaguely at the distance between them. Normally when they camped together they were thick as thieves. Joking and nudging at each other's shoulders. Others used to joke about them getting a room. Now it felt like a great chasm had opened between them. "all of this about last night."
"Oh. Nah. Don't gotta worry none doll." John shrugs. Best to rip the bandage off now then later. "It's in the past, best leave it there. " He lies. It burns his throat worse than jet, but he has to. If only to protect his crumbling pride. One day he'll believe his own words. Hopefully.
"Well I am worried. How 'bout we start over. What’s wrong?" Ophelia jabs.
John feels heat rise under his thick skin. Just pokin’ a fresh cut tonight huh..."Kinda hard to start over after having someone's dick down your throat." He tosses it out carelessly. A shit attempt to derail the coming train wreck. Ophelia doesn't even flinch.
"Well, it's a damn good thing we both know how flexible I am then.” They rebuttal smoothly. “So, I'll ask again. What’s. Wrong?" The ghoul shrinks under their heated look. He was never keen on being hit with these eyes. Meant another kinda storm was brewing.
John throws his hands up in frustration. Had they never heard the phrase 'read the room'. "What, ya never had a one nighter before?" He regrets it the second the words leave his lips. He'd never seen someone flinch from words before. "Look, doll, I ain't one for making things awkward. I know the rules so let's just forget it and move on."
Ophelia deflates. Their signature look that could pin a super mutant in fight extinguished just like that. John watches them mouth over his words slowly. Clearly hating the taste of them as much as he did. "Is- was that what you wanted out of it?" Ophelia sighs. They dig a hand through sweat tangled locks. The tight coils of their hair protesting the drag of their fingers. His own fingers itch watching them, remembering the feel of their hair wrapped around his hand as he pulled them in for a kiss.
"What did you want out of it?" He asks, feeling dumber than a radroach.
Ophelia mimics him, throwing their hands up with a short laugh. "John, I thought it was clear. I don't go sleeping around with my friends and colleagues for shits and giggles. Who do I always ask to join me on travels?"
“Dogmeat?” John jokes, the knot in his stomach loosening with hope. It's unimaginable really- and yet. Were they serious? The past couple of times out they had always come to him. Even when they would be at a strategic disadvantage for whatever crazy scheme they had brewing. Only time he wasn’t Ophelia’s top pick was when some Minutemen tasks needed to be done. Even then He could always expect them at his front door the moment their feet landed on safe ground. A bottle of liquor in hand and an unbelievable story to tell.
“Not funny.” They chastised him scooting until they were seated next to him, knees brushing. "My idea for this morning was to maybe get breakfast and a semi decent cup of coffee. But I guess this is fine." They scrunch their nose in distaste at the cans warming in the fire pit.
“Shit doll,” John reaches out, wrapping a wiry arm around their waist. “Can I make it up to you? For being such an ass?” They hum in jest covering his hand with their own. The kiss that follows was unlike anything that he expected. It was slow and sweet. So different from the fast pecks he would get with others he slept with. He deepens it greedily, not ready to part just yet.
“You’re lucky I find you attractive.” Ophelia whispers into his mouth tossing his tricorn to the side and straddling his narrow hips. “We are going to have a talk about all this. Just-later-much, much later. I need a repeat performance of last night now that we are both sober.”
John groans letting them push him down. “Damn-you got it. You got whatever you want if you mean it.” Ophelia scoffs, ridding themselves of their baggy jacket. John can’t help but marvel at how beautiful they were backlit by the roaring flames. The orange glow of the light wrapping around their dark skin much like he craved to do. The flicking of it lapping at their smooth skin. Flashes of last night coming back to him of his tongue traveling down the same areas. He would have to remap them.
“As if I could ever lie to your smart ass.” They scoff grinding down on the growing bulge hidden in his rough pants. “But you have been lying to me and yourself it seems.”
He grunts in acknowledgment eyeing the way their ass moves. “You are absolutely right.Fuck- how can I make it up to you?”
Ophelia smirks cupping his cheeks. Their eyes meet. Rich hazel meeting cold black. The moment digs dip under his tough hide. The raw emotions in their stare makes his throat dry. “Put that mouth to good use- hmm? I know it’s good for more than some self-depreciation.”
Spurred by Ophelia’s words he flips their positions, placing the sniper down on his bedroll. John sinks lower, kissing and nipping at their hip bone. Mapping out all the sensitive parts of their body. His tongue tracing the silver little streaks on their belly. Ophelia’s stomach twitches at the feel of his warm breath on their stretch marks, cursing quietly as he finds their slick core. Their nails score his scalp, dragging a hiss of pleasure from his lips. He licks with gusto, taking full advantage of their isolated positions to make them scream.
“John-” They mew clawing at his shoulders to pull him back up to their kiss swollen lips. He goes leaving a trail of kisses in his wake before giving them a surprisingly chaste kiss on their lips.
“You sure ‘bout this doll?” He didn’t know what would happen after this, but it felt so different compared to his other recurring bed partners. He did want to see them again. He wanted this relationship to bleed into every aspect of his life. If he could relive that morning wrapped in their arms till his brain was splattered out on some dusty alleyway then he would. Without question.
Ophelia nods, reading in between the lines of his multilayered question. If there was one power figure in this wasteland they trusted, it was him. Wrapping a strong leg around his strong waist they shimmy off their tactical pants. Their eyes lock onto his pants as if the ratty briefs offended them. John chuckles and casually loosens the draw strings keeping his pants up. Ophelia takes it from there scooting the rough material down his legs. They pur, grasping his erection and stroking it. Their dexterous fingers play with his head drawing out a healthy bit of pre.
John sighs and rests his forehead on Ophelia’s brow breathing in their naturally clean scent. It reminded him of the rare times he could get freshly washed laundry mixed with the springtime. Shen the wild plants strong enough to brave this cruel world sprouted. He kisses them, nipping at their chin and collarbone while they drive him wild. “Doll, please.” He gasps, back arching into their touch. “You’re killin’ me ya know.” Ophelia chuckles returning a deep kiss.
“Good, consider it penance for thinking I couldn’t love you.”
John heaves, lost for breath as their words hit him. He pulls back floundering. “You mean that?” He sees the rapid fire thoughts racing through their wide eyes. Shock that they let slip that dirty little secret, fear of what he would do, then a stark resolution.
“Of course.” Ophelia nods through their embarrassment. Their sharp cheeks beginning to warm under his gaze. They say it like it’s an obvious statement. Like he should have just known. In a way he did. He just couldn’t believe it.
John takes the initiative now. Dragging Ophelia down to his scarred lips preening when he feels them sigh into it. Their tongue teasing his telling him point blank what they wanted. Grabbing onto their plush hips John grinds down on them, rubbing his stiff erection through the seam of their thighs and wet entrance. The moans that elicited from them made his radioactive blood boil with need. He had to have them again, last night was a dud. He would savoir this time.
Positioning themselves over John’s cock Ophelia shoots him a sultry wink before sinking down onto him slowly. “Oh fuck me.” He groans, dropping his head to his pillow. Their body was feverish around his, soft, pliant and so willing.
“That was my intention.” They grab onto his shoulders for support. Eyelids fluttering heavily. “If I’m not getting that across now, perhaps I should quit while I’m behind?” They joke as they ride him. Their hips move in slow tight circles. It’s enough to drive him wild.
John digs his fingers into the supple flesh of Ophelia’s hips. With any luck he’ll leave bruises. Excellent. Ophelia couldn’t stop John as he flipped their position. He pinned them roughly down on his sleeping bag. “Don’t worry Doll. You got your point across very well. Don’t need to go putting yourself out like that.”
“You’re one to ta-” John thrusts into them cutting off their snark. Taking devilish delight in flustering them. Setting a fast pace he drives in deep revealing in their cries of pleasure. God damn- this was almost enough to make him wanna go sober. How did he ever think one night would be enough?
“Fuck! I don’t deserve you.” His hisses cutting through the wet slaps of skin on skin. Ophelia does nothing but groan. Neither of them last long. Much to John’s chagrin. He finishes with a choked shout, hips and stomach twitching as he spills himself on their thigh. Ophelia doesn’t fare much better. They bite hard at the rough skin of his neck, nails scoring his back with a perfect mixture of pleasure and pain while they came undone beneath him.
“Do you mean it?” He asks, cupping the back of Ophelia’s skull. They wrap an arm around his neck nuzzling close, draping their body across his.
“Ye- but if you talk down about yourself again I’ll have to feed you to a deathclaw.” John chuckles feeling his eyelids getting heavy. He wouldn’t put it past them.
#Fallout 4#john hancock#john hancock x sole survivor#it's smut#it's angsty#it's oc time#crusty boi is best boi
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166 nanahiko plssssss
166. "This is an opportunity shaped like a shower." | Nanahiko | WC: 1,101 of a SPICY SHOWER SCENE
//
The long day ends with Sorahiko and Nana trooping back to a cramped hotel room in Esuha City: dusty, sweaty, and in need of stress relief.
Sorahiko keys them into the room and means to head straight for the single bed. He’ll switch the television on, channel-surf, land on some silly sit-com, and pass out for the next several hours. This is absolutely the last time he agrees to co-sign with Nana about the Hero Association’s newfangled prefecture rotation schedule.
By some wondrous reservation of strength, Nana catches him by the cape. She hauls him to a stop by the bathroom door.
“Gear,” she says, wearily.
“Bed,” he protests.
“You’re the one who got trapped in a sand tornado,” Nana points out, merciless, but she bothers helping him unpin the cape before removing her own gear. Shaking the cape out causes little particles to shimmer down to the carpet.
He catches his sneeze in his cape, grimaces, and reluctantly continues undressing himself.
Soon they’re both half-naked. Most of the detachable accessories are bundled in two groups: washable and ‘needs-a-good-rinse.’ Nana, like Sorahiko, has unzipped the top half of her flight suit down to her waist. Her sports bra clings tightly to her chest, but Sorahiko only slides an appreciative glance over before he’s busy retreating to bed again.
The sheets are refreshingly cool to his bare skin. Sorahiko rolls onto his back and stares listlessly at the ceiling fan.
He doesn’t get long to vegetate.
Nana approaches the side of the bed, arms crossed, an exaggerated frown on her face. “Sorahiko,” she complains. “Did you forget that you need a shower too?”
“You go first.”
“Okay, that’s nice of you, but… there’s room for two.”
Sorahiko lifts his head a bit, and he squints at Nana. The implication is clear. It won’t be the first time they’ve blown off steam together, but generally speaking, they tend to have sex with the lights off. Like a last-minute kinda thing before sleep.
Certainly not before dinner.
“This is an opportunity,” Nana suggests strongly, fingers flirting with the thick band of her sports bra, “shaped like a shower.”
He sits up. “You booked the smallest room in the smallest hotel this side of Kansai, and you think the both of us can squeeze into the shower?”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to be very, very still,” she says with a smile. “Since I can Float.”
His throat goes dry. Sorahiko watches Nana saunter off the short distance to the bathroom, meets her parting winking grin with a flustered blink, and he hears the rustle of a shower curtain. Pipes squeak, and water splatters.
“If not sex, then get in here for the sake of your lungs,” she calls out.
Sorahiko hastens to peel off the rest of his flight suit, but he forces himself to actually find a clothes hanger. After that, it’s his underwear. After that, Sorahiko braves the few steps from carpet to slightly grimy tile.
He’s met with a vision. Nana, naked, runs a brush through her unbound hair to get rid of as many loose hairs before showering. A few passes, and then she gathers a hank of the individual strands and trashes them. There’s barely enough floor space as is, between the sink, the toilet, and the raised edge of the tub.
“You go first,” she teases.
“Generous,” Sorahiko rasps, and tests the water with a cautious hand. It’s as hot as it’ll get. Water pressure sucks, but at least the showerhead is fully functional.
Stepping inside brings such an actual, tangible relief that Sorahiko shuts his eyes and revels in the unyielding rush of water soaking his hair. He exhales, long and low. Nana knocks on the ceramic wall as a warning. Lazily, he keeps his eyes shut.
“Don’t fall asleep,” she chides. The shower curtain’s plastic rings skitter on the railing, open and close, and Sorahiko becomes very aware of Nana’s presence in front of him. Her hands go flat on his chest, disrupting the rivulets of water.
“I’m awake,” he says. “Need me to switch places?”
“Hmm.”
Nana combs back his hair, since it’s plastered wet against his face, and she cards her fingers through the sodden locks. Her body, her breasts--she presses Sorahiko to the wall out of the shower spray, lifting herself up with Float, knees hitched up to dig at his waist.
He groans. He settles his hands loosely by her hips, trusting her control of Float but wanting a safety net anyways.
She kisses him once, twice, messy and sloppy and cathartic in its enthusiasm.
“Really shouldn’t fuck without a condom,” he manages, reluctantly giving into the need to breathe. Sorahiko tips his head to the side and lets her bite at his throat, hips jerking at the sharp sensation. He holds the building whine tight.
“Won’t be a problem,” Nana says, and scrapes the nails of one hand down his chest, readjusts her position so they aren’t skin to skin anymore, then smooths her fingers further south to wrap around his hardening cock.
The whine slips into the air.
Nana laughs into his ear, strokes him once, dragging out the touch when she gets to the head. Sorahiko cracks his eyes open, helpless to do anything but watch. His own fingers flex at her hips, struggling to stay in place and not slide upwards.
“Water’s a poor lubricant,” she informs him.
“You’re slippery enough,” he mutters.
Despite this, Nana rears back and reaches to the side. There’s a little divot in the ceramic wall where a metal bar keeps the hotel’s gifts of miniature bottles of body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. She picks up the first.
“Hair later?”
“Yeah.”
Sorahiko nods and finally removes his hands from her (confirming his belief, Nana doesn’t need his support to stay upright), only to gesture for the body wash. Nana blinks, but she squeezes a dollop of the clear gel into his expectant palm.
“Careful where you put it,” he warns.
“Where are you putting your handful?” Nana bickers back. The both of them must make a sight, pausing to chafe their hands together to generate foamy bubbles. Sorahiko sticks his tongue out childishly, retracts it before she can think of dabbing soap onto it, and then cups the swells of her breasts, smearing body wash over soft and pliant skin.
Gratifyingly, she jolts, knees digging deeper. She gasps, “Oh, geez--”
Sorahiko laughs at her, because Nana’s agape expression earns her a spluttering faceful of the shower’s stream. He’s unconcerned with the prospect of retribution. Coming from Nana, it will be sweeter than water.
#bnha#nanahiko#shimura nana#torino sorahiko#gran torino#lemon#shih.txt#asks#anon#okay! got two more in the inbox so far! three days left#and then i'll let myself start on c5 of ghost!nana ; w;)#thank you for all the prompts...#they really do keep the muse alive
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Choice
Chapter 24: Blitzo goes back to work.
Warnings: As always, mpreg, and an IMP death relating to hanging.
Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!
Ao3 link
“Welcome back, Blitzo!” Millie smiled from her seat atop Loona’s desk as Blitzo threw the door to the office open. “I know it’s only been a couple of days, but I’m sure it-”
“Millz, love you to death, but put a sock in it before I do it for you,” he growled, eyes narrow and fists clenched tighter than a politician’s asshole as he chucked his already-drained iced coffee cup into the trash. Loona shuffled in behind him and dropped on the couch, pointedly focusing on her phone screen.
“Geez, who whizzed in your cereal? Something happen?” Millie blinked, bouncing herself up a bit on her seat to keep at his eye level. “Can we help?”
Moxxie emerged from Blitzo's office, shuffling papers. “We’ve managed the cases so far just fine, but I need you to sign off on-”
“You can sign my-” Blitzo sucked in a deep breath, pinching his forehead before letting it out. “Fine, everything’s fine.”
Moxxie raised an eyebrow. “I take it something went wrong. That, or you’re just sex-hungover. That can happen, you know-”
Millie cut him off with a click of her tongue, and his mouth snapped shut. “Moxxie, we don’t need the honeymoon story, I think somethin’s really wrong. He looks all slumpy, like a willow-weed in the r-”
“Can both of you lay off? I don't need the tag-team act right now.” Blitzo wove around Moxxie and his pile of paperwork to enter his office- the one that Moxxie shouldn't have been gallivanting in and out of. “You two deal with the client, I just really, really want to fucking shoot something, so tell me when the deal’s done, alright?”
Millie sucked in her cheek and Moxxie glanced over to her before his eyes flicked back to Blitzo, whose fingers twitched before he slammed the door in their faces.
_______________________
Three sharp knocks on the door. “Sir? It’s time to go, unless you want us to work by ourselves again. We’re more than capable-”
“No, I’m up, I’m up.” Blitzo scrubbed at his eyes- any attempts to fall asleep at his desk and make up for the complete lack of any kind of rest last night had been thoroughly thwarted by his brain going at a hundred miles an hour. (The coffee wasn’t to blame. Probably. He’d fallen asleep on way more than the piddly single one he’d downed in the past.) Mostly, it had been wanting to throttle Stolas mixed with wanting to throttle himself, and then imagining rapidly escalating scenarios of where he might be able to chuck the kid once they popped out. (Currently, he was at ‘trying to slingshot them up to Heaven just to see what they’d do with it.’ In all likelihood, it’d be crucifix batting practice.)
“It’s one that the client said might be suicidal, but she seemed quite self-important and thought that her boyfriend wouldn’t be able to live without her anyway, so I wouldn’t trust that.” The chair creaked as Blitzo got up, but if it was because it was a couple years old and salvaged from the back of the circus’s dump or because of the deadweight around his gut that had officially turned his shirt into a crop top was anybody’s guess.
As he entered the main room, Moxxie was rubbing a cloth over the musical note on the side of his gun, and Millie fussed with a length of rope while humming to herself.
“I’unno sugar, the client said he was kinda hefty…”
“We have other options if it breaks, and clients often exaggerate that sort of thing. Besides, it just needs to hold him long enough to snap the neck, or at least asphyxiate him. Then they’ll just assume it broke after he died.”
“I’m just saying, it’s more cleanup.”
“Well, this is the kind of rope they can usually get topside, so I say we- oh, good, you’re here.” Moxxie pointed to the paper piled up on the coffee table. “I already did all the hard bits, I just need your signature.”
“Right, right. Signature. Got it. Then we get to go kill something, right?”
Moxxie glanced over at Millie, and the look they exchanged passed way more information than Blitzo’d ever be able to parse. Must be a marriage thing. Must be nice, too. Being able to know what each other was thinking and shit. Real useful.
“Yeah, hun, then we can go kill something. Nothing like some good ol’ violence to get the blood pumping, right?” Millie smiled as Blitzo dashed off a loopy B on each of the papers. Most of them were bills, a few were paychecks that he’d probably just forgotten in the mess of the past few months since Moxxie would know better than to try and slip extras in since it would destroy the budget anyway, there was one approving the repairs for the fire, right, right, this was why he let Moxxie handle all the boring shit, at least it was easy to just sign the dotted line- there. Done.
Blitzo cracked his knuckles, tail snapping in mid-air. “Right! Let’s go fuck somebody up!”
“There we go!” Millie gave a little laugh, punching his arm as Moxxie picked up the Grimoire and opened to the right page before drawing the circle with his free hand. Loona was still settled on the couch behind him, nursing a sports drink from the fridge and half-watching the three of them, head tilted slightly.
Moxxie nodded to the portal, setting the book down on the desk. “Right behind you, sir.”
____________________
The guy didn’t even fight back when they woke him up and strung him up. What a wuss. Hangings were usually fun since they squirmed and made funny noises while trying to break free if the neck didn't snap when the chair dropped, but it wasn’t nearly bloody enough for Blitzo’s taste today. Oh, sure, he’d clawed at the rope that had manufactured nylon sharp enough to carve out blood from under his nails, but his face was purpling at a rapid rate, so they probably didn’t have to do anything other than let gravity finish the job for them, especially considering his kicks were starting to slow anyway.
“You want to go watch some wrestling death-matches when we get back home? I heard they’re bringing the Big Boar in, he’s some sinner who was a lucador back in life. That’ll get some of that killer instinct out.” Millie gave a playful growl as she rummaged around in the target’s belongings. Blitzo watched her hips waggle for a moment before she made a little ‘hmmph’ at a pin-up cowgirl calendar.
“Hmm… tempting, Millz, tempting.”
“Pride wrestling’s more like good ol’ fashioned blood sport, especially when they get the guys that can regenerate limbs!” She ground her fist into her palm with an intense look. Moxxie rolled his eyes as Blitzo leaned against the wall.
“Pl-ease… sa...ve..” the human wheezed out before Moxxie poked at his stomach, and he coughed up blood directly on the little imp before falling limp. Moxxie grimaced, using the man’s somewhat-sweaty bedsheet nearby to clean himself off.
“Perhaps you could invite his highness? I remember him saying something about-”
“Nope,” Blitzo snapped out immediately. “Not gonna fuckin’ happen.”
Moxxie raised an eyebrow, dropping the sheets. “It was just a suggestion, sir. Had too much of him over the past few days?”
“You could say that,” Blitzo muttered, a hand resting on his stomach, and Millie's eyes softened.
“Aw, you could have said something. He ride you too hard?”
The fingers curled inwards, claws dragging above the surface and lighting it up red, forcing him away from his own skin. “Something along those lines, yeah. You two can drop this anytime, you know.”
“Well, at least the little one will be out of your hair soon,” Moxxie said. “Just a few more months, then I would imagine it’s just visitations now and then. You said that you’d already discussed things with him about custody, right?”
Blitzo swallowed, the hand raising up from his belly to rub at the back of his neck. “So, er, about that-”
The wood groaned as Moxxie took a step forward. “No. You didn’t.”
“Come on, Moxx, he was drooling over it, how the fuck was I supposed to know he wanted me to-”
Moxxie threw up his hands. “What have I told you? To think about what you’re doing! What do you do? Throw yourself-”
“Oh, you think this is my fault?”
“Of course it’s your fault!” Moxxie folded his arms. “What did I say when you were considering keeping it? That it was going to be a big responsibility! You barely can call Loona civilized and she’s somehow a legal adult, what in the seven rings would you fuck up if you had to raise an actual child?”
“Exactly! I don’t fucking want to!” Blitzo spat out with enough venom to make Moxxie’s fingers tighten on his arms. “That’s the point, I thought this was just going to be for a couple of months and then yeah, maybe getting to see them now and then wouldn't suck the worst ass if they turn out cool, but I’ve got other shit to do! I’m a busy guy, and I’d definitely fuck it-”
“Blitzo…” Millie reached out a hand before curling it into a loose fist in midair. “Hun, I’m sorry.”
“Yes. Thank you, Millie.”
“Although…” She gnawed on her lip for a moment, and he groaned.
“Don’t you start-”
“Why did you adopt Loona then? I’m genuinely wonderin’, that’s all. You love her to bits, why’s this different? If you hadn’t done that I wouldn’t be askin’, but… you like being a dad.”
“I…” He trailed off. There was a scuttering in the wall behind him, like a roach or some other grimy-grody pest, and a chill drilled down the vertebrae of his spine as a shiver ran through his bones. Why was the sweat dripping down his side cold, like condensation on the side of a frozen water bottle? Damned drafty house. “I wanted to be there for somebody, somebody that I chose to be, and that won't-" He cleared his throat, shaking his head to start over. "Anyway, she’s a good kid who's figuring her shit out and I like hanging out with her. I'm glad to be her dad. That's different."
“Why would this be so bad, then?” Millie repeated.
Blitzo scoffed. “ ‘Cause I got Loona when she was older and I had to go through a buncha bullshit to sign the papers instead of just getting nutted in and having it sprung on me? That was an active effort, and teenagers are basically an entirely different species from babies, I’ve only had to clean up her shit a couple of times-”
“Did not need to know that,” Moxxie muttered.
“-Shut up Moxxie, but anyway, point is, Loonie was already walking and talking and has her own tastes and shit, most babies are just worthless little parasites until they’re, like, ten. I was a fuckin’ miserable little thing to deal with according to literally fucking everybody, so why the fuck would I want to inflict that on myself when I can help somebody that’s already gotten through most of the annoying phase? Plus, her sense of fashion kicks ass. Babies can't pick you out dope outfits." His tail snaked up and tapped his shoulder. "Point to me, excellent reasoning.”
“She’s still your daughter, and you still have to deal with a lot from-” Millie tried to continue, but Blitzo held up a hand.
“Look, it’s just different, okay? The apartment’s crowded enough. I’ll figure this out somehow.”
“...If you’re sure,” Millie said, shifting her weight on the creaky floorboards. “How did the prince take it?”
“Ugh, you really think I want to get deep into his little wah-wah I-thought-you-knew bullshittery?” Blitzo snorted. “I don’t give a shit what he thinks, he should have been upfront about the fact that I was going to be ruining both me and the squirt’s life instead of just being a fuckin’ incubator for cash. End of story.”
There was a nudge from inside of him that was much sharper than usual, and Blitzo’s eyes snapped down.
“Did you just fuckin’ bite me?”
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YOOO lets go i’m the person that requested the ship things so i’m so glad u wanna do them😭❤️anyways I’m very shy and I keep to myself, very lonely, I’m tall and slender (5’7) but idgaf about height on other people, I love everyone regardless of height. I have really long poofy dark brown hair and brown eyes. I love vintage and girly fashion as well as having long painted nails. I love writing and my dream is to publish a book some day. I love to laugh and make jokes but I can also be serious because I’m very .. mentally ill and struggle a lot with panic attacks and depressive episodes. I don’t feel any confidence in myself at all and I find myself wishing I was invisible. I am definitely innocent too lmao. I feel drawn to people who are protectors and want to take care of me as well as people who understand my issues and accept me as I am🥺
Helllloooo! I AM SO GLAD YOU’RE BACK LOL!!! <3 We love to see it, I hope you’re having as much fun with the ships as I have been! <3 Because of this, I ship you with....
Travis Bickle
• When Travis first met you, it was like he found a missing puzzle piece of himself. All of his struggles felt almost validated, like he wasn’t alone in the world anymore. That he had someone he could turn to, someone that he trusts now, someone who shares the same pain he does. There was something that just was so comforting and unlike anyone else he's met before.
• He loves your fashion sense, it kinda gives you an angelic and feminine look that he appreciates. You almost seem to stand out from the grimy city streets of NYC as a shining light.
• He also will be obsessed with your nails. He kinda has a thing when he is nervous that he has to play with your hands / count your fingers. So the cute, long nails and the funky colors are hypnotizing to him, and help him ground himself when he’s about to lose it.
• Travis thinks he’s a bit of a writer too, even if they are just confusing rambles in his journal. But he loves being able to share the same space with you and write together during these moments. He thinks you’re the greatest writer ever, and wants to see you succeed in writing / publishing your book!
• He will never, ever, ever judge you for your mental illnesses / depressive episodes and panic attacks, because he suffers from them as well. And because of this, he’ll do his best to be understanding and kind to you when they do happen. He accepts you for who you are, flaws and all, and hope you extend that same rational to him.
• It hurts Travis to know you have low self esteem, but he understands because. Well, he does too. But he makes sure everyday he tells you how much he loves you, how much you mean to him, and how beautiful you really are. And he means it with every ounce of his being, of course.
• Travis is your protector, and will do anything for you. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship, and you two will learn a lot from each other.
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Boo York, Boo York – Gala Ghoulfriends Luna Mothews Diary
My Boo York Adventure-logue
9/30 08:23:52
There were butterflies tickling my belly when I watched the bus pull into the terminal, but now that I’m on my way, I’m flittery with excitement! I think Pops was more nervous than I was. But that’s my Pops for ya: thinking I’m his little caterpillar while totes understanding that I have to spread my wings! Mom kept him from chewing on his collar by reminding him that it’s not like it’s on the other side of the moon - it’s an easy flight for them from my hometown in Boo Jersey. If I didn’t have my luggage weighed down with all my dance shoes and theatre makeup, I’d have flapped over myself. But I’m strangely looking forward to seeing the frights through this grimy bus window the way a wingless monster would; speeding down the Tombpike, going through the Lurkin’ Tunnel, and then hopping a subway train to Times Scare... that’s a real adventure!
Boo York, Boo York! I can hardly believe it! I’m on my way! The lights of Bloodway are luring me. I’m gonna be a star!
9/30 10:37:13
Road travel takes some getting used to - for one thing, it takes for-EVER! Not literally, but I’m still on this bus and I could have flown to the city and back many times by now. And for a second thing, the monsters on this bus are way booring! I think they think they should just sit in their seats and keep to themselves and be polite and stuff. Some of them actually scowled at me when I started convos with them, so I pulled out my guitar and started playing. That really horrified them. It was like they didn’t even want to sing along when I started giving them their assignments! The ogre in the front punctuated his lyrics with growls, but he wasn’t half bad; however, the werecat across the aisle from him was surprisingly high-pitched and breathy. I had to pull her out of her fur, but I got her harmonizing pretty well after a few verses. And once I got half-a-dozen singing, a few others joined in. Plus, a few other monsters pulled out their own instruments. Before long, I had a whole chorus going and everyone started enjoying themselves. Well, everyone except that one ghost, but he was just mad because everyone was treating him like he was invisible.
9/30 11:56:33
I made it to the city and I’m not in the subway waiting for the train. Almost there! Just a few more trains and buses to go. I’m thriller-ed by how many of my bus-mates followed me to my train platform just so we could keep jammin’, but some of them freaked when they realized they were missing their own trains and ran off/flew off/slithered off/evaporated. But that’s ok, because there are already a lot of performers down here singing and dancing and making balloon monsters. It’s spooktacular, and I haven’t even made it up to street level yet!
9/30 15:12:12
Oh, my Pod! 42nd Screech is everything I ever dreamed of! The marquees of all the shows make my antennae tingle with excitement. When I’m a singer on Bloodway, I will go from moth-ghoul to moth-greatness! I’m already having so much fun. As soon as I got off the last bus, I met some fangtastic monsters from Monster High: Draculaura, Frankie, Cleo, Deuce, Clawdeen and Operetta. Oh, and also, Nefera and Toralei. I’m very good at remembering names - I’m sure that’s a sign I’ll be good at remembering my lines too - and I love making new friends wherever I go. I think it’s called networking. Now, to find a job or three.
9/30 17:26:47
Nailed my first audition! So what if it was for a pizza place? Pizza is very popular in Boo York, and a ghoul’s gotta start somewhere. I’ve got a costume and everything - just call me Luna Motheroni. Hah! No, don’t. It pays me in *dough*! Get it? That cracked Pops up when I called him on my iCoffin to tell him his little gypsy moth is settling in nicely. I think I’ll try out some of these lines as I pass out the flyers for the Comet-special combo. Maybe if I get some laughs, I’ll try my wing at stand up too. It’s not Bloodway, but it’d still be on a stage, right?
9/30 20:14:33
Lovin’ all this “cometness.” Monsters are shooting by me like zany stars in a sparkling universe! All the food joints have crazy, comet-fied specials going on. Being a moth, I’m a huge cotton candy fan. Make it wormhole-themed, and it’s like a flame that I can’t resist. I’m also diggin’ the street music. There’s a clawesine DJ across the way. I can only catch glimpses through the crowd, but I think she’s a robot with some kind of holographic keyboard or whatever. However, I can hear her load and clear, and she’s certainly making passing out flyers more of a toe-tapper than an energy-zapper. Although, no one’s ever accused me of lacking ene......
(oh, zap! got totes distracted by a laser light beaming off the DJ ghoul)
lacking energy. Now that it’s getting dark, all of the lights are getting kinda intense. They’re so bootiful, I’m attracted to all of them. I’m fearly going to have to concentrate and maintain focus. It’s good pract..... practice for when I’m in the spotlight on Bloodway.
10/1 14:42:59
Day of the Comet, Beasties! Got a gig selling boovineers. I project my lines to the frightseers passing by and try to gain an audience, then my co-seller does the rest and rings up their order. I’ve tried singing my lines, making up rhymes, doing a little improv with the customers. I think I have a knack for this. And later I’m going to be working the fancy Comet Gala at the Museum of Unnatural History! I’ll be passing out gore d’oeuvres to some of the city’s most powerful monsters. Maybe I’ll even make some connections to theatre producers, but, if not, i’m sure I’ll have a good time. Just seeing all the different characters who have been invited will be fangtastic. Pops called to check in and when I told him everything I’ve done already and that I’ll be catering tonight, he laughed and said he thinks there must have been a mix-up at the hospital because, instead of a moth-ghoul, he seems to have raised a busy-bee. He’s kind of a moth-ball, but I love him.
10/1 19:02:40
This gala is “ah-maze-ing”! That Mouscedes’ fave word. She’s a rat-ghoul I met here. She’s some kind of princess and she’s way Upper Beast Side, but she’s so nice. I never knew there was so much to learn about cheese! I had a variety of die-lish cheese puffs on my loaded down tray - gore-gonzola, aged ghoulda, fetid - I tried them all before my shift started and they were yum! But when I offered them to Mouscedes, she asked me if they were cheeseless cheese puffs, and I told her they weren’t even puffless cheese puffs, so then we started chatting and I learned she doesn’t do cheese. I told her to stay away from my Pops then, because his sense of humor was pretty cheesy! That’s when she told me her Pops was the Rat King of Boo York! I’m not sure what that means but it sounds impressive! I had to get back to work, but Mouscedes said maybe we could get a coffincino some time. I told her I already bounce off the walls without drinking those, but I’d love to just fang out and she agreed.
10/2 00:13:17
I guess you could say things took an otherworldly turn tonight! The lights of Bloodway drew me to exactly where I needed to be, just in time to help my new friends... AND I got to be on stage with Catty Noir, one of my fave singers! It doesn’t get more fangtastic than that! I think it’s ok to say my future of stardom shows promise! Speaking of promise, we all made it back to the Museum of Unnatural History in time for the comet to arrive in Boo York, and that brought some surprises of its own. Well, one surprise anyway. And she was stellar! I’m not saying I won’t ever get homesick, but I think coming to Boo York was a bright move. I’ve only been here for 2 days and I’ve already had a few fun jobs, performed on stage, and, beast of all, made new friends. Look out world, I’m ready to fly!
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Sea of Lucidity
Summary: Kids on the beach.
Rating: T
Warnings: Child death because y’know.
Notes: I wrote this super late and night and you can probably tell. Or super early in the morning. Either way I hadn’t slept at all. I kinda do want to write more fics that deal with Tsukasa’s death and this is probably the most mild idea I had, so consider it a tester? Or something? Idk the phrase, my head still burns from fatigue. Wahaha.
***Alternate Ao3 Link***
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“It’s the ocean the ocean the ocean!”
“Tsukasa!” he can only call out, breathless as he rushed after his brother. Before said brother could immediately dive into the sea, he acted fast and wrapped his arms around the other’s midsection to stop him from doing so. “You have to—put on sunscreen first!”
Tsukasa blew a raspberry but he was thankfully pliant as Amane dragged him back onto their haphazardly laid out towel with the beach bag knocked over in Tsukasa’s earlier excitement. Tsukasa plops down, wiggling his toes into the sand as Amane rifled around for the sunscreen.
“And remember,” he huffed, finding the bottle and squirting it onto his fingers. “You can’t go too far into the ocean. Or else.” He rubbed his hands before rubbing it on Tsukasa’s back. “The mermaids are gonna drag you down and you’ll be drowned.”
“What do you think mermaids taste like?” Tsukasa just asks, ever the picture of innocence and chaos. “Do you think they’re clammy? Are they clammy, Amane? Are they, are they, are they?”
“They’re clammy,” Amane agreed. “And slimy and grimy. All the things you hate, Tsukasa.”
Tsukasa stuck out his tongue.
“So,” Amane went on, hiding his smile. “Stay close to the shore, okay? Otherwise you’re gonna get clammy, slimy, grimy fish hands all over you.”
“Okay!”
He still had to hold Tsukasa in place so that he was protected properly. Tsukasa was even paler than he is, pale as the moon, so he needed the extra protection. That and as much as he didn’t want Tsukasa’s skin to burn, he’s even less keen on hearing Tsukasa’s wailing when he’ll be forced to rub oil on those burns.
Tsukasa does dutifully rub his arms even with his face scrunched up in distaste. It pinches up even more when Amane rubs his cheeks, said cheeks puffing out, chubby and red and reminiscent of a blowfish.
“Fugu, fugu,” Amane chirps teasingly, poking them.
Tsukasa just shoves him onto his back and tries to make him eat sand.
Even at that point, Tsukasa had been on his best behavior, so Amane lets him run off into the water with glee once they’re done. He follows, of course, although he hesitates before the waves, lapping into the sand and spreading out past the horizon. The ocean was beautiful—but it was full of dangers, full of storms.
“Amane!” Tsukasa exclaims, flopping onto the water. With his water wings, there’s nothing to worry about as long as Tsukasa doesn’t go too far. As long as he doesn’t go too far. “It’s the ocean! It’s so blue! Bluer than the sky!”
Like past the horizon, where the blue of the ocean blurs into the blue of the sky. It’s bright, the sun is up, so there’s no sight of the moon. Everything looks clear. Perfectly clear. But the ocean hides many dangers.
“Careful not to swallow too much water,” Amane warned, and smiled when Tsukasa gagged from the salt on his tongue.
It wasn’t long before Tsukasa grew restless, rifling through the beach for shells and other treasures. Amane had to stop him from picking up crabs and jellyfish, and in return Tsukasa terrorized him with algae. Tsukasa drags him past the initial lapping waves, giggling as he protests, but then Tsukasa clings to him.
There’s a larger wave than usual, and it nearly knocks them down. Because Tsukasa was clinging to him, he didn’t get swept away.
“...it’s dangerous,” Amane found himself murmuring. “The ocean is pretty, but it’s dangerous and scary, Tsukasa.”
“Mmf.” Tsukasa’s face is hidden in his shoulder. “Sorry. For making you come.”
As an apology, it’s mumbly and clumsy. But because Tsukasa never apologizes, it makes Amane blink a couple of times. His eyes are stinging from the salt of the water. The waves are calm now, but his heart’s hammering.
He pets Tsukasa’s hair.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “The ocean is just scary, Tsukasa.”
“Mmf.”
Tsukasa’s grip on him tightens.
“Are you sure it’s not my fault, Amane?” When Tsukasa does look up at him, it’s with eyes wide and pale as the moon. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” It was too bright out. He hated it, almost. It’d be more dangerous at night, probably, but the moon controls the tides and the moon is kind—surely it wouldn’t drown them... “It’s not your fault.”
Tsukasa’s eyes shimmer.
“Do you hate me, Amane?”’
“What?” His breath catches. The ocean rises. He wants to run but it’s like his legs are encased in muck. But because his little brother looks so sad, he has to focus on consoling him, he has to—“Of course I don’t. I would never...”
“But I make you sad, Amane.”
The ocean threatens to drown them both, but it’s Tsukasa’s words that weigh his heart down as if chained to gold, sinking deeper and deeper within the ocean’s depths.
“I make you scared, too.”
“Who’s telling you this?” Amane demands, his own voice raised with incredulity. “Who is it?”
“It’s you,” Tsukasa answered simply, and his uneven nails dig into his arm before yanking him down. Tearing ribbons into his skin. “It’s the way you look at me.”
No. No, no, no.
“I-It’s not true,” he stammers and stumbles over his words. “Tsukasa, Tsukasa, Tsukasa—!”
“Sorry, Amane.”
The ocean has receded to their feet. But Tsukasa crumbles to the ground. Hurriedly, panickily, Amane dives down to catch him, but—
Tsukasa’s paler than bone. His head leaned all the way back, unresponsive even as the waves wash over him. His body’s chilled. The only splash of color is the bright crimson red blossoming in his chest like a flower. One that’s drowned by the ocean. Over and over. But it won’t stop blooming.
There’s nothing to do, but to drift out to sea...
--
“Ha-na-ko-kun!”
Hanako’s eyes snap open to a dark place. He uncurls himself, and there’s a rapping of knuckles at the stall door.
“Hanako-kun?” Yashiro repeats. “Is everything alright?”
He phases through the door, and Yashiro blinks up at him, crimson eyes wide. He can’t help but smile down at her.
“You’re late,” he admonishes good-naturedly, flicking her forehead. “How was summer break? Did you go see the ocean?”
“I did, but obviously I didn’t swim,” she huffed at him. “I just looked at it longingly, wishing I had a handsome prince to hold my hand as we walked along the beach. Oh!” She has rifles through her bag. “But I brought you—a souvenir!”
She pulled out a conch shell, presenting it with flourish.
“You can hear the ocean with it! Or...so I’ve been told.”
Hanako does take it graciously. He holds it up to his ear and indeed, he can hear the waves.
He shivered.
“A-Ah, is it no good?” Yashiro’s worried. Of course she is. Hanako grins so widely it splits his face and shook his head.
“No, it’s fine. It’s cool.” With a grin so wide that it split his face open, he couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s the ocean!”
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Living for the Moment Ch14
A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other?
Read More AO3
“Oh, come on,” Ben groaned. “Of all the things we could be doing--”
Klaus knew he had been even more reckless than usual and Ben had obviously had enough. Then again, he’d probably had enough of his shit five minutes after he showed up as a ghost for the first time.
“Oh, come on, Ben,” Klaus said. “Live a little, why don’t you.”
“I’m dead, remember? If I was, I certainly wouldn’t be doing stuff like this. You’re either about to get seriously injured or arrested,” Ben said, exasperated. “Or both. I thought Dave getting clean might inspire you to do the same.”
“Obviously you know absolutely nothing about me,” Klaus said.
“You’re right. I gave you way too much credit,” Ben rolled his eyes, clearly giving up on him.
“Ooh, someone’s feeling nasty today.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Ben asked, gesturing around them at the grimy streets and just the general situation they were about to get into. “One of these days you really are gonna end up dead.”
“At least it’ll probably be funny,” Klaus said, giving him a grin before jumping into action.
The plan had been to con one of the shittier dealers, the one that was constantly trying to rip people off. Klaus figured, why not return the favor? Unfortunately, things went wrong like they usually do. He got a little too greedy, pushed his luck a little too far, and the next thing he knew he was being tackled as he tried to flee around the corner.
He didn’t really like fighting all that much, too much work and all that, but he was wound up enough now. He could certainly hold his own and he had to admit it was nice to blow off a little steam. Too bad the cops happened to be passing by. There went some perfectly good drugs. And, of course, Ben was there to say he’d told him so.
At least he was going to rehab instead of prison. And he couldn’t help but laugh when he realized it was the same one Dave had gone to.
“Looks like this’ll be fun after all,” Klaus said, grinning at Ben.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Ben groaned. “It’s like they’re trying to reward your bad behavior.”
It hadn’t even been a full week since they’d last seen each other. They’d gone longer before, but for some reason knowing that that wouldn’t change for a full month had somehow made it worse. Klaus didn’t want to admit how much he’d missed him, but now that he was going to see him again, he couldn’t deny how excited he suddenly found himself. He was barely sitting still while they were signing him in, and once they’d taken him to the common room, he spotted Dave chilling with a book almost immediately.
“Well,” Klaus exclaimed as he made his way over. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“Klaus,” Dave said, looking equal parts pleased and confused. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, when the judge gives you a choice between rehab or jail, it’s an easy one,” he said, dropping into the chair next to him.
“Are you okay?” Dave asked, noting the bruises and the black eye. Thankfully most of the damage wasn’t visible.
“What, this old thing? It’s nothing,” he said dismissively. “So how have you been?”
“Shitty,” Dave said with a little laugh. He definitely looked under the weather. Withdrawal had clearly set in and, while he was probably through the worst of it, he was still sweaty and achy and, just, generally miserable. “What about you? Are you going to be okay? You know, here?” He tried to make a complicated gesture that probably meant, ‘ghosts,’ but gave up at Klaus’ bemused look.
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Klaus said, patting his shoulder. “I got it covered.”
No one had their own room here. Instead, everyone claimed a narrow bunk bed and hoped whoever was above, below, or next to them didn’t snore too loudly. The beds near Dave were all taken, but Klaus still crashed on one when they went to Dave’s for a bit of privacy.
“It’s ridiculously easy to get stuff in here,” he was explaining, gesturing expressively as he laid it all out. “Just gotta bribe the right orderlies, or trade with the newcomers who managed to smuggle some in. Pretty sure my stash here was hidden well enough that I can dip into that too.”
“Klaus, come on,” Dave said, rubbing at his face with an exhausted sigh.
“What?” Klaus laughed. “I can’t help it if rehab is a pretty great way to get off the streets while still keeping the ghosts away. Just fewer dealers to turn to, so if you have to deal with an asshole, you could get yourself into a jam. I mean, there was this one guy who--”
“Klaus,” Dave snapped. “Please-- just stop.”
“Oh please don’t tell me you’re gonna lecture me about getting sober too,” Klaus groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Maybe I won’t share any drugs with you after all.”
“Klaus!”
“Right, you’re actually trying to get sober,” Klaus said and he hadn’t realized how exasperated and frustrated Dave was becoming. “In that case, don’t worry, I won’t tell you where my stash is. It's a secret for a reason. You can still help me steal some more, though.”
Of course he knew what withdrawal did to people, but Dave always seemed so chill, it was hard to even picture what a testy Dave would be like. It probably said something fucked up about him that he thought it was a little amusing. Well, maybe not amusing. Maybe interesting was a better word. If he was going to get a lecture like he did from Ben, though, that kinda made him want to push even more.
“Look,” Dave said with a heavy sigh, and somehow that was worse than him being angry. “You don’t have to take this seriously, but I’d hoped you could at least respect what I’m trying to do here.”
“No, yeah, totally,” Klaus said, hands raised in surrender.
“I’m not asking you to help me, just-- don’t intentionally make this harder for me, okay?”
“Fine, if you’re gonna be such a buzzkill,” he said, feeling petty, waiting for the lectures to begin.
“No, you know what? I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” Dave said, standing up and leaving the room. Apparently he wasn’t going to get a lecture after all. Klaus couldn’t help but feel guilty that he’d expected it. Dave had never done that sort of thing to him before, after all.
“Good going,” Ben said, suddenly sitting in the bed next to Klaus.
“Oh, shut up,” Klaus said, throwing a pillow at him, scowling as it flew harmlessly through him. He was silent for a long moment, before he continued much more seriously. “Things aren’t going back to normal, are they?”
“Probably not,” Ben said.
He’d had grand plans of the two of them causing havoc here; elaborate heists to steal drugs, making fun of the doctors behind their backs during group sessions, that sort of thing. He knew Dave wanted to get clean, but it hadn’t really occurred to him that he might want to take a lot of this seriously.
“I need to get out of here.”
“Or you could stay, try to get clean too,” Ben said.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he said, shooting a glare at him.
He felt guilty just sneaking out, especially right after that little fight, so he came to a decision with a defeated sigh. He supposed that if all this stuff actually helped Dave, he could try not to be such an ass about it. Surely they could find other ways to have a good time. Maybe they could still pull pranks on the orderlies that treated them all like shit.
For now, he dug around in his bag before heading back out into the common room. He found Dave sitting in the corner, hunched over a table and chewing on his fingernail absently. Klaus dropped into the chair next to him, pulling another over to throw his feet up on.
“Truce?” Klaus said, spreading various makeup and nail polish out onto the table, all from a recent theft of his. Thankfully, there was no proof he’d stolen it, so the cops had let him keep it.
“You really are something else,” Dave said with a chuckle, shaking his head, but he turned to face the table more fully, looking over some of the items.
“Okay,” Klaus said, picking up an eyeliner pen and scooting closer. “I can take a hint, I’ll shut up.”
“You can?” Dave said with a chuckle.
“I can be very observant when I want to be,” Klaus said, holding the eyeliner up in offering. “May I?”
“So of course you rarely want to be,” Dave said with a grin, snatching the eyeliner from him. “Me first.”
“Whatever you want,” Klaus said, pleased he was engaging. He leaned forward, closing his eyes as Dave got to work.
“So, you gonna tell me how you ended up here, or what?” Dave asked.
As Klaus recounted his adventures over the last few days, Dave seemed to loosen up a bit, and when he finally won a real proper laugh from him, Klaus couldn’t help but peek one eye open to grin at him.
“Keep your eyes closed,” Dave scolded. “You’re already squirming all over the place. And I’m out of practice”
“Fine, fine,” Klaus said, trying to hold still. “But I better look amazing by the time you’re done.”
“You already do, don’t worry.”
After a moment, though, Dave’s hand stilled, and Klaus peeked again. His stomach fell when he saw Dave was sitting there, staring at his own hand. It was trembling and even gripping his wrist didn’t help. He dropped the eyeliner onto the table and rubbed his hands together in frustration.
“Yeah, it’s just gonna get worse,” Klaus said sympathetically.
“I know, I’ve done this before,” Dave snapped testily, before sighing and shaking his head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a thick skin.”
“Doesn’t matter, you don’t deserve it. Thanks for helping.”
“‘Help,’ is a strong word,” Klaus said. “You’re just the only one here who knows how to have a good time, so of course I’m gonna hang around.”
“Well, either way, it’s appreciated,” Dave said, and his fond smile was much too genuine.
“Here,” Klaus said, snatching the eyeliner back up. Things were getting much too serious. “I think it’s my turn to do you.”
“Okay, okay,” Dave said, leaning against the table and closing his eyes. “My life is in your hands.”
“It’s just makeup, Dave, calm down.”
#klaus hargreeves#dave katz#klave#klaus x dave#the umbrella academy#umbrella academy#fanfic#living for the moment#my fic
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