#nose slim exercise

[xxsugarbones]

WORKING OUT WITH TOJI F.

-just joining your big beefy boyfriend Toji for his workout routine 💕

inspired by @starzu’s “Exercising with your boyfriend” fic found v

cw - fem!reader, plus size!reader, Toji is a real stinky boy but you love it, you sniff him (ya lil nasty), exercising (he’s doing push-ups, you sit on his back), biting, Toji folds you like a pretzel at the end, everything is recorded (consensual)

wc - 1.3k

|| an - Y’all I haven’t even watched JJK yet but I am so feral for Toji it’s not even funny. I love me a deadbeat dead man who could throw me around like a ragdoll if he so pleases 😩

Thinking about exercising with Toji.

He’s doing push-ups in the middle of the living room, all the furniture pushed off to the sides to make room for his bulky body, and a small tripod set up on the coffee table, his phone recording his workout routine so he could watch it back later and decide what he needed to improve on.

You were his good little cheerleader, sitting your plump frame on his broad back, your legs crossed and your hands resting on his shoulders.

At first you’d been hesitant to sit on his back because you were afraid you were too heavy for him, but he had assured you that it would be a good workout for him, that your “pretty little body” would be the perfect weights for him. So, like a good girl, you’d agreed so he didnt have to go dig out his actual weights. (Plus, you would have to be the one to lift them and put them on his back, and you knew very well that would not be a possibility, considering just how heavy they were.) And honestly, it shouldn’t have surprised you that he proceeded with no trouble at all.

He’s been at it for about half an hour now, occasionally taking little breaks by laying on the floor, while you shifted yourself back to straddle his thighs to give him a chance to breathe.

But it wasn’t ever too long before he got back into it, telling you to “sit your pretty ass back down on my back”.

“You got this baby! Doing so well!” You cheered on, leaning down again to rest your hands on his shoulders. His neck and shoulders were damp with sweat, his muscle tank clinging to his skin and loose strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes. He kept his sharp, green eyes focused on the ground, just trying his best to even out his breathing and keep himself in line, but it was getting very difficult with the feeling of your body weight and heat sitting atop him. But he stopped, lowering himself down flat to the ground when you tapped his shoulder three times.

“Lemme try something.” You started. You didn’t get much of a response other than a grunt from the man, who just wanted to continue his workout now that he was in the thick of it. You took that as your cue, shifting your body into a different position. Now you lay down on his back, stomach and chest against his toned muscles, and your arms wrapped around his slutty slim waist, and your nose nuzzled into his neck with a smile on your lips.

‘’m all sweaty, babe, don’t do that.” He huffed, but didn’t say much else as he once again started his push-ups, feeling you smile into his sweaty skin. This was much more comfortable for you. He grumbled out something about you being ‘gross’, which only made you laugh in response.

“But you smell good!”

“I stink.”

“I like you stinky.” Was your response, your hands sliding up underneath the hem of his tank and feeling his sweaty abs. A combined shiver ran through the both of you at the contact- your cool hands against his warm flesh, and he muffled a soft groan by sinking his teeth into his lower lip. You smiled, nose brushing along the tense muscles in his neck and just to prove your point, you tucked your head just beneath his jawline, and took a deep inhale.

“You’re real gross, princess.” He scoffed, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as best he could but really only catching a glimpse of the top of your head. You laughed, pressing a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and humming against the warm skin.

“Yeah but you love it.” You shot back, hands continuing to move around his body. One slid up his abs, moving further and further up his body until it hovered above his chest, the palm of your hand brushing against his nipple and making him tense again. You grinned, gently twisting and tugging at it.

“Gotta stay focused, baby, not much longer now and you’re done.” You teased, moving your lips to his neck again, your teeth ever so softly digging down into the skin, making a point to scrape your sharp canine teeth into the muscle. The groan you managed to rip from Toji was heavenly, and he could feel his already semi-hard cock twitching to life the longer your teeth were sunk into him.

“Playing a dangerous game there.” He hissed, but you paid no mind, just biting down a little harder. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he had flipped your position. He rolled you over so your soft body hit the carpet with a soft ‘thump!’, and he quickly shifted his body above yours so he was pinning you down to the ground, one of his massive hands grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Toji!” You squeaked, looking up to the taller man with widened eyes, and your thick thighs squeezing together at the sexual tension between the two of you that you were suddenly hyper aware of. Toji’s free hand grabbed onto one of your thighs, yanking it open and holding the underside as he hurled it up and over his shoulder, the heel of your foot digging into the back you had just been laying on not even minutes before.

“Nu-uh, princess, don’t act all shy now when you’ve been actin’ needy this entire fuckin’ time.” He moved his hips forward, pressing his hips against yours, finally making you aware of the little problem you’d caused him during his workout. You whimpered, rolling your hips upwards to grind against him, making Toji sneer, looking down to where your hips connected.

“How ‘bout we do a little workout together, huh?” He started, letting go of your wrists to grab onto your other thigh, hoisting it up onto his other shoulder. Your hips were up and off the ground now, and he leaned his body weight forward, pressing down into you so your thighs pressed against the swell of your stomach and chest. The angle ever so slightly constricted your breathing, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t make your brain fuzzy with the excitement for what was about to happen.

“You’re gon’ stretch your muscles for me, and I’m gonna fuck this pretty fuckin’ pussy.” He proposed, his hands smoothing down your thigh to push away the oversized shirt you had stolen from him (despite being a bigger girl, his shirts were still big on you, something drool-worthy), letting it roll up your body to expose your plush stomach, then making his way down to tug at your panties, pulling them flush against your pussy, and moaning at the sight of the wet patch that slowly soaked through the thin fabric. You whined, bucking your hips up towards his face.

“L-Like yoga?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” Toji chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your clit through your panties. You whined again, grappling onto the carpet beneath you as he pulled the fabric aside, then used his other hand to quickly pull down his sweatpants and boxers in one swift movement.

“Just keep these gorgeous legs up for me and we won’t have a problem.”

-

By the time you two were finished, Toji had to safely tuck that little video of his “workout” into his ‘HIDDEN’ album in his camera roll. But if you ask him, it was a pretty damn good workout.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji x chubby reader #toji smut #jjk x chubby reader #jjk imagines #chubby reader #i really need to watch jjk #💀

[tarotwithavi]

Your rising and how you look

Aries rising people tend to have a strong body no matter what. Doesn't matter if they exercise or not. I have also noticed that these people have natural curly hair but it's gets wavy or straight over time or because of using cosmetics. Competitive and always want to look the best in the room. Nice ass and bust. Oh and the most noticeable part of their body is their head and hair. Also can have pointy chin too. Thik lower lip and thin upper lip.

Taurus rising people scream elegance. You can notice them from far away. They tend to have longer necks and in females it can give noticeable Adam's appeal. Also I have noticed that these people tend to be slim, like most of the Taurus rising I know are slim oh and a big foodie too. Another thing I have noticed is high cheekbones or noticeable ones with thin lips. Sensual body language and smirks. Diamond or heart face shape .

Gemini rising people tend to look younger than they actually are. Also Gemini rising people have small features giving them an innocent look. Probably have a short height unless other planets aspecting. I have also noticed that Gemini rising have a mole on their neck too like most of the Gemini rising I know HAVE a mole on their neck and a small one on their cheeks. Big eyes. Wide smile and mischievous. Wider face.

Cancer rising people tend to have big soft lips and distinctive noses. Lips are a soft shade of pink.I have noticed that if you have cancer in your big three you can have a big or wide nose. Cancer rising people are very ticklish like especially on their belly. So just a reminder never touch their bellybelly , you can get punched. Nice breasts in females and will give a nurturing motherly aura. Can give a fair skin tone on chest area.

Leo rising tend to have a buttery yellow skin tone that's glows golden in sunlight. Leo rising tend to look better in sunlight and have a very confident smile. They have a beautiful laugh too and might laughing at any time. Most of the Leo rising I know tend to cut their hair often and have thik hair. Not all of them obviously. But Leo rising have noticeable hair. Doesn't matter if it's short or long. Generous people and always try to make everyone feel wanted and loved.

Virgo rising people tend to have a youthful innocent face in their early days but as they get older they lean towards a mature face. O have noticed that virgo rising have a slim waist and bloating is not much of a problem for them. It can be the opposite of that. Virgo rising have stomach issues and back issues. These people are perfectionist and want to look the best. So Virgo rising look great even if they are wearing pajamas. Oh and also they find their aesthetic later in life so before that it's just random choices of clothes.

Libra rising people is the moment. It's their natural beauty that stands out for everyone. And also libra rising look hella gorgeous in pink. These just know what to wear to look great! Libra rising can have a wide upturned nose. I know Libra rising and known for their symmetrical face but most libra rising I know don't have a symmetrical face. I won't say libra rising always have a symmetrical face but their body proportions are great. Libra rising can be good at maths too.

Scorpio rising people are just intimidating looking. Their eyebrows are perfectly arched giving them perfect eyebrows. Oh and also these people have sharp eyes and probably look older then they actually are. Scorpio rising are the people dark aura. And you don't want to see them angry. One more thing is that Scorpio risrising get cat called a lot. Smile that could light up the room. Balanced upper and lower lips. These are the type to get tattoo without telling anyone. Secret tattoos.

Sagittarius rising curvy body shape. Sagittarius rising probably have a nice butt and thick thighs. They tend to have a pear shaped body. Also I have seem these people have nice teeth too. And their smile is gorgeous. They may also have crooked teeth and watery big eyes. I have noticed these people can gain weight easily but that's just what I have seen. Could be wrong too. These people can have eye issues too. They tend to have a V shaped jaw. Oh but Sagittarius rising have a nice ass is not joke.

Capricorn rising tend to have a longer face with thin to medium lips. They also have V shaped jaw and noticeable cheekbones . Capricorn rising can also have a thin face to make their bone structure more prominent and noticeable. In male it can give a square or rectangular face shape too. Oh and these people have strong knees and joints unless other planets aspecting. Also I have noticed these people have wider forehead .

Aquarius rising are simp collectors. Many people may not like their style but still many notice them because of their unique features. To be honest Aquarius rising cannot be out in a box because of their distinct features. Also Aquarius rising look very different from their gender. For example I have a friend who's an Aquarius rising and in his childhood pictures he looked pretty and this isn't the word which describes boys right? Also my nephew has this placement and in his baby pictures often mistaken for his sister's. Aquarius rising also have thin legs.

Pisces rising, to be honest they always look good and often they seem as if they belong to a high status. Otherworldly appearance and may have features that are very distinct from their parents. Often have shiny skin and pretty eyes. Most of the Pisces rising I know have light brown hair almost blonde. But yeah that's just my observation. Also their eyes seem all over the place and often are very sleepy. Might have small eyes. Also have plump lips and pinkish undertones.

⚠ these are just my observations.

Masterlist

#astro notes #tarot and astrology #astro posts #astro observations #aries rising #taurus rising #gemini rising #cancer rising #leo rising #virgo rising #libra rising #scorpio rising #sagittarius rising #capricorn rising #aquarius rising #pisces rising #astroblr #astro community #astro content #astrology #western astrology #astrology and tarot #rising sign #zodiac

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part three: in which you're further reminded of the doctor's unsavoury methods while childe and a mysterious stranger occupy your thoughts

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: slowest burn that ever did burn, snarky and a tiny bit socially anxious reader, gn reader who is occasionally referred to as 'miss', fluff, crack

warnings: G O R E . blood, unethical scientific experimentation, minor character death, dottore is his own warning and frankly the reader is a little morally questionable too, reader experiences a small identity crisis and kills a man, attempted drugging (dottore tries to place the reader under the influence of a truth serum)

please let me know if you find any pronoun slips!!

series masterlist

word count: 5539 words

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

“Oh, Lord Two? Um… At twenty to three.” Anya told you.

You cursed softly under your breath. It was half past two, so you teetered just on the edge of being late, considering how difficult it was to navigate the ridiculous labyrinth- like palace. You grabbed your best copy of your thesis, the typewritten one you’d paid an outrageous amount for in Fontaine, as well as your notes on your current research; elemental magic and the human body. It’s quite ambitious, the sage of your Darshan had told you, which roughly translated to ‘you’re completely insane if you have even an inkling of hope that this is a worthy investment of your resources.’

After carefully placing the stack of paper into the slim wooden casing Tighnari had made for you, you grabbed your room key and ushered Anya out while flipping through your notebook for the map you’d drawn. You locked your door before all but sprinting towards the spiral staircases, taking the steps two at a time. You were out of breath by the time you reached the landing, but the humiliating prospect of being late was enough incentive to maintain the brisk pace despite the searing stitch that grew in your side. (Cyno would roll his eyes and bracingly tell you that even a scholar needed regular exercise, and damn him for being right.) Several twists and turns and anxious glances at your pocket watch and notebook later, you arrived at the door with four minutes to spare. With a pleased huff, you rebalanced your glasses on your nose and ran your finger down the seam of the door and wall. The words flickered sky blue, and it eased open when you thought please. Telepathic magic at its finest.

you took care not to seem winded as you entered the laboratory. The Doctor had his back to you, focused on something out of your sight. You heard faint whimpering, and when you approached you were a little sickened to see a man strapped to the vivisection table. He was clearly drugged, eyes wide and pupils dilated, and the Doctor methodically pulled a long, red string from a tiny gash in his inner elbow. With a jolt of revulsion, you realised that the string was the man’s arteries. Archons above. You knew the Doctor was morally dubious at best, but surely he could’ve conducted such an experiment on a fresh corpse and yielded similar results. Bruises littered the man’s face, yet the rest of his body was perfectly intact, not a single broken bone though one of his eyes was swollen and his lip bled from a deep gash. Even the clothes he wore didn’t bear signs of extreme wear, not ragged or bloodstained. No more violence than necessary. You clenched your teeth. The subject must remain in a semi-controlled state to ensure validity of the experiment. His sleeve was tidily rolled up to his elbow, but the incision from which the Doctor withdrew the arteries gushed blood in a wavering rhythm; that of his heartbeat, which slowly but surely dwindled. The Doctor didn’t even look up from the forceps he was using to carefully draw out the blood vessels, inch by inch, when you approached him and the test subject. The man spotted you, and even in his delirious state he began to thrash and unintelligibly beg around the gag in his mouth. Distaste swelled in the back of your throat; he hadn’t even been granted the dignity of unconsciousness.  The restraints caused blisters and redness where they touched his skin, a sure indicator that he’d been strapped there for a few hours at least. You grimaced, but resolutely kept your eyes on him as the Doctor (ha. The Doctor) slowly, methodically, lovingly pulled out his lifeline. You didn’t deserve the comfort of looking away.

The experiment was familiar. The Akademiya sages, blasted hypocrites they were, had utilised it time and time again; the awful nature of the tests they conducted was a well-known and universally unacknowledged secret. So really, you didn’t even have the luxury of claiming yourself innocent or different from the Doctor. You’d known, just as well as any Akademiya student had known, that lives whittled away like wood chips at a carpenter’s workshop within the walls of the building you’d called home, and you’d done nothing to stop it. For science, you’d let yourselves think. For philosophy, for the good of humanity, for art, even! Looking at the Doctor now, his mask obscuring his expression but his jaw and mouth relaxed, his gloves and forceps stained red as he tugged away at this test subject’s- this person’s life with nothing more than a controlled flick of his wrist, you couldn’t even bring yourself to be adequately horrified. Which you suppose, in the very act of being accustomed to such gruesome displays, made you a monster too. To your dismay, the man wouldn’t even die. He gasped and wheezed and clawed at the table he was strapped to, and after counting to ten (no more than ten second’s suffering, Tighnari had taught you) you leaned across the table and cleanly snapped the man’s neck.

The Doctor’s pace never faltered until the red cord broke, a pile of it laying in a glass dish by his side and the other end indistinguishable in the red of the man’s wound. You stared at the body on the table, the broken neck. Yet another death on your hands. You were the one to break the silence this time.

“I suppose this is some form of a test, doctor.”

“You’re quite right,” he confirmed smoothly, turning away from the body on the table and discarding his gloves. You sighed, tightening your gloves and glancing at your watch. The whole thing had taken barely ten minutes. Ten minutes to wrench the blood vessels from a human body. Usually it took longer. Bile rose in your throat at the way your mind so readily supplied the information.

“Did I pass?”

He grinned at you over his shoulder as he washed the blood from his hands, staining the water.

“With flying colours.”

“Joy,” you deadpanned, tugging at the collar of your cloak. The presence of a fresh body cloyed the air, pressing at your airways. You could never get properly used to this part, the blaring absence of life where there previously had been one. The Doctor walked back over to the vivisection table, pulling his leather gloves on along the way. Well, technically it’s an autopsy table now.

“This pathetic excuse for a man was a traitor to the Tsaritsa,” he began, staring down at the body. For once, you were grateful the mask hid his eyes; what if you’d seen glee, contentment in them? “Let it be known that this is the fate awaiting all who follow the same path.”

“Duly noted, doctor.”

“I do hope so.” He turned his faceless gaze onto you. “I’d hate for my student to end up nothing more than a test subject.” And strangely enough, he would dislike the experience of having to perform such a procedure on you. The thought perplexed him; why would he care? Bizarre. 

“I doubt you’d feel anything at all,” you countered, handing him the wooden case filled with your paperwork. You wished you’d been late, now. You wished you hadn’t been crowned valedictorian and piqued the Fatui’s interest. Perhaps then you could’ve left these malpractices behind as a chapter from your past. “Do enlighten me as to the purpose of this particular experiment, doctor. Other than observing my reactions to it.”

He ignored you in favour of reading your notes. Bastard, joke’s on you. You’re listening to me either way, whether directly or indirectly.

“Perhaps I should start calling you by a different title,” you remarked, more to yourself than him. “’Doctor’ isn’t very fitting after this display in human compassion.”

To your surprise, he answered, though without looking up from the papers you’d handed him.

“No. You will continue to address me in your usual manner.”

“As the doctor wishes,” you replied, making sure to inject a healthy dose of sarcasm into your voice as you took out the solutions you’d be using that day. As Nilou would've said, the show must go on.

A servant arrived some time later to wheel the body away, calm and unfazed. Clearly this was a routine occurrence, and you ruminated over the likelihood of being tied to the vivisection table yourself as you worked. By the time the thin, watery rays of light burned orange with the sunset and pierced through the relentless snowfall, you’d decided that it wasn’t a particularly pressing concern. If the Doctor had, for whatever reason, wanted to experiment on you specifically then the Fatui wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of recruiting you. They would’ve discreetly whisked you away instead. Hardly the most reassuring of conclusions to arrive at; regardless, as you measured out samples of the newly made elemental stabilisers you concluded that it could definitely be worse. After all, you had access to a marvellous lab and infinite time to pursue your research. And the Doctor was inarguably a genius, despite… Well, everything. You didn’t exchange any more pleasantries for the remainder of the day. Concocting the elemental stabilisers was a delicate process with disastrous consequences if your hand so much as slipped, and talking to the Doctor was mentally taxing enough without the threat of a possible electro explosion looming over your head. He read through every one of the papers you’d given him, and every now and then you hazarded a glance in his direction to try and determine his thoughts. A fruitless endeavour, as his expression (or at least what you could see of it) remained completely impassive as he sorted through the stack of notes. Still, having an academic higher-up evaluate your research was as nerve-racking as it had been in your first year, and you resented him for doing it in front of you. That was probably on purpose, too.

Once the stabilisers had been painstakingly measured out and stored away, you squinted at your watch to check the time through the remaining vapour after making the pyro-hydro stabiliser. The pearly face revealed that you’d been in the lab for four bloody hours, and your stomach pointedly seconded the fact by growling loudly enough that surely even the Knights of Favonius heard it. You noted the time you’d spent and the solutions you’d made into what you were coming to think of as your Fatui notebook, and after wiping your glasses clean of the spatters you made your way to the door.

“Take your documents with you if you’ve already finished.”

‘Already?’ Did four hours and twenty minutes of work not constitute anything? Damn him.

You pivoted on your heel and turned back to take your things from the Doctor’s desk.

“Anything else, Doctor?” you asked, rearranging the paperwork back into the order you’d had it in.

He settled on a response that he knew would get on your nerves, so that he could derive the thrill of watching you reign in your anger. “Fetch me a pot of tea,” he replied idly, his focus on the last piece of your paperwork.

“With respect, doctor, I am not a maid,” you said pointedly. Irritating as it was, you had to hover on the other side of his desk and wait for him to finish reading. Why would he tell me to take my things if he hadn’t even read them all yet? You were beginning to suspect that every one of his actions was specifically tailored to invoke annoyance, though how he so effectively pushed your buttons was beyond you.

He looked up from your report on the effects of prolonged elemental exposure on ancient mechanisms. It was one of your best, and if he attempted to criticise it you had at least sixty different explanations on why your method was the most effective. Defensive much? Alhaitham’s voice mocked.

“Are you refusing to accommodate your superior’s requests?” He replied, a contented smile spreading across his face. You took a deep breath and rationalised that punching said face wasn’t a suitable course of action, no matter how alluring it was. He didn’t even have the grace to hide the fact that he enjoyed prodding at your composure. Didn’t he already have tea anyway?

“Not at all. I'm merely bringing the inconsistencies of your requests to light,” you explained as civilly as possible. “The assistance required of me pertains to academic matters, and you don’t see how this includes fetching tea.”

“Then join me for tea instead.”

Your eyebrows must have reached your hairline. “I beg your pardon?” Every expression suited you, it seemed; each new reaction was something truly worthy of documentation.

“You heard me.” The Doctor’s vexing smile hadn’t slipped an inch. He leaned forward across the desk. “Take a seat. Or do you intend to display further insubordination?”

You tamped down the urge to snap and lowered yourself into the chair across from him. The report he’d been reading lay forgotten on his desk, and your eyes paused on the sheet of paper beside it. The writing on it wasn’t yours, and you realised with a touch of trepidation that he’d been jotting notes about your work, and although every one of your published reports had been approved after prolonged evaluation by the Akademiya you still had to swallow the lump of apprehension in your throat. He really did embody the air of a professor ridiculously well, with his ceaseless arrogance and lofty attitude, and it brought back too many memories of being a nervous rookie for your liking. A servant brought in a tray laden with a teapot, two cups and a plate of cake. Just when did he call for that? The Doctor poured out the tea, still smiling and being much too cordial not to rouse suspicion; as such, when he offered you a cup your first thought was poison. You stared at the tea then back up at him, frowning slightly.

“What’s the real purpose of this little exercise, doctor?” 

He had the sheer nerve to chuckle and lean back in his chair, relaxed and unhurried, as if you were so terribly silly for having your guard up.

“Do you need a reason to have tea with my student?”

You levelled him with a long, pointed look; the kind you used to give to the younger students you’d tutored every now and then. It wasn’t quite as effective on him, but he did drop the mocking smile with a sigh.

“Drink the tea,” he said bluntly, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk as if to analyse you more closely. “That’s an order.”

You snorted. “Well, doctor, you’ve just given me a marvellous incentive to not drink this tea at any cost.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek, but his lips remained in a straight, neutral line. You wondered what expression his mask concealed. (Annoyance would be the answer. He’d expected you to fall headfirst into his little trap; perhaps he’d underestimated you.)

“I am not patient enough to allow for your defiance. Drink the tea.”

You pursed your lips to hold back a grin. The Doctor had given you the upper hand by issuing an order you could refuse, and even though he probably did it willingly it still gave you no small satisfaction. Besides, your curiosity was piqued. What could possibly be in this tea that he so desperately wanted you to drink?

“Perhaps I’ll be more willing to acquiesce to your demand if you tell me precisely what’s in it.”

He released a long-suffering sigh, dropping the friendly act altogether, and leaned back in his chair. He tugged thoughtfully at his leather gloves, and it struck you as humorous that you shared such a similar tick.

“A truth serum.”

You raised your eyebrows. “And is that all?”

“I doubt you’d believe me even if I said yes.”

You laughed despite yourself. What a pleasant noise. Winning an interaction with the immovable Doctor so early into your studies was quite amusing, not to mention a massive ego boost.

“You’re quite right,” you conceded, relaxing in your seat and surveying him thoughtfully. “I'm grateful that you didn’t take a different route and simply inject it directly into my bloodstream when the chance presented itself.”

“You should be,” he replied, brusque and perhaps even irritated. Clearly he didn’t share your amusement. “It’s a mistake I won’t repeat.”

“The Fatui are so terribly fond of their blatant threats,” you mused, pulling your watch out of its inner pocket to check the time. “Wouldn’t it be more productive to ask your questions and see what I try to lie about? I'm sure you’re adept enough at reading body language to identify the truth.” At this point you were just gloating, trying to string him along. A fatal flaw you readily acknowledged in your personality; you savoured victories with a little too much enjoyment.

The muscle in his cheek twitched again, and you couldn’t help but feel quite pleased with yourself for getting on his nerves to the point where you could identify the tell-tale signs. The logical side of your brain thankfully decided to return to the situation at hand rather than calculating how long it would take for you to make significant progress in your research (two weeks maximum, if you were clever about your time), and you regained enough clarity to recognise that what you was doing was incredibly stupid. Riling up a Harbinger; Archons, where did your self-preservation go when your pride took the wheel?

You shoved the smug grin off your face and fastidiously schooled your features back to neutrality, slipping behind a façade of polite detachment. The Doctor, by contrast, smiled and tilted his head to the side as you forcibly removed the emotion from your face.

“Fascinating,” you heard him whisper, and for the sake of your own sanity you pretended you hadn’t. He fixed you with a stare that you could acutely feel even through his mask, and you stared right back. Two mad scientists.

You brushed the thought away; even if you did go insane you doubted you’d ever reach the Doctor’s level.

“You may leave. I expect you to be here at seven o’clock every morning.”

“Understood, doctor.”

He gestured at the door with an elegant wave of his hand, picking up the report he still hadn’t returned. You shot one last fleeting look at his writing on the separate sheet of paper before leaving the laboratory.

And bumping straight into Childe.

It took a few muffled curses and a thank you to every higher power you could think of that your glasses remained intact for you to regain your bearings, and the first thing you did once the corridor stopped spinning was shoot Childe a glare, though it was somewhat half-hearted.

“You’re incredibly lucky that my glasses didn’t break.”

He just laughed and even had the sheer nerve to ruffle your hair. You were so shocked by the gesture that for a moment you didn’t move to stop him, but once your brain had caught up with the situation you batted his hands away.

“And what would you have done if I did break your glasses, Trixy?” He challenged, following you down the spiral staircase with that ever-present grin. “Defeated me in a duel?”

Archons alive, he’s teasing me.

“No, no,” you replied sweetly. “I’d just slip some very potent toxin into your food.” Two can play at that game.

That elicited another delighted laugh.

“Stick to the battleground you’re familiar with, eh?”

“Naturally.”

You turned to enter the hallway where your room was, but he grabbed your cloak and tugged you in the opposite direction despite your protests.

“Oh, what are you doing-“

“You missed lunch,” he cut you off, practically dragging you out into the courtyard. It looked much more welcoming than it had when you’d arrived, with the hazy glow from the sunset glinting off the snow and the nearby sound of a chirping bird carrying through the chill air. You even glimpsed tiny blue flowers peeking through the layer of white. You relented, letting him pull you along without resisting.

“Oh, yes,” you agreed absent-mindedly, watching a fox with fur white as the snow disappeared into a burrow at the base of a pine tree. Someone within the palace probably fed it regularly, considering how it made no effort to hide itself.

“Is Dottore already overworking you?” He asked with a touch of humour, linking his arm in yours as he led you through the cobbled pathways. For some reason, you allowed it.

“He tried to poison me,” you offered, lengthening your stride to keep pace with him.

“That does sound like him,” he agreed with a snort as he dragged you into a pavilion adorned with glittering golden lights, which were naturally of the floating, magical variety because Archons forbid the Fatui do anything without being ridiculously extra. Still, watching the gusts of snowflakes through a golden frame wasn’t such a terrible experience, even if it didn’t offer any shelter from the biting cold and you had to properly fasten your cloak to keep it out. Childe evidently didn’t see the point in such frivolities, considering he wore nothing but that grey suit and the amused way he watched you adjust your gloves.

“You won’t miss lunch tomorrow, will you?”

You idly wondered why he was so fixated on that.

“Do the recruits and Harbingers even dine in the same place?”

“Don’t dodge the question,” he said mock-sternly. You chuckled.

“In the very act of issuing that instruction you also dodged my question.”

He dismissed the technicality with a flippant wave of his arm, leaning against the railing of the pavilion.

“Quit shoving your intellect in my face with those fancy words,” he said, his grin taking on a playful tilt.

“Only if you stop calling me by that childish nickname.”

He guffawed. “’Childish.’ Good one.”

You groaned, raking a hand down your face at the dreadful joke. Truly Cyno levels of unfunny, though you suppose you did set yourself up for it. He nudged you in the ribs with his elbow before you could swat him away.

“You scholars are so uptight,” he teased. “If you can learn all that complicated science jargon then you can also learn to take a joke.”

“I can take a joke perfectly fine. I'm tolerating your presence right now, aren’t I?”

He let out a sigh, throwing an arm around your shoulders and ruffling your hair with his fist. You immediately tried to shove him away with an indignant yelp, but you might as well have been a harmless ladybird as far as he was concerned. “You have no respect for my position as a Harbinger, Trixy,” he told you in a jokingly strict tone of voice.

“You’ve done nothing to earn it,” you countered, wriggling out of his grip and running a hand through your hair in an attempt to rectify the havoc he’d no doubt wreaked.

“Will I earn it if I defeat you in combat?”

“Why, of course,” you replied with as much sarcasm as you could muster. You’d been reliably informed of its sheer magnitude. “Considering my untouchable physical prowess and how magnanimous a defeat it would be if you somehow succeeded.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “I’ll have to challenge you to a duel, then. Can’t have my ego taking such a beating, can I?”

“Oh, Archons forbid. Anything but your ego.”

 The snow picked up, and you rushed back to the palace before it could pose a difficulty to finding your way back. Looks like a blizzard. Childe pushed the enormous front door shut and a few snowflakes fluttered inside only to melt the moment they touched the floor.

“Dinner should be ready in half an hour,” he told you as you approached the door to your room. Your stomach eagerly took this as a cue to growl.

“Three meals a day? We’re truly living in the lap of luxury.”

“So I’ll see you then?” Completely immune to sarcasm, as you were coming to learn.

“Alright.” you resolved to ask Anya to show you where the dining hall was so you could finish a quick lab report before eating.

He turned a corner and left the hallway, whistling cheerfully as he went.

The dining hall, as you came to learn in the coming days, was incredibly far away from your room. No hastily-sketched map would suffice to navigate the maze of corridors and ridiculous number of stairs, and you realised early on you’d most likely have to bring food back with you so you wouldn’t be obligated to make such a long trip every day. You were pondering the intricacies of what food would keep better and what options might be available when Anya gestured towards the dining room and then left. Embarrassing as it was, you still couldn’t find your way through the palace without guidance. The dining hall was massive and utterly packed with people as always. And unnecessarily lavish, but this particular aspect you were growing accustomed to the longer you stayed in the palace, though you still thought the crystal chandelier was a bit too much.

There weren’t many tables close to the windows because you was a little late to dinner that day, but you were nothing if not determined to maintain your own contentment, so you approached a table that was empty save for a young woman in purple robes and a swarm of strange creatures fluttering around her.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

She didn’t even spare you a glance.

“No.”

Ah, a fellow non-conversationalist. You sat down and began eating, surveying the dining room’s occupants and the whirling blizzard outside. You toyed absent-mindedly with the idea of striking up a conversation with the woman; after all, in a place like Snezhnaya where allies were few and far between especially for an outsider, even a casual acquaintance in the workplace would be beneficial. But it would also open more chances for backstabbing, figurative or literal. Best leave her be. You noticed with an uncomfortable prickle that every last person in the room wore a mask, though they varied in style and intricacy; the recruits with their bronze talismans had simple grey and black leather covering their eyes while the few odd silver talisman or Vision holders donned beautiful, decorative pieces. Though not as elegant as Signora or the Doctor’s, you noted as you ate. You wonder why you weren't given one.

As if she’d read your mind, the woman across from you spoke.

“Where’s your mask?”

It sounded almost like a demand, as though she believed herself entitled to the information, though a glance at the charms hanging from her waist revealed she held a bronze talisman just like yours; your ranking was more or less equal. It struck you as odd that a mere recruit would assert such authority in conversation, and you pondered the buzzing purple-winged creatures around her as an excuse to think before replying.

“I didn’t receive one.”

The buzzing picked up as the creatures flitted back and forth through the pointed ears on the hood of her cape. She abandoned her food in favour of staring at you through the slits in her mask.

“What do you mean you didn’t receive one?”

“I mean exactly what I said. I arrived here less than a month ago and wasn’t given a mask.”

“Ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath. You refrained from rolling your eyes.

“Which Lord or Lady do you serve?”

“Why the interrogative tone?” you asked pleasantly, or as pleasantly as you could in your irritated state of mind.

“Answer the question.” Her plate forgotten, she was leaning forward across the table with her eyes trained on you, and you once more marvelled at her brazen attitude.

“Am I obligated to answer?” You asked after a moment’s thought.

“Yes-“ she cut herself off, clearing her throat and relaxing back in her chair. “No. I guess not.”

You raised your eyebrows and took a bite of food. The Snezhnayans really were fond of their fish.

“You’re not really a recruit, are you?”

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

Her snappish manner was more than enough of an answer.

“I’d wager a guess that you’re a higher-up undercover,” you replied, twirling your spoon contemplatively. “Your behaviour is far too authoritative for someone who’s supposedly at the bottom of the metaphorical food chain.”

The buzzing purple creatures vanished into thin air. That surprised you; the annoyance they’d invoked had been enough to convince you they were real. The woman’s gaze was palpable, and you made a valiant attempt to pretend you didn’t notice it.

“You’re right,” she said abruptly. You hummed in acknowledgement, refraining from asking her about her real identity. “But who are you?”

“Me?” you offered her a quick smile. “I'm a recruit, well and truly. Not a disguise to be found.”

“Yes, yes,” she conceded impatiently, rapping her knuckles on the table. “But you didn’t tell me what Harbinger you serve. Or your name.”

You swallowed the lump of apprehension in your throat; the alias you’d chosen to keep your real name secret still felt unfamiliar and blatantly dishonest on your tongue.

“I'm apprenticing under Lord Two,” you said, avoiding her second question entirely. “Where did the horrible buzzing things go?”

“They were illusions,” she replied dismissively, confirming your suspicions. “How did you obtain such a position?”

You fiddled with the clasp of your cloak. “Is it a particularly difficult endeavour?”

“Dottore has never taken on any subordinates.”

That caught you off guard, and you nearly overlooked the fact that she addressed him the same way Childe did. Could she possibly be a Harbinger too? But why would a Harbinger go undercover at their own base of operations?

“Really?”

“Yes. I'm still doubtful over whether or not you’re telling the truth.”

“And I'm curious as to why you care.”

She chuckled under her breath.

“Fair enough. Trade?” She suggested, tapping her fingers on the edge of the table. The soft tap noise stuck out more than the hubbub of the room, and you wondered if it was a trick similar to that of the illusionary purple things intended to keep your attention on the conversation.

“Alright. One question in exchange for another?”

“Deal.”

Meeting a kindred spirit was truly an unrivalled joy.

“How exactly did you manage to gain an apprenticeship with the Doctor?”

You hesitated. Sharing the details of your offer didn’t seem to be a very clever idea until you remembered the Doctor telling you that verbal agreements were legally binding in Snezhnaya. How bothersome.

“I was sent a letter from the Director offering me the position a week after graduating from the Akademiya.”

The woman made a contemplative noise and drummed a pattern on the table with her fingertips.

“What’s so special about you that the Director saw it fit to offer you a never before available position?” She asked bluntly. Well damn, girl. Hit right where it hurts.

You grinned. “One question was our agreement, yes?” Her face contorted into a scowl, and you had to admit her anger was indeed fearsome.

“My turn. Who are you?”

“I'm not going to tell you that.”

Huh? You cursed yourself for so readily believing she’d uphold her end of the agreement. Clearly you’d spent too much time in Liyue, where contracts were irrefutable law, and this morally questionable and easily twisted system still came as a shock.

“That’s… not fair in the slightest,” you remarked, pushing away your empty plate. “But at the very least it confirms you’re in a high enough position to disregard the rules without a second thought.”

A pleased smile graced her face, and you suddenly and very belatedly realised that she was beautiful in a sharp, morbid sort of way; like the edge of a well-polished knife or a brand new musket.

“Fairness doesn’t concern me. This isn’t Fontaine, after all.”

“Have you ever visited?” you asked, more out of polite curiosity than anything else. If she wouldn’t outright tell you her identity, then perhaps you could glean a clue from the exchange of pleasantries.

“Yes,” she replied shortly. Clearly she didn’t share your sentiment, though it was rather understandable; if she really was as high-ranking as you suspected then she could gather as much information about you as she wished without having to resort to seemingly empty conversation.

“Do you refuse to give me so much as a hint about your identity?” You pressed, resting your chin in your hand and watching her pensively.

“Yes. I refuse.”

With a disappointed sigh, you stacked your cutlery onto your empty plate and left them on the table like you’d seen the other recruits doing.

“Quite cruel of you to pique a scholar’s curiosity and leave it unfulfilled like that.”

A flash of her teeth in another smile.

“What can I say? I'm a cruel woman.”

“So I'm coming to realise.”

You left the table with a nod in her direction, puzzling away at the interaction and wondering who exactly she could be.

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fatui #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin crack #fatui harbingers #genshin harbingers #genshin fluff #harbingers x reader #genshin dottore #childe x reader #dottore x reader #la signora x reader #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino x reader #no rest for the wicked nor the foolish

[sneakyfordethklok]

Toki Headcanons

Baby.. baby man baby...

He's 5'8", the second shortest in the band below Pickles.

Toki's weight fluctuates between about 170 and 180, depending on his eating habits and his health. Obviously he is very muscular, but he tends to slim down more unintentionally during the summer, when it's warmer and he feels like he has more time to workout.

He's about 25 now, though he was going on 17 when he joined Dethklok back in the day.

He doesn't exactly exercise a lot, but he definitely tries to. He works with weights sometimes, and counts his anxious rearranging of his room on occasion as a workout.

Charles had a home gymnasium, the size of their dining room, built in one of the wings of Mordhaus for Toki. Though, he really only uses the treadmill and some of the weight machines. He likes rowing.

His bunny tattos are shitty, faded stick-and-poke pieces Murderface and Pickles helped him with. He cried the first two times, but has been pretty strong since.

Aside from the two rabbit tattoos, he has an angel wings and halo piece on his other arm, and the Dethklok logo tattooed on his chest, right under his ribs.

His mustache grows from his top lip like catfish whiskers.

Toki doesn't wear them to concerts or most publicized events, but he likes to wear the featured hair clips and other accessories for his own tastes.

As part of that, he very much enjoys scenecore and early 2000s emo/scene fashion.

His English is noticeably and (arguably) significantly better than Skwisgaar, in large part due to him learning English at a younger age.

His back from between his shoulder blades to the small of his back, and to the edges of his shoulders are covered in welts. The edges are dark flesh-tone, some of the newer-ish ones being a shiny pink. Just the lightest touch will send Toki into a panic.

Generally, he responds negatively to criticism, loud noise (that he wasn't made privy to prior), or anything perceived as aggression. He cries and gets upset easily enough, something his band mates ridicule him for, but in turn he is also the most understanding, gentle, and affectionate member of Dethklok.

Even after being treated poorly or outright mocked by his friends, Toki will be quick to do anything for them. Especially affectionate acts of kindness. (See the episode Dethmas.)

Toki got a nose piercing for aesthetic and symbolic reasons, following a drunken escapade with Murderface, of course. The bassist convinced him to get the piercing, and after paying a visit to a tattoo shop, it happened.

Despite the.. interesting story behind his piercing, he's still quite happy with it. And it's the only one he has.

It's pretty much obvious just by looking at him, but Toki has massive eyes compared to his bandmates. They're big, doe-like pools that make him look at least 5 years younger than he is. His baby-like appearance, especially in the rare times he's shaved his mustache, don't exactly help his appeal to children.

Toki's unfortunate adoration of Rockzo also apply to just about everything else clown-related or clown-themed. He likes carnivals, circus acts, clown music, ICP, clown Halloween masks, etc. You could call it a special interest.

He was officially diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder and CPTSD from a psychiatrist at age 21, just a few years after joining Dethklok.

His knife injury from Magnus during Doomstar Requiem did get infected, and left an absolutely ugly scar behind. It's just behind his left shoulder blade, and is a marred, ugly pockmark against his mostly smooth flesh otherwise, even when compared to his welts from the child abuse he endured.

Toki still has nightmares about his father's death, and his treatment while kidnapped with Abigail by Magnus.

Following the events of Requiem, Toki regressed mentally, but not fully. His childish behavior from before didn't change, but his ability to cope with stress and uncomfortable/unfamiliar situations worsened immediately. He can't handle almost any stress or antagonizing without crying or getting very upset, and he wears sensory headphones quite often now.

He enjoys the old My Little Pony and Strawberry Shortcake cartoons, but won't admit it to Skwisgaar or his other bandmates.

While being in a poly with his bandmates, his predominant partner is Murderface, being the main pairing of mine (Warface).

NSFW BELOW THIS

LAST WARNING

His main kinks are praise kink, breeding, BDSM, body worship, knife-play, and edging.

Very sensitive, needy, and easy to turn on. He'll do anything for approval, and to make his partner feel good. Almost to the point of desperation.

He's a switch, though is mainly a bottom.

That being said, he can snap at a moment's notice and can turn the tables very fast. Never underestimate how being horny and desperate can make him lose his resolve and patience.

With barely any hesitation, he can flip you over or pin you down, whatever is necessary, and make you do whatever he wants. He's certainly strong enough to use force on anyone to get his way, though of course he would never hurt a partner on purpose.

If he's not trying to hold himself back, he can get too excited and cum too quickly.

Big into breeding, with a hyper focus on bodily fluids. He wants you a soaking wet, moaning mess while he fills you with cum. He can be pretty forceful about it too— Toki's the kind of guy that has been wanting to knock up any female partner he gets from probably the first date.

He's big into gentle aftercare. He loves to cuddle, make out, shower/bathe together post coitus, whatever his partner wants. He's the kind of guy to rub your back after and play with your hair while you both coming back down.

#adult swim #dethklok #metal #metalocalypse #toki wartooth #headcanon #headcanons #ask blog #ask #send asks #asks open #send dirty asks #smut #ns/fw #digital art #digital illustration #fanart #painting #digital painting

[roguelov]

Hand of God

Summary: It’s late, and your thoughts are spiraling out of control. So, you decide to take a walk. A walk which leads you to the rec center where an AA meeting is taking place. But, will the thoughts be silenced for long? And what will happen if Father Paul reaches out to help, will you accept it?

Word Count: ~5.7k

Reader: Afab

Warnings: Smut (priest kink, praise kink, fingering), mentions of alcoholism and overwhelming thoughts (nothing specific)

MINORS DNI/ 18+

Damn it.

They were back again tonight.

Fear. Depression. Anxiety. Rage. Self-Loathing.

They have barged in as they do almost every night, right at the exact moment when the last bit of sun vanished behind the horizon, to tease and torment. To scream in your ears and drown out every other thoughts or feelings that remotely brought you an ounce of comfort or joy. To gleefully drag you down into unknown depths of yourself you had yet to explore.

For a long time, you had a simple trick to silence them, one that instantly worked: alcohol. But, it wasn’t a solution. No, it was a mere bandage on the gaping wound. So, you learned to cope. AA meetings, therapy, exercising, yoga and meditation, hobbies, you’ve done it all. And it worked, you started to live again - not survive.

The problem - the biggest one that no one cared to mention - was they never truly went away. Those volatile emotions lingered in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind. You thought it was over. But, it never was or will be. They only became dormant, giving you a false sense of security.

Cope.

That was all you could do.

But, tonight they were back.

And they were loud, they were demanding.

Laying in bed, you squeezed your eyes shut and plugged your ears.

Silence. Please, I just need silence.

But, they didn’t relent.

You huffed, and ripped off your sheets. In your light grey sweatpants splattered with old paint stains - another hobby you tried and failed at - and the oversized black shirt - that had faded to an off dark navy from its countless washes - you grabbed a jacket, shoved on worn down boots and darted out your front door.

Away. You just needed to get away.

You stumbled down your porch steps, and sped off into the night. You didn’t care where. You didn’t even mind the chilly air - the clawing remnants of winter fighting to stay. You just simply couldn’t get away from your house’s confining walls fast enough.

Zipping up your jacket, you flicked up the collar bracing yourself against the cold. You shoved your hands into your pockets and followed the rocky path. Even in the moonless night, you easily kept on the path. You walked it thousands and thousands of times, you knew every pebble, and every bend. Sighing, your spiraling thoughts tried to settle. It tried to shift more outwardly, than inward, to the biting cold worming its way under your clothes, to the late frost nipping at your fingertips and the tip of your nose. Your thoughts called out for your need for heat and survival.

But, those voices still lingered, still whispered against the night breeze.

Fuck.

You marched, following the winding path past houses and their sleeping hosts, skating around the surrounding ocean, and soon towards the church and the rec center. An inviting light from the rec center bled out into the darkness. Of course, a few candles were lit in the church, but you were never the religious type.

You paused, staring at the light. Curious, and with nothing else to occupy your mind, you changed course. Your footsteps softly padded against the sidewalk, silenced by the constant sound of waves crashing and nocturnal animals sprinting in the nearby thickets.

The front door was cracked open, almost as if beckoning you to come in.

Or as if fate, or God for that matter, was guiding you here.

You peered through the slim crack.

Two men, Riley Flynn and Father Paul Hill, sat somewhat uncomfortably across from each other in metal collapsible chairs. Just the two of them in this vast space made to serve the community. It was jarring, and a bit unsettling.

Why just them? Why those two?

Then it clicked: the new AA chapter of Crockett Island.

Your face scrunched up. This was not how you wanted your night to go. Taking a step back, you turned away. But, the voices purred, pleased by this cowardice act. You clenched your fists, gritting your teeth. AA meetings were not new to you. You had your fair share of staring at unfamiliar faces and spilling secrets not even your family knew of.

The voices were right. You were a coward.

But, not for tonight.

For however long it may be, they will be silenced, and for a short-lived moment you will be you again and not this shell - not this husk.

Knocking, you pushed open the door all the way. You poked your head in. Both men snapped their attention over to you. “(Y/N)?” Riley perked up, practically relieved to see another face.

You stepped into the warm building gently shutting the door behind you. Swallowing down your nerves, you said, “I’m sorry, but, uh, is there room for one more?”

Father Paul smiled, somehow overjoyed by all of this. “Of course, please, grab a chair and join us.”

You shuffled over and took a chair off the rack. Under the men’s watchful gaze, you awkwardly walked over, placing the chair between them creating a triangle rather than the typical circle in these meetings. You plopped down, desperately avoiding their eyes. It felt as if they were staring through you, tearing you apart for your secrets.

Riley cleared his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t know you had a uh -“

“Drinking problem? That I too was an alcoholic?” You cut him off with a bit more venom than intended.

Riley dropped his head, muttering, “Yeah.”

Your shoulders drooped down. “I’m sorry that was … yeah I’m sorry. But, yeah I did, well I guess I still do. Everyday is a battle as you probably know, and I still struggle to keep the demons at bay. Some days are easy and some like tonight … not so much.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re here with us,” Father Paul said with a chirper smile.

You wished you could conjure up a smile for him, but you couldn’t. Not now. You sighed, removing your jacket, then leaned back on the uncomfortably hard chair. “Thanks.”

“How long?” Riley asked, now looking at you.

You crossed your arms. “Almost five years sober, or I will be, come early summer.”

Riley nodded.

Father Paul smiled at you, “That’s good, you should be proud.”

“I am.”

He cocked his head. “You don’t really sound like it.”

“I’m sorry, I … I’m just not in the best headspace right now, but I am … I really am.” A smile twitched on your lips. It was a journey, still is, and you intended to see it through till the end.

Not wanting to sit in the pressing silence, you spilled into a story - a random more cheerful story of your youth - quickly feeding into this temporary distraction. Riley smiled, thankful for your presence, and added his own chaotic childhood stories. It all soon devolved from there.

Story after pointless story.

All the while, Father Paul watched you both, a silent third party. His hands were clasped together in prayer, fiddling with his rosary. Pride and joy buzzed in his chest. Two souls have been connected and now aided each other in their troubling times - a miracle, if he said so himself especially given your both utter lack in faith.

But, there was another reason. Another reason for why his chest hummed, another reason for why he smiled so brightly.

And as he watched the two of you, his thoughts drifted and so did his eyes.

They drifted down your face, over your cheekbones, to your parted lips, and then to your jaw, studying how the harsh overhead lights reflected off your angles.

His eyes drifted down further to your exposed neck, and the way you tilted your head listening to Riley’s tale. The Father was completely fascinated by your soft neck, and the surge of temptation which followed to mark and bruise, and draw out such beautifully sinful noises from you.

Then his greedy eyes drifted even lower to your baggy off black t-shirt. With your arms crossed, it accentuated your chest - your breast. He swallowed, shifting in his seat. No bra. You, however, paid no mind to it. And, given your clothing - shirt and sweatpants - you clearly had no intention of coming here beforehand; so Father Paul would chalk it up to either you were unbothered or forgetful. And, oh dear lord, when you moved, arching your back trying to find comfort in these hard rigged chairs, he could see your nipples slightly poking through the cotton fabric.

And still his eyes drifted lower, because there was more room to fall. Your legs were crossed with your mud caked boots pointed out, sometimes bouncing nervously or to a tune trapped in your head. You constantly fidgeted, crossing, uncrossing, and spreading your legs. Oh, Heavenly Father, the priest thought, if he could he would drop to his knees in a heartbeat just to bury his face between your thighs.

His eyes wandered back up.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. A smile, small and almost unsure to be there, tugged across your lips. Riley chuckled along with you as he finished his story.

Father Paul clutched his beads.

Father Paul hardly spoke, and if he did he only pushed the conversation a little forward. You and Riley mostly carried it, Riley more than you. You suspected he was relieved to be talking about anything other than religious verse Father Paul might spout.

Yet, it was all winding down.

The only tell of passage of time, in this dark hour, was the faint ticking of the wall clock. You swore hours upon hours had passed, but it turned out to be less than one whole hour.

Riley yawned, stretching his legs out.

Father Paul chuckled. “I suppose it is late, it’s best we end this meeting for today.”

“Yeah, I guess, you’re right.” Riley huffed, getting to his feet. He picked up his chair, then looked at you waiting for you to follow.

You threw him a tight lipped smile, but stayed put.

Riley shrugged to himself and said his goodbyes, taking his chair to hang back on the rack.

Father Paul eyed you curiously for a second before standing up and walking Riley out. Their low mumbling bounced in the empty space, yet you couldn’t decipher a single word.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and tipped your head back.

It was starting again. Those damn voices.

“Are you okay?”

You cracked open your eyes. Father Paul stood at your side with a concern etched into his face. “Yeah,” you muttered.

“You don’t sound so sure of yourself.”

You laughed once, and leaned forward bracing yourself against your knees. Your eyes directed onto the recently mopped floors, and not on the Father’s insightful gaze. “I just need a minute. You can go, I promise I’ll lock the door behind me.”

It’s not like much stealing or breaking in happens in this tiny isolated community anyway.

You expected him to leave. Hoped, in a way, he would. Instead, a chair scraped across the floor. You quickly glanced up to see Father Paul back in his chair, now turned facing you head on. He leaned forward, mimicking your slouched posture. His rosary still entangled in his hands.

“Would you like to talk about whatever is afflicting you? You know I am here for you.”

Your eyes couldn’t tear away from the dangling cross. When you spoke it was quiet and dejected. “I don’t really want to hear any bible verses, I’ve heard plenty, and to be honest, I don’t think anything you say Father would help.”

Father Paul dropped his gaze to his hands. He absentmindedly rolled a bead between his thumb and forefinger, an old anxious habit. He huffed through his nose, smiling more to himself. He pocketed the beads into his cardigan. “Okay then,” he leaned back in his chair, “right now I’m not a priest. I’m just a concerned friend.”

You lazily dragged your eyes up, secretly taking him in, and locked with those hypnotically kind chocolate brown eyes. Eyes you dreamt about nearly every night since his surprising arrival.

He tilted his head, smiling softly at you. “So? What’s bothering you?”

The voices were not silenced, an unruly crowd shouting for your attention. However, a new one - a sinfully familiar one - started to take center stage. The new voice purred, absolutely elated in this changing development, and pointed out how close he was, how alone you were with him, how beautiful he looked, how -

Goddamn it.

The Father, as one would suspect, could not help you, not in this changing situation. Not with your demons. Not when this new voice was in the forefront of your mind.

You shook your head, standing up - jumping to your feet. “I’m sorry, I should just go.”

Get out. Get out before you do something stupid.

Grabbing your jacket, you darted off. However, you only got halfway to the exit when he spoke again.

“Please, let me help.”

You froze.

His sweet velvet voice, one that usually commands and guides, was a whisper in such an empty hollow space. And he pleaded - begged to be of service to you.

Peering over your shoulder, he sat on the edge of his seat staring unwaveringly at you. You gripped your jacket, and sighed, “Father -“

“Paul,” he interjected. “I told you I was a friend now, not a priest.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Paul. I don’t think you can help me.”

“Just let me try. What do you want? What do you need right now?”

You almost scoffed. Twisting around, you faced him with a sad smile. “What I want is fairly simple, but very hard to obtain.”

“Which is?”

“To forget.”

“Forget what?” His eyebrows knitted together.

“Everything,” you breathed out. “I don’t want to think about anything, for just one moment I want to forget it all.”

The pains, the sorrows, the anger, the desperation, the guilt - all of it. You didn’t want to dwell on any of it.

So.

How could he help?

How could this man make you forget?

He couldn’t. It was your only logical conclusion.

Yet, the priest had a thought, a thought which always stirred when he saw you, a thought which flared since you stumbled in tonight. “Come. Sit.” He licked his lips, sitting back in his chair. “Please.”

You tightened your grip on your jacket.

Go home.

Stay.

You obeyed his simple command. You were too morbidly curious and hopeful about his possible solution. Your feet carried you over to him, pulled in by his captivating presence. You draped your jacket back across your chair. You moved ready to sit down -

“Not there.”

You blinked, furrowing your brows.

Paul leaned back in his chair with his legs spread apart, gazing up at you. He patted his thigh. “Here.”

Your body tensed up. Your heart, however, leapt into your throat. It fluttered, danced, flipped, sang, etc. Dizzy with a tidal wave of emotions, you whispered, “What?”

Father Paul wasn’t oblivious to it, to your attraction, oh no far from it.

He will admit, more to himself, that in the beginning he assumed your nerves were due to his profession. Most people walked on eggshells around him as if he held their damnation in the palm of his hand, or viewed his absolute devotion as nonsensical. But, those thoughts were swiftly put to rest when he caught you staring.

Always staring.

At a town event, the one of many, eyes burned into the back of his skull. Confused, he spun around and instantly locked eyes with you. You casually played it off, smiling at him then glanced away. Yet, you were undeterred. You continued to eye him hungrily, believing he was completely unaware of it.

Oh, how wrong you were.

And you simply didn’t comprehend the full scope of it. You failed to see how he returned the gesture. With your back turned, or when talking to friends, he drank you in - much like tonight - drank in the obvious temptation that you were.

So, no, he wasn’t oblivious. He knew of your attraction since the beginning.

And he reciprocated it.

Tenfold.

“Sit,” he repeated, snapping you out of your daze. “You want to forget? Then sit.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. No matter how desperately you craved this. “You really want my dirty sweatpants on you?” You joked, trying to hide your nerves and steadily climbing heartbeat.

He chuckled. “I can assure you it’s perfectly fine. And if anything I fear that I am the one that might smell. I was on my feet all day; and I know I reek of incense.”

You laughed through your nose.

He was right. Your pants may be covered in old, determined to stay, paint stains, but you were also curled up in a scalding hot shower a few hours prior wanting, and hoping, to wash and burn away those voices and thoughts.

It didn’t work. Obviously.

He cocked his head. His eyes dragged up and down your body, then reconnected with yours. “Well?”

Your heart flipped in your chest.

Yes. God, yes.

But, you quickly shook your head. “I’m sorry, I can’t you -“

“Have already made you forget about all your worries,” he pointed out. “Have I not?”

You closed your mouth.

He had.

But, how could you think of anything else? How could you process anything with him sitting in front of you asking you to do things you’ve only dreamt of?

“You are thinking only of here and now and not of anything else, so if it is that simple then please sit.”

You almost hated how he was right.

Almost.

You closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling loudly. Opening your eyes, you met his calm, inviting ones. Yet, something flickered behind those sweet brown eyes. Worry? Mischief? Concern? Lust? It was indecipherable.

“Okay,” you whispered.

You straddled his legs, his knees more accurately, sitting as far away as you could even with this close proximity. Your hands dangled loosely at your side, unsure where they should go. Your heart pounded in your chest. A fire bloomed over your chest and to the tips of your ears.

This is ridiculous. Why am I doing this? And - and -

He tilted his head back a little to gaze into your eyes as you nearly loomed over him. A smile, so kind yet so dangerous, danced over his lips. His eyes held the key to both your salvation and damnation. “See? Not so bad.” He smiled up at you. “But, if I may …”

He bounced his legs.

Inhaling sharply, you toppled forward. Your bodies collided. Your hands flew up, bracing yourself on his shoulders. His sturdy hands latched onto your hips, keeping you in place, keeping you on his thighs and over his -

Don’t think about that - fuck don’t -

“I got you,” he hummed. He laughed at your wide eyes, and completely shocked expression. Smiling, he reached up, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “Better.”

You shivered.

Paul truly couldn’t bite back his smile and amusement. Sin or not, oh how he dreamt of moments like this. His thumbs rubbed hypnotic circles on your hips, putting his spell over you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself in this new reality.

“Now, if at any point you want me to stop, just say so.”

Swallowing, you let out a low shaky breath and nodded. Reason had finally left. You wanted this, wanted to stay like this for an eternity, wanted to fall into depravity with him as your guide.

“Good,” he purred.

His hands snuck under your shirt, and started wandering up your back.

You immediately sighed, dropping your head forward and letting yourself get lost in his touch.

His calloused, slightly cold, fingertips sent waves of goosebumps over your skin. He slowly began to map out your curves, feeling how your body molded into his firm hands. He was trying to learn and understand what your body needed, to know where to touch to silence your thoughts and focus solely on him.

His blunt nails scraped down your back.

A soft groan rumbled in the back of your throat.

He slipped out one hand, leaving a chill across your hot skin. Using his index finger and thumb, he tipped your head up so you looked directly into his soothing eyes. He smiled. Your eyes were already glassy as lust poured into your veins. His thumb gently ran over your bottom lip.

Your tongue nearly chased over it.

“Please,” he muttered, his eyes dropped to your lips. “Do not be afraid to touch me, use me as you wish.”

Your hands unfurled and carefully, hesitant and unsure, glided down his chest inch by inch. The perfectly ironed dress shirt bunched and crumbled under your wandering hands. His eyes fluttered closed. A blissful sigh escaped his lips. Your hands moved back up his chest, stopping near his neck. You locked onto his starch white celery collar.

“I told you I was a friend now, not a priest.”

Your eyes slowly peered up at him. Opening his eyes, he met your questioning gaze and nodded. You swiftly tugged on it, on his symbol of faith, letting it fall to the floor. Reinvigorated, you undid the top of his buttons. Your hands eagerly ran over his chest, over his warm skin. With a single finger, you followed the curvature of his body and muscles. He shivered. Your hand paused, landing over his heart. It pounded, hammering excitedly against your palm. You smiled, a small one. Your hands trailed back up and curled behind his neck. Your fingers buried and weaved into the ends of his neatly combed back raven hair. Your nails gently scratched against him.

He hummed, craning his neck. Licking his lips, and losing part of his patience, his hand cupped your cheek and finally drew you in. It was soft, sweet even, as you both tested the water. Just a simple kiss. With one hand still trapped under your shirt, he ran a finger down your spine. You arched your back to the delicate touch.

You exhaled deeply.

More. You needed more.

Your fingers curled, then forcibly yanked on his hair. He gasped. His lips parted. The opportunity you needed. Your tongue slipped in, exploring his mouth, tasting your own personal forbidden fruit.

Paul moaned.

Oh, how wonderfully sinful it was.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue soon fought back desperate to have a turn. He begged to have a taste of temptation.

So, you willingly gave yourself over.

His hand fell from your face, and down your neck. Two fingers rested over your pulse. He smiled against your lips. Your heart rate matched his own chaotic one. His hand moved farther and farther, then snaked back under your shirt. His hands roamed all over your body, while his mouth - his oh so surprisingly expert mouth - left you in a mind numbing haze.

Fuck.

Your skin ignited - burned. His touch was fire against your needy skin, a fire far hotter than the nine circles of Hell itself. Your nerves screamed - sang an enticing new melody with Paul as your composer. Your heart hammered erratically, the resounding drumbeat, in your ears. So much so, you couldn’t hear the faint whimper humming in the back of your throat.

Paul pulled away, painstakingly slow, still savoring your lips.

His heavy panting was a lovely accompaniment.

Desperate, wanting, craving for more.

You took this moment to study him.

His head slightly bowed forward, chin tucked to his chest. A low muttering passed over his swollen lips. A prayer, if you had to guess. His eyes flickered up. Oh, how they sparkled with awe. Yet, when his eyes fell back to your lips, they instantly darkened, fueled by lust and sin.

Fueled by you.

He leaned in, hovering his lips over yours. “Divine,” he whispered, “absolutely divine.”

His hands reached up, cupping your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, dropping your forehead onto his shoulder.

He chuckled. It echoed directly in your ear, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. His lips skimmed past your ear, and to your neck. He peppered gentle butterfly kisses up and down your neck. His hands, however, were more wicked in comparison. They cupped and kneaded your breasts, playing with them as he pleased. You bit your lip, moaning. You squeezed your eyes shut, falling apart to his touch. His thumb and finger pinched your perked nipples.

You moaned, loudly and unabashedly. And without thinking, acting only on your needs, you bucked your lips.

He groaned.

His lips curled into a devious smile across your skin. He opened his mouth, placing a kiss in the crook of your neck. You hummed, craning your neck. His teeth barely grazed over your skin. You muttered a string of curses under your breath. He nipped, blemishing your unmarked skin. Only to quickly soothe any pain with the flat of his tongue. He repeated the process, all over. All the while, he still teased your breasts.

You squirmed, moaning and whining - turning into a complete mess by a hand of God.

“Good, you’re doing so good for me,” he mumbled.

“Paul,” you whined, as pleasure coursed through you at his subtle praises.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you. Just keep focusing on me.”

What the hell was he talking about? How could you not? What other possible things could you be thinking of when he was here giving you your heart’s deepest desires?

One of his hands slid down your body, and began to fiddle with your elastic waistband. He picked at it. Picked once, then twice. He waited for any signs to tell him to stop, to tell him no.

But, none came.

Instead, he was encouraged.

“Please,” you begged, lifting your hips.

He smiled, “Okay, I hear you.”

His hand easily slipped into your pants. His knuckles grazed, tantalizingly slow, over your damp clothed core. You buried your face into his neck, and tightened your grip in his dark locks. Instantly, you tried to grind your hips into his hand, but he moved away before you could experience just an ounce of pleasure - of relief.

You whined.

Embarrassment, or shame, should have flooded your senses. Yet, it didn’t. All your thoughts were on your wants and needs.

On him.

You need Paul, desperately.

“Shhh,” he cooed, “I’m here.”

His fingers pushed aside your underwear. A single finger swiped through your wet folds - a quick fleeting touch leaving you a wanting mess.

“Fuck,” you hissed.

He did it again, this time slower and more deliberate.

You wanted to beg and plead. You wanted to say his name. Hell, you almost wanted to pray. But, any and all words were lodged in your throat.

He, thankfully and finally, slid his finger in.

Just one.

He started slow. Easy, gentle pumps as he learned your body.

You clung to him.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I got you. Oh, you’re doing so good for me,” Paul breathed out.

Oh, he was losing his mind.

Your breathy moans was the sweetest, most beautiful, hymn he ever heard. Your body, sculpted perfectly by God, ached for him. Your walls fluttered around him - around his one finger pleading for more. And he wished, prayed to be the best utmost service to you. His movement - each tame pump - became faster and more demanding.

Oh, he wanted more from you.

For Heaven to hear your beautiful songs.

So, he added another finger.

You arched your back, craning your head back as your mouth fell open. The fluorescent lights haloed around you. Your ragged breathing mixed with the sloppy wet noises of his fingers sliding inside of you. Your body acted on its own, grinding down on his deliciously full fingers.

Paul beamed.

That.

That was exactly what he wanted to see.

His lovely angel.

You dropped your head, staring at him.

His eyes shined - twinkled with glee - watching as you drowned yourself in pleasure. Your hands, still entangled in his hair, yanked him forth. You kissed him feverishly, devouring him. He hummed against your lips.

His thumb rubbed your clit.

You broke the kiss, pressing your forehead into his as a moan escaped your swollen lips. Opening your eyes, his dark brown ones - the color of the welcoming immovable earth - were now a black void filled with desire and blasphemy.

He sucked you in, wanting you to fall from grace.

As if you truly cared.

He circled your clit again.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimpered, bucking into his hand.

He let out a shaky breath. “God, you’re doing so great.”

Your heart skipped. At every praise, every encouragement, it was dizzying. The way his voice wrapped around you. It was the only voice you could focus on. The only voice to guide you through the dark.

It was spellbinding, enchanting and soothing.

A calming, sweet deliverance from evil.

Yet, it was cut with the sinfully wet noises of his fingers buried deep inside of you.

He moved faster, ferociously working you to your release. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see how you would fall.

“Paul,” you grinded down on his fingers, “fuck - I’m close.”

“Good, good,” he hummed as his fingers slid in and out of you relentlessly. “Eyes on me.”

You opened your eyes, staring back into the void.

His fingers pounded into you.

You had to force yourself, using all your strength, to stay upright. You just wanted to collapse into him. To fall apart, to let your senses be overwhelmed by him. His free hand cupped your face, helping you to keep your eyes on him. He leaned in, kissing you softly. You melted.

His thumb flicked over your swollen clit.

You gasped.

He curled his fingers, beckoning you, calling you to fall.

Your walls clenched around his fingers. “Paul,” you moaned.

His fingers curled again, loving the sweet delectable noises you made. His thumb constantly rubbed your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your forehead fell onto his. You hungrily chased your high and started to ride his fingers.

“Good, you’re so good - god you are truly divine.” He mumbled, straining to keep his composure. “I’m here, I got you.”

His words sent you tumbling over the edge.

You finally fell.

Your walls clamped around his fingers. Your lips fell apart with a silent moan. Bliss. Heavenly bliss coursed through you. Paul continued to whisper encouraging words. His fingers slowly worked you through your orgasm. You cursed under your breath, as it started to become too much.

Too much pleasure.

Too much sin.

He smiled, and finally stopped. Yet, his fingers were still buried deep inside of you.

Your heavy breathing filled the silence. You desperately tried to catch your breath. However, Paul slowly removed his fingers. Your breath hitched. A whine sounded in your throat - weak and tired.

He eyed his soaked fingers. He licked his lips. He looked up at you, while you lazily - with half closed eyelids - tilted your head in confusion. Your mind was cloudy, still in utter bliss. Maintaining eye contact, he raised his two fingers up and into his mouth. Your eyes widened. Your heart lurched into your throat. Oh dear lord. He hummed in delight. His tongue swirled around savoring your taste.

Your eyes locked onto his mouth. His spit and your juices covered his fingers and mouth. “Fuck, I thought you were a priest.” You muttered in disbelief.

He smirked. Saying nothing, he only cleaned himself and popped out his fingers. “So,” he adjusted himself in the chair, his hand resting back on your hips, “better?”

You blinked. Then it dawned on you - the reason for this once in a lifetime opportunity. The voices, and thoughts, had been silenced. You laughed once, smiling somewhat sorrowfully to yourself. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Your eyes dropped down to the obvious tent in his pants. It rubbed against you. You had to suppress a moan. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, gaining your attention. “This was about helping you.”

You wanted it.

Your body ached for how it would feel, how he could fill and stretch you. But, you didn’t want to push it. If he said not to worry, then you will take his word for it. You reluctantly moved off of his lap - Paul had to stifle a groan - and turned to grab your jacket.

Best to make a quick exit now.

Paul watched you intensely. Just like you, he wanted more. But, he was a patient man. He still had self-control, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him. To pin you against the wall, to fall to his knees and worship your body, to feel your bare body against his, to always hear your beautiful breathy moans.

He shivered, trying to reel himself back.

You looked at him as you tugged on your jacket. His hair usually slicked back, now pointed in odd directions. His top buttons were undone and exposed the top of his chest, and the tent strained against his tight jeans wishing to break free. He wasn’t the epitome of faith and celibacy.

No, right now he was just a man.

Like he said, for tonight, and probably for tonight alone, he wasn’t a priest.

Your eyes fell to the celery collar discarded on the floor. You shook your head, “Well, goodnight, I suppose.”

In and out. And forget this ever happened.

You spun around to leave.

“You know if you ever need my help again, you know where to find me.” His soothing voice called out. “My door is always open.”

As are the gates, he thought in a knee jerk reaction.

You peered over your shoulder. His eyes connected with yours. He was serious. A warmth, a giddy buzzing, spread over your chest. Maybe tonight was not a crazy chance, but the start of something forbidden. A smile spread over your lips. “Right, of course.”

He licked his lips. Your taste still lingered on his tongue, and he craved more - his new little addiction. “Maybe I’ll even see you in church.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “One miracle at a time.”

He smiled. “Right. Well, I wish you goodnight and I hope to see you soon.”

“Oh, you will.”

#midnight mass #midnight mass smut #father Paul hill #father paul x reader #father paul smut #monsignor pruitt #monsignor pruitt x reader #father paul imagine #midnight mass imagine #afab!reader #smut

[writingsbychlo]

I wanna talk about an elain headcanon I have

nesta has a very muscular build and always will because of her training. mucle mommy, and cass goes wild for that.

feyre is always gonna have a slender build. she's got strong shoulders and core, especially the way she learsn to use her wings, but she could never wield a sword the way nesta does or climb the stairs at the house of wind. its like how rhys is muscle-y and strong but not in the same way as az and cass.

now, elain. lets talk about elain. elain is thin to begin, very slim, mostly because she's been starving for years and was always seen as weak and lithe, that's what she was supposed to be. just grayson's small, quiet spouse. but now she's got her freedom and her life to be the way she wants it, anything, she can have it.

she has access to food, and not only that, she learns to bake. I think elain would start to put on weight, and fast. she doesn't really work out the way nesta does, she likes to go for a walk and tend to her garden, she exercises and she's healthy, but elain is a plus size girly. and the way her body becomes? she was always meant to be a plus-size girly. her boobs would fill out, her hips get squishy and soft in a way that she loves, her thighs get pudgy. she loves it. she likes the way she looks.

she never liked being able to see a gap between her thighs or her sharp edges in the mirror, it made her feel so vulnerable and exposed, and just reminded her of their poverty and her helplessness.

she likes it so fucking much. she likes baking and eating the things she makes, she likes that cassian and her bond over cooking, because he's got a big appetite too. she likes that she doesn't feel like she's going to break anymore. she likes that she doesn't feel so invisible, that she's seen.

she does it for herself, she loves it. one big fucking bonus, though? is that it drives lucien wild. she'd never been much concerned with how he thought about her at first. she wasn't ready for a mate bond, she was still working on herself. she didn't think about it at first, but one day when feyre says lucien will be coming for dinner, she realises it's been almost a year since he's seen her.

when he walks through the door, he practically falls over himself as he sees her. the opposite of all his usual elegance. she's ready to turn her nose up, to give him an earful about judging her appearance, until cassian is laughing so loud nesta winces and elbows him, teasing lucien with "someone likes his mate's new look. at least try to control your scent, fox-boy."

if elain wore a few more daring necklines and tighter corsets to show it off during his visit, that was nobody's business but hers.

now, lucien makes her feel good every single day about it. whether it be feeding her treats, running his hands over her body and squeezing all his favourite parts, picking her up like she still weighed nothing, or whispering dirty things between the sheets like "so much of you for me to love, you drive me fucking crazy, petal."

I just have this headcanon that given the choice to be whatever she wants, elain is a very happy plus-size girly. she loves never having to question her food or meals, she loves her new body and the happiness it signifies, and she loves the way lucien fucking worships her.

especially in those revealing Day court robes, which hang low on her chest and show off her beautiful thick thighs.

#elain archeron

[neostriatum]

To Commit An Act of God

[Dreamwidth] [SquidgeWorld]

-

Chance was, statistically speaking, a calculable, inevitable event. He supposed he should have seen this one coming.

-

He's listening with one ear to everyone in the lab, a bustle and background noise that hums along with his thoughts in synchronicity. It's not something he'd ever tell anyone, but the abstract chaos is comforting, and one of the only reasons he'll linger at a table in the communal labs rather than the one designated for his personal use as head of the division. Silence is useful when he needs to bend his nose to the grindstone, but it can make the static of roiling background thoughts too overwhelming with nothing to temper it from outside his head.

Turning the slim, pen-like device over in his hands, he wonders - not for the first time - how the Ancients contrived so many various pieces of technology. With the amount of labs and experiments paused in situ around the city, the power draw must have been enormous. Surely they had some means of regularly maintaining the ZPMs, and he frowned into the middle distance, trying once again to parse the delicate presuppositions of ideas about how this was accomplished.

It was his responsibility to make sure the city stayed afloat, and literally so. He tapped the device against the table, the sound lost among the myriad patter of movement around him. Surely there's some sort of maintenance code? He blinked a few times, letting his vision filter back to the screen in front of him, still paused on a spreadsheet tracking the projects in each department. Columns of numbers greeted him, completely arbitrary in their reflection of progress, the process rubber-stamped by the IOA despite being a galaxy and then some away. Something… something in the numbers. Has to be.

Everyone knew better than to interrupt him when he was off taking a mental walk like this, too used to how his innocuous process of thinking produced results. He brings up another window, remembering at the last minute that the over-engineered soldering pen he had been fiddling with was still Ancient technology and thus not advised for normal interaction, setting it down above the function buttons on his keyboard to prevent it from rolling away. The file directory stared back at him, impassive as he drummed his fingers over the keys in thought.

Re-tracing his whisper of a thought took a bit of effort, but when he did, he mumbled an 'aha!' to himself, locating the root directory mirroring what they had been able to compile from the main Ancient database. It was a beautiful application of colour-coding, if he did say so himself, articulatable to himself unto a fairly steep exercise in exhaustion - his normal state of mind when rescuing everyone from the inanities of a ten thousand year old creaking structure that some days seemed hellbent on killing them all out of sheer decrepitude.

Sorry, he thought anyway, refraining from patting his keyboard, and by extension Atlantis, in apology. Picking up the pen-thing again, he resumed rolling the cool metal around his fingers, mind once again sinking back into the currents of one of the many background problems he toiled with when there was time. If the crystals can be modified for different circuitry layouts, then that presumes the transistors contain different permutations of use…

He walked himself through the argument, muttering pertinent facets under his breath. If you convert the gate of a diode on the third level of circuitry, then the flow is redirected based upon the direction of the other levels, he frowns, tapping the pen against the table, If you have opposing factors in the directions, then the energy flow is based upon the resistance of alloys along the stream.

Not for the first time, he wondered how the Ancients had figured out how to convert a connection to subspace to electricity. It was scarcely the same thing, too many factors at play for physics to catch up. But it did - obviously so, if they were sitting in a ship full of proof. Staring at the pen, he held it between both hands, contemplating it.

An electric flow is dependent upon the magnetization of materials and thus its quantum state, he thinks, Energy is the transfer of matter, and can be modified based on its state.

But how did they connect? He frowned, thinking back to some of the basic schematics he had been able to pull from Earth's ZPM. They were the same technology as Atlantis', of course, so the principles carried over, but the way they interfaced with Earth's stargate and Atlantis itself was a branch or two off of similarity, enough to puzzle over its differences. What he learned there was almost useless here.

He sighed, nearly silent in comparison to the cacophony of his thoughts. State-dependent modifications rely upon sufficient energy to transition to a new form. To alter the path on a crystal, one must modify multiple states at once in order to achieve proper transmission flow. Impediments would be-

"Would be what?" He mutters to himself, staring at the monitor. The root directory told him little, only that power flowed out of the ZPM and to different parts of the city like snowmelt running down the crevices of a mountain - a source from a different system, distributed with the same force but not the same volume.

… A logic gate is transformed upon the basis of individual changes on multiple levels, at different points in the system.

The pen feels all at once too heavy and too light in his hands, drooping in his shock-loosened grip. His mind was flitting ahead, the conclusion almost in his reach. Habit, absently, had him reaching toward it, silence filling his ears.

To adjust for different phase states, one must precipitate a change in the path at multiple points in the system.

It- it explained everything. His mind buzzed at the epiphany, and he couldn't help his fascination leaking forth in one, unprompted, "Oh."

The pen clanks against the edge of the table, falling to the floor with a clatter in the afterimage of gold dust floating away.

-

When he next blinks, it isn't to a monitor or his thoughts or his realization at all. Instead, it's to midday light, something not visible from the main labs due to the obvious lack of windows. Gold is filtering out of his view, a pretty wave of light that he understands intuitively is the play of photons around him.

He blinks again, scattering the vestiges with bemusement.

"Sir?" A woman's voice sounds from off to his side, sounding as if she's said it more than once, and a bit odd in the manner of hearing two things at once. It occurs to him that he's hearing English, even if that might not be what she's speaking. He blinks again, turning his head toward the voice - a waitress, smiling at him patiently, "Might I take your order?"

"Uh," And damn if that isn't an articulate answer. He flushes, trying not to squirm in place in embarrassment and realizing abruptly that the distinctive twinge in his back was no longer there. Too discombobulated to think about that for too long, he shakes his head, "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The waitress' smile neither dims nor grows, but maintains its placid patience. He can't help but think the overall effect is calming, if nevertheless disorienting - he hasn't met a single waitress that can keep their keel so evenly.

"I'm here to take your order," She says, this time with a hint of humor as she tilts her notepad toward him, "Do you something in mind?"

"Um, uh-" He shakes his head, trying to put two and two together. The memory is a bit blurred, but he retains that distinct feeling of being at work, and then all of a sudden, poof. Nothing after that.

"He'll have something off the breakfast menu," Another voice interjects, familiar enough to draw his attention. His brow furrows at the man smiling across from him in the other booth, too sly to be anything other than real. A hand extends toward him over the table, "You should remember me, Rodney - Daniel?"

"Jackson," He breathes, the dots finally settling into place at seeing the SGC-rumored Mister Ascended himself talking to him. The expected kick of panic at the knowledge of his death never comes, and he exhales in a whoosh, shaking the other man's hand, "What is this place?"

Daniel smirks, albeit in a wholly good-natured manner that he feels should irritate him on principle, the man slouching back into his seat like he was moulded from it, "Oh, take your pick- most people call this the afterlife. You ascended."

"Huh," He looks back up at the waitress, who seemed to be lingering rather than stuck in some freeze-frame out of the Matrix, and then out the window, which held nothing in particular at all unless he concentrated on a specific sight, "Okay, I'll accept that. How did I get here? I mean- ascending, obviously, but-"

Snorting, Daniel shook his head, looking much younger than he remembered him from last meeting, "I'm sure you'll figure it out, if you want to remember it."

"What does that mean?" He asked, frowning, "Am I not supposed to remember, or- Or is there something I am supposed to remember, and-"

"Rodney," Daniel interjected, shaking his head. The smile on the man's face wasn't as reassuring as he probably thought it was, and he said as much, "It's fine. Sometimes you'll want to know, sometimes you won't - it's all up to you."

He watched the flicker of emotions cross Daniel's face, and thought about all the ways that, up until now, he could have died from. A shudder rippled through him, remembering all the mundane and terrifying things he could recall - and recall in perfect, painstaking clarity, "Point taken. But… why now? I could have ascended before, with that- that machine, but this is. This is completely arbitrary, I didn't even plan this."

Daniel raised an eyebrow, an echo of his own death reverberating between them in tangible detail, making him bite back a grimace at the shared memory of radiation eating away at flesh and bone long past what medicine could alleviate. It combined with a faint stretch of precognition, layers of possibilities where that was his own predicated fate among many other routes that led right back to this diner.

They stared at each other for a moment, sharing the mental travelling of what could be, what will be. When he clenched his hands into fists on the table, feeling the emotional burn of nausea if not the physical, Daniel asked, "Would you want to?"

"Plan this?" He asked, then shook his head instinctively, answering his own question, "I mean, I'm sure all of this has its merits - but believe me, those windows are creeping me out, it feels like a bunch of TV screens if I'm not making it stay in place - but… No. Not yet, at least."

With those nightmare-inducing ideas now floating around his head, a thought suddenly occurred to him, "Are you dead, too? Like at the same time?"

"Am I?" Daniel extended his arms, encompassing the table, "Or does a drop of water hold both the salt of a rock and the cold of a cloud?"

"Linguists," He mutters in good-natured disgust, shaking his head.

Daniel laughed, rising from the table, "I recommend the pancakes."

"Of course you do," He replies, but Daniel's already gone, whisked away who knows where. Sighing, he looks at the waitress, still patiently existing for him to revisit her point in time, "Ah, I suppose pancakes will do. Do you have them in chocolate chip?"

The waitress smiles as she copies down the order, whatever she's writing with bafflingly indistinct and definitely not transcribing in English. Huh. "Of course. Did you want anything else?"

He pauses, thinking for a moment before shrugging, "Hell, I'm apparently dead, anyway. I am dead here, right?"

"A pot of water boils when there is a necessity for it," The waitress responds, and he should have figured he was surrounded by Ancients.

Sighing, he consigns himself to an innumerable and apparently eternal amount of superbly bad puns, "A cup of coffee, then, if this is what I'm gonna have to listen to. With cream and sugar," He pauses, hesitant, "And a, uh, a glass of lemonade. Please?"

Smiling serenely, the waitress nods, "Your order will be ready shortly."

Wishing he had nerves to shake out, he only mumbles something on rote, unsurprised when there was yet another Ancient sitting across from him where Daniel had been sitting just a moment prior, "Uh. Hello?"

"Hello," The woman says, and god, what a beautiful woman, too. Her smile only grows wider, in what he assumes is some preternatural ability to read his thoughts, which really falls in line with this whole instinctive multi-lingual thing death had, "No, Doctor McKay, I am merely happy to see you."

He frowns, "Do I know you? I feel like I'd remember someone, uh, someone like you."

The woman shakes her head, laughing. It's all so unoffensive, though, he can't help but feel a laugh bubble up with her, "Doctor McKay. You have seen my Dan'yel, yes?"

The name doesn't ring a bell until a his order is being set down in front of him, somehow a similar order being placed in front of the woman. Grits aren't really his taste, but the way this stranger delicately heaps more food into the bowl and eats a large spoonful makes it look appetizing. He grabs his coffee on instinct, pleased to realize it was precisely the right temperature despite the steam wafting out of the cup.

"Daniel Jackson, you mean?" He asks, smearing the pat of butter plopped on top of the short stack with a distracted swipe of his knife. The smell was superb, making his mouth water, "I, uh, I just saw him. Did you see him leave?"

The woman shakes her head, somehow looking unruffled despite the news, "I will see him again. But, Doctor McKay, I would like you to speak to him."

He blinked around a forkful of pancake, "Uh? I suppose they don't do letters here, do they?"

The pancake was delicious enough that he was almost too distracted to hear the woman's next words, and he chewed quickly, swallowing the bite to make room for another sip of coffee.

"It is alright," The woman soothed, her smile undimmed by his accidentally piecemeal attention, "But you will see him again. I miss my Dan'yel, I wish him to know all is well."

He pauses over his contemplation of the lemonade, familiar trepidation marred by curiosity over the distinct smell that usually makes his stomach roil. Settling for a halfway point of putting the glass down in between him and his pancakes, mildly disturbed at himself with how easy it was to calculate the exact triangulation of objects in doing so, he asked, "What do you mean?"

The woman nods at his juice with a bizarrely patient look of affection, "Drink that, you will like it."

Grumbling, he accepts the non-sequitur, hesitating for a moment at the familiar smell that usually heralded agony for him before taking a small, minuscule, truly tentative sip. There was no burning sensation, no heart palpitations that promised an allergic reaction that would have been doubled by sheer anxiety, no swelling of throat or fading of vision. He tightened his grip on the glass, taking another small taste of the drink.

"Oh," He says, marvelling, "Tangy. This is delicious."

The woman smiles, watching as he takes a more confident drink. He could see why so many people associated lemons with summer, now, it was almost… almost a joyful flavour. Wiggling in his seat at the revelation, it was a short order to drink the rest of it, taking the time to savour the different aspects of acid and sweetness and complete and utter lack of life-threatening reaction.

"Wow," He murmurs, tilting the glass to get a last drop, "I really have been missing out, huh?"

"You are quite brave," The woman says, tilting an eyebrow in a manner that reminds him of Teyla, if Teyla was as naturally demure as this woman. He accepts the hand laid over his own, loosening the grip on his fork, "Doctor McKay, there are many things for you to know."

He shakes his head, pragmatism too engrained for him to abide by that compliment, "I've learned quite enough, haven't I? I'm here, that- that does mean I learned enough."

The woman merely allowed her smile to blend into a different mood, "My name is Sha're. You are much like Dan'yel - always seeking, always helping."

"You are-" His voice strangles on the concept, "You are quite kind. Uh. Thank you? I think."

"You do help," She says, the words strengthened by her obvious conviction, "There are many who are helped. No path is clear, but walk along it knowing the fog of the morning will dissipate."

"And here we are on garden paths," He mutters, but the words click together nevertheless, "You- I recognize you. Your name. Sha're of- of Abydos?"

The woman nods, emphatic, "Yes. A pebble in a stream can branch into a river."

He squeezes her hand back, feeling discombobulated but also at ease. It was funny how epiphanies did that, "I think I'll finish my pancakes first, though, if you don't mind?"

Sha're laughs, her voice tinkling with delight.

-

Bracing himself to enter his own quarters in a deserted hallway is ridiculous even for him, but the sweet, ready way Atlantis opens his door is reassuring. He's still wrapping that sense of familiarity around him when the volume of people's raised voices registers, halting him with barely two steps through the door that closed with a subtle swoosh.

"What the hell is going on here," Rodney shouts, horrified, derailing three different arguments by force of presence alone. He puts his hands on his hips, muttering to himself, "I'm gone for five minutes-"

"Rodney!"

"Yes, what-"

He's not prepared for the way Sheppard vaults over the bins and boxes and tackles him, his breath thumped out of him with the gesture. The grip on him is tight, and he can swear his newly re-formed bones are creaking with the pressure, so he struggles to get his arms out from under Sheppard's grip to whack at the man's back, "Let me go!"

Sheppard does, but not before he flatly picks him up, like some deranged rendition of a teddy bear, swaying him around a little for emphasis. The smile on the colonel's face is broader than anything he's ever seen - a part of him wants to be spooked by it, the sight so unusual for a typically taciturn person. He's left flailing for the correct response when Sheppard grabs his face with both hands and presses a deep, impulsive kiss onto his lips.

"Hngh?" He can practically feel his brain rewire itself on the surprise dose of endorphins, which he doesn't presently have the wherewithal to deliberate on whether that's a good thing. It's apparently an adequate amount of time for Sheppard to decide to kiss him again, and he can feel himself melt into it, "Mmm. Ah."

He can still feel the imprint of Sheppard's uniform under his hands when the kiss peters off, briefly distracted by the way the other man's lips slide against his own. A part of him wants to lean back in, tilt his head up, but the shocked silence convinces him that he at least needs to table that particular discussion for later.

"Um," He says, blinking a few times and feeling rueful that, once again, his mind is going faster than the rest of him, "Hi."

Sheppard grins down at him, all soft and fond and other gooey emotions he can feel behind his eyes, "Hi."

"So I might have…" He shrugs, swallows loosely and feels himself flush at the way Sheppard's eyes track his throat, "Accidentally ascended?"

"Accidentally?!" Radek shouts in bewildered disbelief, "You- you- 'accidentally', můj prdel-"

"I heard that," He says automatically, still too used to the auto-translate that being ostensibly non-corporeal had granted him. Radek sputters to a stop, gaping at him. He winces, "Uh. Sorry. About that."

"Sorry about what?" Sheppard asks, and he hasn't let go yet, but nobody's making him. The slide of a thumb against the back of his neck makes his eyes flutter, Sheppard's breath stuttering as he does so.

"Mmm," He sighs, letting himself be held. It felt like an eternity since the last time he had experienced such a luxury, "Leaving. Understanding. Whole lot. Take your pick."

Sheppard huffs out a relieved laugh, pulling him closer in a protective grip, one hand still cupping the back of his head, "Apology accepted."

He's still adjusting to the waves of affection coming from Sheppard, threatening to knock his knees out from under him and turn him into a cooked noodle of appreciation, so the non-Sheppard hand tentatively touching his arm is surprising. Sheppard briefly tightens his grip, but now that he can recognize an anxious Teyla - and really, what did happen, she's the least anxious person he knows, a complete opposite of him - he slides out of Sheppard's hold with a faint sense of reluctance.

"Rodney," Teyla is looking at him searchingly, reflexively gripping his forearm, "I- is that truly you?"

Speaking feels utterly trite at the moment, much as he does, sometimes, love to hear himself talk. What he does instead is envelope Teyla in a hug, squishing her against him the same way he remembered doing with Jeannie when she was young, too afraid from a nightmare to seek anyone else out. It's definitely the correct choice, because she hugs him back with a tinge of desperation, tucking her head under his chin with a wobbly breath.

"Shh," He murmurs, making sure he doesn't let go until Teyla wants to, listening to her unsteady breathing. The words that come to mind are old, disused, but he dusts them off because Teyla needs them, "Everything's alright, I'm here. Shh, shh, it's okay."

He'd always known he was one of the oldest by a thin margin, but in the little group of friends and colleagues he's made in Atlantis he'd never felt it - not for real - until just now, feeling the tension in the room go down by proxy as Teyla calmed down with his hushing. It made his heart ache, remembering the way Daniel had smiled when they talked, the shared acknowledgment that knowledge was not always a blessing.

Teyla's hair was soft under his hand, smelling faintly of the bleach and hair dye some of the women had convinced her to use. It was one of her few indulgences with her appearance, and he felt an incongruous twitch of his lips that she still stuck with an element of Earth-based fashion. He found himself reassured by this - Teyla adapted to anything in front of her, so easily he was often awed by her ability to blend in to new crowds. Whatever happened, there Teyla would be.

Swaying together echoed all the times he had done so with Jeannie, before things inevitably deteriorated. He was grateful Sheppard had found a way to patch things between them, and it compelled him to squeeze Teyla tightly, listening to her startle with amusement, "C'mon. Better?"

He felt her nod against his shoulder, the way she bolstered herself before withdrawing. The tilt of her head was expected, and he leaned his forehead against hers, soaking up the feeling of strength she seemed to derive from the gesture. When she looked up, her eyes were red-rimmed, and he brushed away a stray tear track.

"I missed you," He said, because Teyla was rarely anything but honest, and also because it was true. She smiled at him, bright and reassured, "It really was an accident."

Teyla's smile managed to get even brighter, almost on par with Sheppard's, and god, they had missed him back, hadn't they? He had known the truth, in that makeshift highway diner, but being confronted with it was another thing entirely.

"I believe you," She replied, sounding happy, in that way that was stripped of bitter undertones, only joy left over. He couldn't help but grin back, pulling her into a quick hug just to contain the emotion better.

Sheppard was lingering at his back, protective and watchful. It allowed him to look around the room, the way Ronon and Radek were still holding some hastily-constructed cardboard box between them like he'd interrupted their tug-of-war. A scatter of scientists mixed with a handful of soldiers, making his quarters feel like a public common rather than the one place he wasn't required to share.

Letting his hands fall from Teyla's arms, he gestured at the paused cacophony, "Y'know, when I said throw me a party, I didn't mean a riot."

A slew of abashed faces met him. Ronon still took the time to scowl at Radek, yanking the box away. He felt like he was probably going to need to take the box away from Ronon, and what would those two even be arguing over, anyway?

Sheppard had shifted closer, hands ghosting along his sides, telegraphing the intent to resume cosseting him but refraining by a hair. The murmur brushing by his ear made him shiver, Sheppard's lips forming a smirk, "It's more of a custody fight."

"Get a lawyer," He said automatically, then blinked, "Actually. Sam. Is she here?"

He had meant in the general sense of Atlantis, because he didn't actually know how long he'd been gone, but it seemed to have been interpreted in such a way that everyone reflexively looked around them, as if the woman would pop out of the woodwork. Rolling his eyes, he thought, I've got my work cut out for me.

One hand reached to tap his ear, but found that while the Ancients were nice enough to let him de-ascend with memories, clothes, and motor skills intact, an earpiece had been considered optional. He made an annoyed sound, spinning on one heel to look for the closest replacement.

Sheppard blinked at him bemusedly when he leaned forward and plucked the device out of the man's ear, but he had no time for frivolities like that, "McKay to Carter."

If Sam was still the way he remembered, she was probably awake for longer hours than him, and always available in an emergency. Being right was gratifying, and so was listening to her sharp inhale, "Rodney?"

"Hi," He said summarily, "I'm told you know a Sha're? She says hello."

Sam floundering over her words was unusual, but he leaned absently into the hand Sheppard pressed against his back, letting the other take his weight as Sam worked her way through the conundrum, "Rodney, what the fuck."

He grinned, "So that means you do."

"Of course I do," She barked, bewilderment drawing her out of the habitual placidity she wore around him in Atlantis, "What- how- you ascended. She ascended?"

"I also talked to Daniel," He confirmed, humming thoughtfully, "Though I don't think we were there at coinciding times. You get me?"

There was a lot of muttering on the other end of the line, and he split his attention to the way everyone slowly decompressed around him. Huh, he thought, I'm not sure whether to be flattered.

"You're writing a report," Sam eventually demanded, when her self-solved revelations petered off. He smirked, which Sam seemed to have a sixth sense for, "Don't even make that face. Also, Rodney?"

"…Yes?" He hazarded, the hand at his back pressing closer in response.

Sam's smile was obvious in her exhale, "Welcome back."

-

The whole to-do about coming back over the next couple of weeks was both over- and under-whelming, if anyone asked him. Even if he were still as oblivious as before - and that particular self-reflection had been cringe-worthy to discover, something that had been meticulously gone over in the therapy sessions he was herded into - he would have been able to pick up on the way everyone was tightly wound-up in his absence.

"You know," He said absently over his chocolate pudding, feeling the bizarre need to apologize, "I really, really didn't do it on purpose."

Ronon made a disagreeing sound, which Sheppard copied with a nod, "You do have a habit of doing things accidentally, buddy."

He grimaced, remembering all of those particular flaws. Nothing better to keep himself grounded, he thought, than to remember all of the stupid shit. The pudding tasted a little less nostalgic in that particular wake, and he sighed, pushing it away and blatantly ignoring the concerned looks lasered into him from everyone at the table, "I swear I didn't do it on purpose. I just… had an epiphany."

Sheppard smirked, even if he got the bizarre feeling that the other man had to muster the energy for it, "Hazards of the job?"

"Exactly," He said, relieved, slumping into his seat, "Could happen to the best of us."

Teyla looked down at her food, a neutral expression on her face that he learned boded unknown realms of danger. It seemed to coordinate a silence around the table, unsettling him. He shifted in his seat, glancing at all of them, "What?"

Ronon gave him a frowning, narrow-eyed look, his version of a pout, if Ronon was the type to do it in his direction, "You left."

"Not on purpose," He insisted, sighing in exasperation. There was a chill from everyone, he just knew it, and he cut his losses with an aching heart, "Fine. I'll just- I have some work to do. I'll catch up later."

Nobody called him back to the table, and the taste of the pancakes he had at that ascended diner lingered in his mouth.

-

Radek was looking at him warily, but he'd had it with apologizing for something everyone presumed he had explicit control over, so he glared and pulled his attention back to his computer. Everything was, disturbingly, exactly where he had left it.

Luckily, the man was smart enough to figure out what his disgruntled mood meant, and they worked in silence for a while. There were others in the room, but they kept to themselves. Eventually the studious ambiance lulled him into something approaching normalcy. His shoulders didn't quite settle from around his ears, but he could focus better on the simulations he had left running in his absence.

Funny, he could swear the numbers made more sense before.

Swearing under his breath, he dumped the results into a spreadsheet and re-ran everything, needing the fresh start of it. Fatigue swept over him, making him wonder if he ought to get up and brave the coffee maker. He scrubbed a hand over one side of his face, sighing.

Radek hadn't committed to the clue of fucking off, but there was a cup of fresh, steaming hot coffee being pressed closer to his hand, so he figured he could forgive the transgression of encroaching on his personal space. He ignored the way Radek was staring at him, forehead obviously wrinkled in concern, focusing on taking a bracing gulp of the drink in his hand despite the way it burned his tongue.

It even had just the right amount of cream and sugar in it. My god, he thought in frank, despondent realization, Things must have really fallen apart.

"How many things am I fixing?" He asked, peering down at his cup in suspicion, "Nobody ever makes me a perfect cup of coffee, what did all of you do?"

"A perfect cup, you say?" Radek smiled.

"Oh, fuck off," He grumped, feeling better when Radek just grinned at him in that typical insouciant, Czech manner.

Radek switched his attention to his monitors, peering at them, "Did you not already get the results on these?"

"Bad data," He muttered, taking an obscuring sip of coffee, "Had to re-run it."

Disconcertingly, Radek merely shrugged, "Perhaps not bad data, but bad interpretation."

He squinted at the other man, wondering which entendre he was going to be wrangling today. Radek merely looked back at him in a crap interpretation of innocence, "Those glasses only make you look bug-eyed, you know."

"And your insistence on regretting de-ascending is demoralizing everyone," Radek shot back immediately.

"Wh- I am not," He protested, putting his cup down. His stomach cramped, and he told himself it was because the coffee had been too hot, not because Radek had hit the mark, "Where are you getting these ridiculous ideas?"

Radek gave him a hard stare, then turned to grab his mouse, shutting down the simulations over his protests. There was a brief - very brief - moment where he debated wrestling the mouse and keyboard away from the bastard, but in the end he just sighed, slumping on his stool. Everyone else was pointedly normal, providing an adequate smokescreen of plausible deniability.

"You," Radek pointed a finger at him, pulling his hand back to shake it in futility, looking away, "You must stop this. You are here, be here."

"I am here," He said quietly, resisting the urge to rub at his sternum, if only to feel his heartbeat for himself, "It doesn't- doesn't feel like it."

Radek put his hand on the edge of the table, tilting his head at him with a potent frown, "How do you mean?"

And this was better than having the therapist sicced on him - none of them could quite do the whole deduction thing like another professional in the hard sciences. And, he thought to himself, an engineer like Radek, who wouldn't let shit go even if you gave him the opportunity.

He shrugged, "I don't know. Just… it felt real there, too."

The way Radek looked at him, all wide-eyed and upset, made him cross his arms. He hadn't expected to be weighed down with this sort of world-weariness, and wondered idly if Daniel had felt the same way. And good god, that man had done this multiple times. No wonder the archaeologist was such an incongruous nut, sometimes.

"Come," Radek announced, "I have a jumper that needs repairing, and you must tell me how I fucked up the crystals again."

"Well," He said, grabbing his coffee as he stood, "If you insist."

-

Who gave a shit what anyone else thought, doing banal repair work was the best sort of meditation. Radek handed him a toolkit and promptly disappeared to his own corner of the jumper. If he concentrated, he could hear the faint litany of swearing in Czech, therapeutic in its regularity.

He was barely concentrating on his task - some hotwiring at the front to try and coax the jumper's system to let them in to more areas. It was just annoying enough in its aberrations that he couldn't lose himself, and he could let himself wander and process things in the background of the work.

However much amount of time had passed, it was enough to startle him when a foot kicked his own, the thump of some wrapped food landing on his stomach almost making him drop his pliers on his face, "Ow! Oh hey, tuna."

"Tuna lookalike," Radek corrected him with a smile, sitting next to him, shoulders resting against the edge of the copilot seat, "New shipment this morning."

"Ah," He sniffed the sandwich, "That smoked stuff from Ilriga?"

Radek nodded, already tucking into his sandwich. They ate quietly together, and he couldn't help but notice the way Radek was doing that thing people do, where they pretend they're not checking up on you but really are. He was disappointed that he could recognize the look, now, having spent too much time in and out of the infirmary for various reasons.

A stale bag of chips was produced out of thin air, and they passed it between themselves, the hum of the jumper's idling systems a pleasant mental counterpoint.

"I had chocolate chip pancakes," He said, breaking the assiduously-applied silence Radek had gifted him with, "With a cup of coffee. And some lemonade."

"Lemonade?" Radek asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, "I had never gotten the opportunity to try it out without, you know, asphyxiating. Tasted pretty good."

"It does," Radek agreed, swiping one of the smaller rounds of a chip and offering him the bag with its sundry broken bits. He huffed, taking the bag and letting the chips fall into his mouth with a practiced pour.

"It was…" How could he explain it? The vast, intimate stretch of infinity, its nexus where you could look at galaxies through the diner window if you wanted, or a specific, constrained scene. In a way, it had felt a bit like a truck stop, a place you could always visit, but never the same way twice.

Radek shifted in place, his head now resting against the seat. It made him look attentive, if disheveled, washing away some of the weariness he had spotted upon his return and letting natural curiosity shine through. He felt himself mimicking the posture, twisting himself against the console and feeling the pointed edge of metal dig into his back.

It was reassuring, this discomfort, "There was no pain."

"No?"

He stared past Radek, to the open back door of the jumper but also into his memories, "No. I didn't realize how much of a pain in the ass getting older was until I had a mortal body again," He pursed his lips, "That sounded weird, didn't it?"

Radek shrugged, "One of my great-grandmothers had a stroke once, we think. She laid in bed for days. Woke up, told my grandfather the strangest thing."

"Yeah?" He felt like he would be able to see it, if he pushed himself. It scared him, a little, how relative everything was - the pinch of aligning two different points in space time, just with the thought of it.

He was apparently transparent, as well, because Radek laid a leg over the two of his own. The warmth, human warmth, one that came with its own composite package of memories and thoughts, made him sigh, sinking into the grounding sensation. The look Radek sent him was understanding and chiding all at once.

"She had told him that death was final, but mortality was confining," Radek continued, "None of us could ever understand what she had meant with that."

Humming, he nodded, "She was right."

"Was she?" Radek asked, still sprawled out and looking unlikely to move any time soon.

He quirked a smile, remembering his disorientation in the diner, and how it had felt like a different sort of disorientation putting himself bodily in this plane of existence. It felt bittersweet, now, rather than the pervasive vertigo of waking from a dream.

Picking up the empty bag of chips, he wrapped it in the plastic wrap the sandwich had come in. He could still taste the saltiness of the chips, and the fatty smokiness of the fish that the mayonnaise couldn't disguise. It made him smile, and he felt the way it relaxed Radek, whatever the other man was perceiving.

"Mortality has its perks," He admitted, "Even if you need some Tylenol for it."

Radek laughed, groaning as his leg was shoved back, "Hear, hear."

-

Things seemed a little more real after that. In comparison, he could see how other people had been concerned - now that he had the benefit of perspective, he hadn't been quite connected, drifting around like some ghost that was confused where it was.

Teyla had been perfectly happy to take him up on a bantos lesson when he had asked, her smile wider than normal even as she gave him a few good whacks that would probably bruise through the padding of his training gear. Still, it was good, spending time with her as he futzed his way through the beginner's forms.

"You seem…" She tilted her head, "More settled. All is well?"

"All's well," He promised, parrying the obvious strike she made. It was drawing their lesson out, but he found himself the calmer for it, letting her dictate their interaction.

"I had worried," She confessed, pushing him through the steps of a kata that still didn't have a concrete name in English. Teyla was nice about it, though, letting him avoid the rolled ankle that most people got caught in part-way through by pushing rather than batting at his elbow when he turned.

"I'm sorry."

Teyla shrugged, a rolling motion of her shoulders he had always admired. Everything was always so well-controlled with her, and it made him sharply miss Elizabeth with how similar the two women were. Are. His stomach swooped, an intuition about Elizabeth he wasn't sure he wanted to acknowledge.

He must have made a face, because Teyla stopped, placing a hand on his arm in concern. She drew him into a head-touch, and he lingered there, using the sensation to ward off the roiling, metaphorical pitch of his stomach. Feeling it with your gut, ha.

Eventually they found themselves in a hug. He didn't think he had hugged so often in his life, and certainly not here on Atlantis, despite how tactile people in the Pegasus galaxy could be to reassure themselves of their humanity. Approximate humanity at least, he thought, mind unerringly flitting back to the Replicators.

"Rodney?" Teyla brushed a thumb over his shoulder, coaxing a sigh out of him.

"I miss Elizabeth," He said, "And I've got just- this is going to sound weird, alright? I have this feeling about her."

Teyla disentangled herself from him enough to look up at him. Her gaze was speculative, and he hated the gleam of hope in them, putting faith where he didn't want it to be warranted, "What sort of feeling?"

"I don't know," He muttered, "And I don't want to look too closely at it."

"That is understandable," Teyla said, even if he didn't quite believe the veracity of her reassurance. It was a tightly-controlled excitement lurking underneath her calm, but it was there, nevertheless, making him feel like an ass.

He bit his lip, trying to figure out the conflicting emotions that just barely reached where he could grab them, knowing instinctively at the same time it was one of those side effects of ascending that he was still trying to avoid. One personal prophecy was enough for him.

Teyla squeezed his arm, speaking quietly, "I am sorry. This must be very disturbing for you."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it," He replied, rummaging up a smile even as he gave her the quick bow all students gave her after a lesson. She reciprocated, accepting the bantos rods he held out for her, "Teyla, I- thank you, for, well-"

"Being here?" She asked, looking fondly amused. It was an expression he hadn't realized he had missed, and he returned her smile a little more naturally.

"Yeah," He said, relieved that she was still there, and he was still Rodney, "I'm gonna, uh, catch up with you later?"

"I will see you later, Rodney," Teyla replied, warm enough that he could still feel it all the way to the transporter.

-

Sheppard was still lurking just out of reach, but he figured his ambling around the city would lead him somewhere.

That somewhere ended up being in Ronon's way, a close shave compared to the way others in the city alternately looked spooked at his presence or ready to hound him for their deepest confessions of questions. It was frankly relieving the way that Ronon stared in gruff silence at him, and he clutched literally at that, startling his team mate.

"Oh thank god," He breathed, already tugging Ronon down a corridor, "A normal person. And I don't say that typically, mind you, but I really think it's pertinent in this case."

Ronon's eyebrows scrunched together, still following him despite shaking off his grip, "What?"

He waved a hand, "You- you- you're not staring at me like I'm some, I don't know, revenant? Honestly, if I see one more person cross themselves-"

Ronon made a bemused noise, "I was wondering what that was about."

"Remind me to fetch you one of the great fictions known as a bible one of these days," He muttered, "You'd think they'd realize I'm me and get over themselves, but no- it was more gratifying when they were terrified because I called them morons, not because of some inexplicable mortal phenomenon."

Listening to Ronon grunting in disinterest was reassuring. All was well with the world, because the big man couldn't give a shit at the new weirdness of the day. He flustered out a sigh, herding his friend to a transporter a little quicker than he liked, but almost quick enough to avoid the people turning the corner.

Ronon raised an eyebrow at him, leaning against the wall of the transporter and watching him run a hand through his hair and debate which section of the map to press.

"You're like one big lion, you know," He muttered, eventually picking some place on a pier that he presumed would be a short walk and probably uninhabited at this hour, "All staring and leaning."

"Isn't that Sheppard?" Ronon asked with a smile.

He snorted, not entirely certain where his next words came from, but they felt appropriate to the subject, "Sheppard's like a bunch of cooked spaghetti. … Don't tell anyone I said that."

"Sure," Ronon agreed amiably, following him out of the transporter when the doors opened.

Fresh air, that was what he needed. He couldn't believe he let himself be cooped up indoors for this long, running hither and thither catching up on things that had screwed up while he had a brief bout of death. The smell of the ocean air was just as invigorating as it ever was, and he took in a deep, bracing breath.

Ronon easily kept pace with him, for a while keeping shoulder to shoulder as they strolled the deck. The usual thread of anxiety that would have him checking for emergencies was there, but not so overwhelming that he felt the urge to turn right back around. He stuck his hands in his pockets, letting the late afternoon sunshine warm his face.

As they walked, he found himself appreciating that Ronon had different qualities of silence. It wasn't the same as Sheppard and Teyla, of course, prone to mischief in a way that reminded him of a younger brother. None of that was here, at least for the moment, only the quiet enjoyment of each other's company.

If given the opportunity, Ronon would never speak first, or rarely so. He drifted into Ronon's side, gently shoulder-checking the other man and letting Ronon push him back.

"Radek was pissed at me," He said, watching a bird soar in the distance, not quite close enough for them to hear its call. They gathered to a pause, watching it ride the eddies of the wind, looping around a few times.

The ability to calculate its speed by sight alone, and the angle of its turns, was still there, but he didn't feel the urge to reach out and grasp the knowledge of its data points. Reducing a phenomenon of happenstance to a series of numbers, like he easily could when he was ascended, didn't have the same luster or scope.

He shook off the thought and its accompanying moroseness, shrugging limply when Ronon made a questioning noise, "Nothing. Just… thinking."

"You do that a lot," Ronon replied, turning his head down to watch him instead of the bird that crossed their paths. They weren't arranged in line of the sunlight, but the slow degree of its setting nevertheless added shadows to the man's face.

It made the faint line of accusation deeper. He frowned at it, uncertain how to assuage that.

"I feel like I'm doing things in reverse," He confessed, blinking and looking out across the pier. Ronon grunted, pushing him to continue, "Usually the dying do all the motions of comforting before they die. Here I am, doing the opposite."

Ronon laid a hand on his shoulder, gripping it firmly and turning him around. His friend had a complicated expression on his face, lips twisted in a blend of amusement and unhappiness. It was a similar enough face that people had been making at him the past few days that he reflexively sighed, shoulders slumping despite the way Ronon clasped his other shoulder, holding him upright under the misery.

"You do your best," Ronon said seriously, pressing his thumbs into the hollows of his shoulder, as if to impress the gravity of the words, "When it counts. You always do."

He sighed wearily, "But?"

"But," Ronon rumbled, drawing him in. The hug was encapsulating - they didn't often hug, and usually only after a life-or-death situation, but it was difficult not to appreciate the way Ronon committed to it the same way he committed to everything else in life, "What you think of as giving your best is giving too much of yourself."

"I-"

Ronon squeezed his arms, silencing him without a word, "You're my friend, McKay. My team mate. Don't go marching off too soon."

"Big words," He sniffled, letting himself twist his hands in Ronon's tunic, unable to forget the brief glimpse Daniel had allowed him to witness of his own life. There were many futures, that was true, but once you knew the variables, you could calculate the equation. 'Soon' was merely a matter of perspective, "For someone that thinks with his gun."

"It's a cool gun," Ronon rebutted gently.

"It is," He agreed, letting Ronon change the subject, swallowing some of the last vestiges of his grief, "If you'd only let me attempt to replicate it…"

"Not a chance," Ronon chuckled, running a rough hand down his back before releasing him.

He quirked a smile, scrubbing at his face when Ronon took the opportunity to glance down the pier, "I'll convince you one of these days."

Ronon smirked, "I'm sure you will."

-

Considering that he was the one who ascended, he did feel a little ridiculous that he was one of the ones experiencing an emotional reaction about it, annoyed about having disproved the peace and presumed quiet of an afterlife. The mess was perturbingly nice to him about the whole affair, and he gave one of the soldiers on KP duty a gimlet eye when a substantial helping of baked chicken and lookalike rice was heaped onto his plate.

The soldier merely gave him the well-trained blank face of innocence, handing his plate back to him.

He huffed, grabbing the plate back and wondering when he could get back to his regularly-scheduled bitching about whether or not he was going to be accidentally poisoned by cross-contamination. Not a single bit of citrus! For days! If Sam somehow managed to have something to do with it, he was going to find himself rather cross with her.

Still, he grabbed one of the multitudes of stacked cups, filling it with some infirmary-approved concoction botany quite literally cooked up. It reminded him a bit of V8, but reliably tasted like a disappointing tomato and was never formulated with any allergen he could think of.

Adding it to his tray, he found a spot open on Sam's table. She was busy with a power lunch, scrolling through a tablet with one hand while she absently speared a bit of chicken with her fork. It was probably something from one of his departments, because Sheppard rarely ever submitted so substantial a report that it needed close attention.

Well, He thought, setting his tray down with a quiet clack and sitting catty-corner to Sam. She gave him a brief glance and a grunt of acknowledgment, finally eating her bite of chicken and summarily ignoring him for her reading material, At least it won't be boring.

The peace and quiet Sam exuded by dint of being a very busy expedition leader that rarely appreciated interruptions extended over to him, and he took advantage of that to eat undisturbed. It gave him time to actually taste his food, and he thought wistfully that chicken probably wasn't going to taste this good for a while.

Eventually, though, all good things came to an end. Sam clicked off the screen of her tablet, tucking into her meal for a moment before leaning back in her chair, "So."

He sighed.

Sam ignored that, giving him an assessing smile, "How are you holding up? Re-acclimating well?"

"You're much more attractive when you aren't being all leader-y," He groused, spearing one of the salad vegetables on his plate and eating it with exaggerated chewing motions.

She had obviously been inured to his indubitable charms, merely raising an amused eyebrow while she waited him out. He parried the look by continuing to eat, knowing she had the same squeamishness of talking with one's mouth full as Sheppard. Both of them would eventually have to get back to work, and he reckoned she would need to cut the conversation to the end before he would.

"'Leader-y'?" She asked coyly, when he had eaten through the last turnip-fennel thing, smiling in that way he knew he shouldn't have complimented her on.

He took a vindictive sip of his juice, internally bemoaning that he was back to a strict no-citrus life even as he could, in fact, admit the tomatoes weren't as bad as they could be, "Oh, shut up. You know what I mean."

Sam must have been affected by some enormous level of grief-driven insanity as many others in the city, because all she did was laugh, "I do, yes."

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" He complained, waving his fork at her when she raised her eyebrow, "That! That- that thing. I hate it."

She continued to raise her eyebrow, pushing her tablet to one side and re-settling in her chair in the same way their resident psychotherapist had done during his mandated therapy sessions. He frowned at her, hoping to ward off whatever it was she was going to say, but she only glanced casually around the mess before speaking, "We didn't have any idea what happened, Rodney. It's going to take everyone a bit to realize you're here to stay."

"What does that-" He swallowed, throat drying at her implications, "What does that even mean?"

"It means, Rodney," Sam said, leaning toward him, firmly compassionate, "That once we realized you ascended, we believed it had been on purpose. You came back right after the paperwork had been filed to clear your quarters."

"Is that what that was about," He muttered to himself, shaking his head, "Anyway, why would I do that? I have too much- I actually like being here. All the insanity with the Wraith and everything else is, surprisingly, not as much of a deterrent as it could be."

Sam peered at him. It had the effect of pinning him in place, all gentle and caring and those other nice adjectives he tried not to think too hard about in conjunction with Sam, lest he be somehow thwarted by it and end up in some remote outpost doing back-burner work. She raised her eyebrows at him, obviously catching some facial expression he didn't hide fast enough.

"That's good to hear," She said seriously, subtly letting him out of her verbal grip, "And I believe you have someone to talk to about that."

"I've been talking non-stop," He said, setting his fork down with an aggrieved clang.

"Rodney."

He sighed, "Yes, I know."

Sam pursed her lips, "I expect you to get on that."

"O wise leader," He replied, only half in jest. Sam was right, and they both knew it. Gathering up his things, he said, "Fine, alright. But that's the last of it, understand?"

She gave him a winning smile, sweet and what he now realized as, for him, only objectively attractive. It made her look years younger, making him realize that his absence had in fact been noted. He felt himself smile in return, shaking his head as he gathered up his tray.

-

'Last one' ended up, naturally, being Sheppard. He licked his lips, unaccountably nervous, remembering the tingle of them after Sheppard had kissed him. Clearing up that contemporaneous situation of his living quarters had been the most he'd actually seen the man, their shared meals as a team often cut short by one thing or another.

His time on enforced recuperation despite his obviously good health - recuperating the nerves of the medical staff, more likely - seemed to only prolong how much work he had to put into fixing the odds and ends of his division. If it wasn't paperwork, it was questioning the sanity of everyone's decisions while he had been gone.

It hadn't been a picnic, and he had found himself wishing he could merely tap his comm and chat with Sheppard. There had been something preventing the notion, though, probably his newly-found good sense that he would be intruding. On what, he didn't know for sure.

But with Sam's orders bolstering his nerves, he found himself at Sheppard's door, wondering briefly if the man was even in his room at this time of day. He sucked in a breath, waving his hand over the lock, anyway, letting the doorbell ring.

He waited impatiently, and just as he was about to talk himself out of this and make his excuses to Sam, the door slid open. Sheppard looked just as surprised, hair ruffled and a stylus in one hand.

"Sheppard," He greeted, shoving his hands in his pockets and rolling on his feet nervously. There was a flutter in his stomach that felt like more than just his own emotions, but that couldn't possibly be true, not with the way his friend continued to stare at him blankly, "Can I, uh, come in?"

"Oh," Sheppard said, blinking. It looked like he realized what was going on, shaking his head and stepping off to one side, "Yeah, yeah of course."

They stood awkwardly on the same side of the door, listening to it slide shut with a quiet sshk. Sheppard looked harried, like he hadn't been sleeping well, and his heart skipped a beat at the beginning of bags under the other's eyes.

"Are you-" He said, not entirely certain what question to ask, blurting out the first thing that made it to speech, "Okay? Are you okay?"

"Rodney," Sheppard sighed, and he felt himself blink, expecting McKay, instead.

"No, really, are you?" He asked, gaining momentum as he waved a hand around, "Because I haven't seen you in ages, not really, and I- I just. Wanted to know."

Sheppard looked at him from under his bangs, the sight an odd one given that even with the hang-dog look Sheppard shouldn't be able to pull off as the technically taller person, "You tell me, Rodney."

"Tell you-" His brain hit a snag at that, "Do you not know?"

"I've been here," Sheppard shrugged, looking almost listless, "You're here."

Oh. The realization hit him like a lightning bolt, a sensation he now had an equivalent experience for, his conversation with Sam making much more sense in retrospect. He felt his mouth drop open in surprise, automatically reaching a hand out to Sheppard.

If there was any reason to suspect something was wrong, it was that Sheppard allowed the touch, slouching into it in the barest of fractions. He gripped harder, feeling Sheppard sway into his hand.

"I'm right here," He murmured, the realizations slotting into place like Tetris pieces, the gaping space it created making him lean equally as much into Sheppard's space, "I'm not going anywhere."

He couldn't bring himself to tell Sheppard a timeline of relevancy, even as it burned his tongue to say. It was more feasible to quench his fears by pressing his lips to Sheppard's, listening to the clatter of the stylus falling to the floor as hands pressed into his waist.

For a pair of people that could, if they felt like it, converse without a single word, it felt less ambiguous to communicate this way. It felt like terabytes of information was being conveyed this way, listening to Sheppard's sighs and pushing away the burgeoning ability to listen in on what must have been instinctual thoughts.

"John," He sighed, pressing the man's name into his skin, rubbing a thumb along a stubbled jaw.

"Don' need to talk," John murmured, tilting his head to allow contemplative kisses to be trailed down the length of his neck.

"Mmm."

And that was a wonderful idea, if technically betraying the spirit of Sam's tacit orders. He felt it was the better interpretation of things, at any rate, continuing on his way of pressing reassurances and comforts into John's skin in lieu of speaking them.

Their method of communication required no appendices, John taking and interpreting what he intended flawlessly, melting into him with drifting, clutching hands. It felt a little bit like the closest he would get to that liminal place he had tripped into, only circling back home by an act of faith in his own self.

He leaned into John, skimming a hand up the man's side and feeling the shiver reverberate back onto him. Lifting his head from where he had been preoccupied with tasting the quiet, barely-there moans John had kept trapped in his throat, he gathered John closer with a hand on his back, "Hey."

John's eyes were still closed, and he was absently brushing their cheeks together, the rasp of daytime stubble brushing warmth into him. He hummed, turning his head to catch John's mouth for a kiss that was barely more than an indulgent slide of lips. They stayed like that for a moment, breathing in each other's air.

"I'm here," He said, pressing the words into John's mouth like a vow, feeling like he had to cradle this flickering, uncertain light close, the sight nearly visible behind his half-lidded eyes, "I'm here, I'm not leaving."

"Promise?"

He shuddered himself, feeling all the strings attached that Daniel and Sha're and death had unearthed to him, lines in the sand that he could cross at any moment. If he wanted. And with some of them, he did want - or would, if the right circumstances aligned. It was string theory, in a tangible, personal way, hitting one note and listening to its echo in a silent chamber hall until it faded out of existence.

The pause seemed nearly enough to undo John entirely, a hitch of breath that would precipitate misery, tearful and messy. He could feel those calloused hands grip him close, as if the act alone could keep him tethered in this plane of existence.

"Rodney," John begged, for multiple things, for a singular thing. Stay.

It was the one thing he knew John would nearly never ask for, too well-trained to protest loss hammering him into the thinnest of sheet metal, until it warped and bent him beyond usefulness. He pressed a slow, careful kiss to John's mouth, mapping the grief that had been allowed to settle into the crevices for too long.

His heart thumped to say it, distracting himself with John reviving in achingly cautious measures under his touch, "I promise."

The shudder rippling across John's crumple zones let him know the weight of his own words, sealed by the choked noise John made as he kissed him back, pressing a tongue past his lips with desperation. He let it happen, soaking up the way John needed him, wondering if this was what the Ascended meant, with their ability to touch a soul.

Coaxing John to bed was easier when it clicked that he wasn't being pushed away, endless murmurs pressed into the other man's skin. The grief was slow to slake, only now truly visible to him when that the reflexive veneer of relieved joy had worn off. He took his time with the way his hands travelled over John, pushing and tugging at fabric to signal his intentions to get closer.

John was still endearingly quick-witted, squirming against him once the tacit request had been registered and shucking his shirt, fingers stumbling on the myriad clasps that were fastened to his pants. He hushed him with a smiling kiss, drawing a bite out against John's lower lip as he ran soothing hands over the other's chest.

"Hngh, Rodney-"

"Shh," He promised, finding the belt buckle by touch, "I've got you."

And he did, unequivocally. John's head thumped back onto the bed, missing the pillow by a hair. It was an easily-followed urge to press a kiss above the top of John's pants, the stiff material of the uniform brushing against his throat as he felt the reflexive ripple of John's stomach under his mouth.

The snap of the buckle being undone was loud in the lull between them. He let his hands linger, tracing as he found his way to the holster. It was tempting to follow it with his mouth, if only to feel the strength of John's thigh so intimately, but John was clutching at the sheets and he was disinclined to make him wait any longer.

He set the sidearm, holster and all, on the side table. John was quick to cling to him as he stretched over to reach the table, eagerly rucking up his shirt. Grinning, he pressed into the hands that groped and skimmed over his body, relishing that this bit of mortality he was still able to enjoy.

It was a catching expression, John's smile luminescent as his hands slowed, mapping new territory with a possessive touch. He sighed, letting his weight sink down onto John, both of them sliding into another kiss.

Time rather melted away after that, the afternoon sunshine making its slow mark on the shadows in the room their only subtle indicator that they were crossing time with languid, heated touches. Maybe it was only a few minutes, but he couldn't be bothered to pull away to check, reveling that he was too absorbed in John to keep track of the ticking of seconds.

He sighed, coaxing John to switch their places with a murmur and cupping John's ass with one hand, tasting the moan as he gave it a squeeze. The press of John's chest bearing down against his, sweat-slicked and solid, was as heady as it was reassuring of the man's presence.

"I would never be able to forget you, you know," He said quietly, easing off from their kissing just enough to speak. There was just enough of a tremble to John's lips to indicate words being perched there, and he brushed them off with a quick swipe of his lips, "I couldn't. Not ever."

John seemed to know, though, the foundation upon which they knew each other set deep into their bones. He felt the nod made against him, John hiding his face against his own even as he tentatively rolled his hips, muscles in his ass tightening under his palm.

He encouraged John with a moan, rucking the man up against the thigh he had wedged at some point between John's own with a firm hand. The jump of a cock against his own, muffled only barely by the fabric between them, made him lose his mind a little.

"C'mon," He breathed, pressing a quick, dirty kiss into John's mouth, twisting so he could get his other hand on John's ass.

John moaned into the kiss, hands clutching at him as if he needed the support. He coaxed the man into straddling his hips, taking John's weight as his hands fluttered over the button and zip of the other's pants. It was more difficult by the way John couldn't help but shove into his hands, making needy sounds and overall just inhibiting what they both wanted.

He gripped John's hips, forcing them to still with an amused huff, "Stay still," He said, voice having dropped low and rough. It made John heave, wild-eyed but obedient, and he couldn't help but dig his fingers in a little deeper, "Let me take care of you."

The nod John gave him was instinctive but tremulous, head dropping into a bobble of agreement that made him look, abruptly, an aching sort of vulnerable that had his own heart skipping a beat. He gentled his touch, smoothing his hands up John's side and over his chest, feeling the thunder of the man's heart as he circled the tight nipples under his touch, "Will you let me?"

"Y-" John swallowed, arching into his hands, "Yeah."

"Okay," He murmured, letting his hands drag down with the barest touch of nails, imagining the welts he might leave there at a later date. The shiver and pant was satisfying, however, and he let his fingers dip beneath the waistline of John's pants in a tease, letting a thumb circle over the button the way he wanted to do to John's cock.

It was tempting to draw things out, but he felt like both of them have been craving this for far too long. He popped the button open, hearing John's shivery moan, letting his finger dip underneath the flap to trace the zipper before undoing that, too.

John rolled his hips into his hands, eyes having fallen shut and the man's own hands reaching behind him to grip his legs. It painted an attractive picture, all wanton offering with cock peeking out over the rumple of BDUs, and he took a moment to run his hands over John from hips to knees and up to ribs with a heavy, promising touch.

He felt when John shuddered, body relaxing and legs sliding further open to sit more heavily in his grasp, head lolling in pleasure. It seemed like the words would be on repeat, murmured as he tucked his fingers under the fabric of John's clothes, unwrapping John like an unforeseen present, and framing John's cock in the crook between thumb and forefinger with his palm flat on John's skin, "I've got you, I've got you."

"You do," John gasped, just from that simple touch alone. The helpless way John rolled his hips, shifting the hard line of his cock against his hand, as if that alone would make his palm leave the warm skin of John's groin.

Raking his fingers through the hair scattered on John's skin, he listened to the drawn-out groan as he wrapped his hand around John's cock in a long, leisurely pull. John was already wet for him, leaking in unsteady spurts that dribbled over his hand, and he pumped John's cock, watching how John fell apart for him.

The other man stayed still for him, though, restricting his own movements and going with the flow of this nonverbal conversation. It made him lick his lips, compiling a wish list of things he wanted to do - later, though, too busy easing his hand over John's cock and coaxing the other's pants lower so he could get a better grip of John's ass with his other hand.

"You'll come when I say so, won't you," He murmured, listening to the way John panted as he twitched between the dual pressures on him. His cock was aching in his own pants, and he shifted his legs, pulling on John's cock and pressing with his other hand so John curled over him, rolling his hips just to hear John's whine near his ear, "Look at you. You're beautiful, do you know that?"

John was shaking his head, far too quickly to be anything other than instinctive denial, and he wasn't having any of that. He cupped John's ass, massaging it with a wide-fingered grip and a thumb sweeping over the top of the curve.

"You are," He insisted roughly, pressing a kiss to the side of John's head, the only part he could reach without removing his hands from where they were, "You are, and I'll keep telling you. Every day, if I must."

"Don't," John choked out, shuddering in his grip, "'M not-"

He slowed his hand on John's cock, making his touch delicate as he played with the tip of John's cock, fingers sliding from frenulum to slit and back, a circular loop around the top that had John leaking over his hand with a sob, "I love you," He said firmly, the words a rebuttal to John's insecurities, so visible he almost felt angry at it, using the truth of his own self as a balm to that wound,

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. God, do you even know-"

John was trembling in his arms, helplessly grinding into his hand, trying to draw out roughness from him. He refused, not wanting John to use him to smother himself, to hide away the way he had been doing since he had returned from that little diner on the way through to death.

"You don't get to do that," He swore, mouthing kisses along John's jaw, rough bites that would bruise later in contrast to the gentle, gentle way he traced John's leaking cock, "Not with me, understand? None of that."

"Rodney," John clutched at his shoulders with both hands, frantic as the man held on to him, "Rodney, you died, you left, you-"

"I'm here," He said, dipping a finger in the curve of John's ass, circling the tight entrance there with the same understanding of fragility as he was with John's cock, feeling the twitch and warmth of muscle, "I'm here, I'm back. I'm not leaving."

John rocked into his touch, moaning and wet-faced with a grief that was shattering. He murmured nonsensical things, keeping John grounded with his touch, arcing that pleasure between ass and cock with a careful balance. Slowly, the spasms rippling across John began to increase, accepting the uncoordinated kiss John laid upon his mouth as he coaxed that crescendo tighter.

He felt when John began to open at his touch, just enough for him to press the tip of his finger against the rim, a promise imprinted with the way he circled and dipped his finger, an inverse echo to what his hand was doing on John's cock.

Pressing a kiss against John's jaw, he murmured, "I want you to come for me."

And John did, wonderfully so, collapsing against him so he could grind on his stomach, smearing come between them and letting him feel the way John's ass fluttered against his finger. The aftershocks rolled through John, pulsing heat that made him moan against John's cheek, moving his hand to grab John's ass so he could roll his cloth-trapped cock up against him.

John pressed back against him, letting that finger slip momentarily deeper past the threshold. They both groaned at that, and he pushed John higher up so he could unbutton and shuck his own pants down far enough, cock rubbing against the cleft of John's ass.

It was a momentary disappointment to withdraw his hand from that warmth, but John was apparently more than willing to let him get off like that, pressing against sweat-dampened skin. He could taste the way John gasped into his mouth, feeling a little breathless himself at the way John rolled his ass back against him.

Coming was almost an afterthought, absorbed as he was in their synchronous motion. He shuddered, thoughts hazy as he felt hands pressing against his chest and shoulders in warming, repetitive motions.

"Mmm," He shifted, taking more of John's weight even as he huffed at the way the man slumped on top of him, "John."

The only response was garbled sentence squished into the side of his neck. He smiled, dancing the fingers of one hand up John's side, soothing the instinctive twitch with his palm, "Much as I enjoy having you naked, I would like to put my pants back on."

John grumbled, "Only sorta naked."

He skimmed his hands over the crease of John's ass, smirking at the shiver, "It's the thought that counts."

They righted themselves with reluctance, sacrificing John's shirt to clean off the worst of it - laughing when John subtly flexed his muscles as he got out of bed, enjoying the view and kissing the pout off with a firm press of lips.

Swinging his legs over the side of John's bed, he paused, thinking, "Shower?"

John tilted his head from side to side, giving him a once-over, "Could do."

He couldn't help his smile, shaking his head fondly at John's beaming smile. Pressing his side against John's, he leaned up for another kiss, listening to the way John breathed out a contented sigh, "Come on. Lunch break's almost over."

-

It turned out that they had wildly overshot the lunch hour, but nobody had gone looking for them, anyway. John had been much buoyed by more kisses, soaking up the inherent affection of being held when the anxiety of approaching the door made his shoulders tense up. The sight wasn't the first time a deep pensiveness had reared its head, but it was a nebulous feeling to actually act upon it for once, making him sigh as he pressed his head into John's shoulder.

The inherent protectiveness emanating from the way John ran his hands down his back was easy to settle into, something he had missed deeply and unintentionally. It had that tinge of tacit territoriality, making him clench his arms around John tighter, taking in the smell of freshly-laundered clothing and soap from their joint shower.

"What's up?" John murmured into his hair, matching his reluctance to leave the bubble of the room, voice still retaining a hint of that deep pitch from earlier.

He shivered, rubbing his cheek against the BDU jacket, "Hmm. Nothing much, I suppose."

And it was true, for a given value. It would be far too easy to slip into an awareness of this bubble of time, the consequences of popping it and leaving it in the past - a linearity that was relative, true, but only making him all the more aware of the finite amount of instances. But the knowledge was a background sort, still tasting like a wax seal broken off as its lid was cracked open, flavouring everything else with its presence.

"We don't have to go," John said, sounding as if he was split on the temptations, "Could call in, make some excuses."

He sighed, shaking his head and reaching up for another kiss, lingering over the way John's mouth moulded to his with a simple press, "We'd never leave, probably."

"Hmm," John nosed at his jaw, skimming his lips over the soft edge with a façade of thoughtfulness, "Probably, yeah."

Groaning, he made himself push John away, unable to help the smile tugging at his lips as John made to mosey closer, "Really, though. I need to head back to the labs, repair some of the equipment brought back from the last mission."

John sighed, letting them disengage and opening the door with the faint pressure of thought. It still gave him a little shiver of intellectual curiosity that he could sense the edges of that, and he followed the other man through the mostly-deserted corridor back to the main areas of the city.

"Can't you get someone else to do that?" John asked, tilting a brow at him.

"Not unless you want some mystery soldering and parts from the wrong rummage bin," He replied dryly, "Most everyone is still on inventorying - a few people started up projects without Sam's explicit permission, and I'm still hunting down all the parts that were allocated to more important things."

"Things like…?"

He huffed, swiping the button for the transporter, "Oh, jumper maintenance, that transporter in one of the residential halls that still puts you to a pier one out of five requests, the like."

John nodded slowly, that innocent look pasted onto his face that stopped working on him except for special occasions, "The jumpers are important, yeah."

"And so is everything else," He shook his head, amused, "It's mostly the geological team complaining about it, since I put everyone together by department. You wouldn't happen to know anything about why that happens, would you?"

"Nnnno, absolutely not," John rocked up on his toes, keeping deliberate attention on the doors as they opened.

He snorted, shaking his head, "I don't even want to know."

John grinned, gesturing for him to leave the transporter first, "All's well that ends well."

"Like I haven't heard that before," He rolled his eyes, pausing with a small shuffle of his steps where he knew they would have to split paths. John was likewise lingering, a wistful look to his face that wasn't quite as patted down into inscrutability as the man probably thought, "I'll, uh, see you at dinner? All of you?"

Waiting for John to melt into a slow, reassuring smile did little for his nerves - nor did the cognizant inability to settle himself with one last, lingering kiss like they had done in John's quarters. Nevertheless, it seemed his thoughts were recognized, John leaning marginally forward into his space, "Yeah. Don't get too caught up, okay?"

Feeling breathless from that little bit of proximity, he nodded faintly, "Yeah."

Heedless of the tacitly curious looks thrown their way, John winked and strode off with a swing in his step. My god, he thought faintly, No wonder the women keep fawning over him.

Catching the quizzical look one of the soft scientists - P-something, he believed - threw his way, he touched the side of his cheek, realizing he had a smile firmly affixed onto his face. What a strange sight he must have made, staring after the colonel like that.

Lips unable to fall back into their usual resting state, he thought, Mine, though.

-

Whatever his mood was, it made his minions all the more biddable when he walked into one of the main labs, and he would take the stretch of luck as far as it would run.

"You," He snapped his fingers at Kusanagi, "Have you found all the scrap alloy O'Brennon and his roving horde of miscreants squirreled away?"

She smiled, cheeks dimpling under her glasses, "Yes, Doctor McKay. I have informed them to return everything to a new bin for your inspection and filled with its own catalogue."

He beamed at her, "Excellent. Make sure you get those meteorological analytics in to the marine biologists, Sam wants them to make sure we have clear weather for a research team on that new island chain we found."

Kusanagi nodded, still having that polite grin on her face as she returned to her computer. He wanted to harrumph, but frankly it was reassuring to have that same dubiously perpetual ray of sunshine around to witness, undaunted by his brief, unintentional respite in the so-called afterlife. Pausing briefly over his keyboard, he wondered whether she ought to be given more responsibilities because of that.

Hmm. Opening up the notepad on his computer, he typed in a quick note to assess her workload and if she would benefit from some training in additional areas. Radek would probably know.

And speak of the devil, Radek rapped his knuckles on the edge of the table, announcing his presence, "Alo. Are you done sight-seeing?"

"Hmph," He responded, turning his stool around so he could grab the stack of LSDs that AR-5 had zapped. It was busy work, because he knew as well as Radek did that there were plenty of people who could solder a few chips together, but he quietly appreciated the banality to give himself an opportunity to rest the still-turbulent nature of his thoughts, "What have you got?"

Radek raised an eyebrow at him, "Rumors that you are in a good mood. I am glad to hear they are false, for otherwise I will need to train in another boss."

"Har-har," He rolled his eyes in response, "I still sign all of the paperwork you foist off on me so you can stare down a microscope, don't forget that."

"Ah, yes, that is true," Radek nodded thoughtfully, sliding onto a stool on the other side of the table, logging into his tablet with a quick set of swipes on the screen, "It is good for me, no? You would not look as handsome in glasses. Best to save that dilemma for me."

He grumbled good-naturedly, opening up his email, "To have the disconcerting appeal of a moth in daylight? You have the market cornered."

Radek waggled his eyebrows, "All the better to track down filaments for our gravity simulators, no?"

Blinking, he tore his attention away from the molecular models of some prototype drug the medical department CCed him on, leaning around his monitor, "Did you really?"

Grinning, Radek tapped his nose, "I may have found an alloy we can synthesize, but it will take much work to test whether it will work in different gravities."

"You are the best," He breathed, scooting off the stool in excitement, roundly ignoring the way Radek perked up with a smug look, "Gimme. Where is it?"

"Ah, ah, what do you say?" Radek asked with a grin.

He arched a brow, "Uh, now? So I can figure out how to fix the simulators below our waterline? Where we've been wanting to renovate for extra storage in the accessed labs we've cleared out?"

Radek rolled his eyes, huffing and waving a hand to the corner of the lab where some of the employee lockers were. They had some unlocked ones to store the smaller odds and ends they found while exploring the city, if it wasn't filled with motherboards and other spare parts. He couldn't find it in himself to be more than superficially annoyed, doing his best to restrain himself from skipping over to the locker with glee.

There was indeed a little plastic bin, neatly labeled with some masking tape and marker in Radek's obscure handwriting. Do not touch! Rodney's work was scribbled onto it, and he popped off the lid with the same enthusiasm as he would a box of the fancy TV dinners.

"Oh my," He murmured to himself, delicately tracing the iridescent metal. There wasn't very much of it, and they had yet to actually work out the production process to duplicate it in the amounts they needed to truly repair all the damaged sectors in the city, but seeing the neatly-coiled amount nestled in some tissue paper from the chemists' lab was enough to catch his breath, "Radek, this-"

"Might actually be enough to test?" Radek completed his thoughts, smiling, "Yes, it is possible. I have submitted a proposal for testing with one of the smaller superconductors, but it will need your signature as well as Colonel Carter's."

He carefully replaced the lid, clutching the tub close, "Absolutely. Is this already emailed?"

Radek waved a hand at his computer, making him hustle himself back to his seat, typing with one hand as he searched through his email. When he spotted the correct subject line, his eyes caught on the timestamp, "Radek-"

"Ano," Radek replied simply, looking at him over the rim of his glasses while he worked on his tablet.

"I-" How could he explain what he thought, the proof that this was idling in his inbox during his absence, when there had been no known possibility that it would only have been temporary? Looking helplessly at the way Radek was calmly writing something on his tablet with a stylus, he clutched the tub closer, feeling overwhelmed.

"Is nothing," Radek said, expression kind, "I knew you were looking for it."

And the thought of this little tie to mundanity, that Radek considered it more important than his own ascension - purposefully or accidental, something none of them here would be able to tell apart - was a startling level of consideration. He wetted his lips, wondering what to say as he blinked a few times, "Thank you. I'll- I'll sign off on that, tell Sam to."

Radek relaxed in his seat, looking relieved, "Yes. Be sure to review proposal, as well? I do not want any surprises during testing."

He found himself smiling, tremulous as it was, "Of course. I'll get on that right away."

Nodding, Radek returned to his work, the air between them and the lab at large losing that unfounded edge of anxiety. He felt that sharpness ease within himself, too, and looked at his screen, deciding on the spot that this was a subject better hashed out in person, "Actually, you know what, I'll just- I'll be right back."

Radek glanced up at him, "Of course."

He nodded a couple of times, "Yes. Yes, of course." Patting the container, he walked toward the door, tapping his comm and feeling everything settle into place, "McKay to Sheppard. Hey- Radek found something, you'll never guess what it is-"

-

Author's Notes

Ascension is… an odd concept. It seems a little odd that Ancients - or Alterans, for the broader scope across the Stargate canon - would spend so much time developing so much technology across multiple galaxies, just to have one of their most memorable points as a society be a prettily-worded death cult. What would be the point of all that technology? So… mathematics, and its applications in the sciences, as a form of philosophy that reflects back onto ascension. And for someone like Rodney, who not only had one confirmed brush with ascending (Tao of Rodney), but an unconfirmed one (The Shrine - same technological basis as in Tao of Rodney) as well, on top of multiple near-death experiences - something in his hind brain has got to be percolating that during a fair amount of the show.

I realized about partway through that the control crystals for Atlantis tech show nearly identical circuitry patterns, which I understand would have made it easier for audiences to figure out that it was Technology TM and provide a bridging point, but I kind of threw it out and substituted my own headcanon that's visible through Rodney's internal monologue in the beginning scene.

There's a background fix-it in terms of Sha're ascending, mostly because I thought her death was nonsense and also I like the idea of her and Rodney being in the same room. As for that little diner, it fits a lot of themes and motifs in other media (that I don't remember at the moment) of being a transition point between living and death, and indicative of Rodney being indecisive about actually being dead - an opposite end of that subject is discussed via Campfire Stories. This also takes place before This Mortal Coil, where Replicator!Elizabeth visits Atlantis, and after Miller's Crossing, where Rodney and Jeannie were abducted for evil plot reasons. Can't imagine anyone really dealing with Rodney's ascension all that well, in that context.

Over the course of canon, also, I've noticed Rodney has displayed some… let's call it awareness of plot-related events. He's a main character, sure, so his plot armor means death won't stick, and the writers have an interesting way of dancing around their plotholes sometimes, but somehow or another it ends up being conveyed as prescience of critical changes in a situation (Rodney picking what ultimately ended up being the correct door in Trio, for example). I wanted to convey that as a sort of quantum physics problem - Schroedinger's cat, almost, in that what could be will be and always is (a multiplicity of states, aka the quantum superposition principle). Some of this was also discussed via Interface- an effect once observed and all that, and rather fitting given Rodney's specialties.

I wanted to lean into these concepts, and go "What if Rodney ascended?", with an added dose of making it accidental because Rodney is noticeable prone to being able to come up with solutions out of thin air, and what is ascension but another revelation? It seems very in character for him, I think.

Also meet the new OC, scientist O'Brennon - he's a mechanical engineer, probably.

Czech translations:

Ano - yes

můj prdel - my ass

#stargate atlantis #mcshep #rodney mckay #my story

[venusandsaturnsrings]

BABES NOW I WANT TO SUCK INCEL CHILDES BALLS AFTER HIS WORK OUT!!!! PLEASE DO A MINI STORY BABES PLEASE *sucks on Childe's balls*

YOU GET IT!! i would do anything to have this gross man shove me into his sweaty balls… for you and me i will write a lil mini story… this is filthy

amongst the vast rooms of the house Ajax had made one into a home gym. considering he’s working so much he finds it easier to exercise at home as well. he does occasionally go on runs as well but he’s more interested in building muscle than anything else. he’s naturally a pretty slim guy, gamer body type yknow, and would like to bulk himself up a bit!! if he’s home and not in the office, cooking, or banging you then you’ll find him in said gym. he’s got plenty of money to shell out on expensive equipment and so he does. there’s one huge wall to wall mirror, cause he’s a bit of a narcissist, that he uses whiteboard markers on to note progress and routines that work for him. it’s a rather meticulous process but he loves it nonetheless.

every once in a while you’d pass by the open door and watch for a couple moments before scampering away so he didn’t see you ogling his sweat slicked body. there was something so erotic about what should be a relatively mundane sight. perhaps it was the way his eyebrows furrowed or how he panted desperately for more air… you figured it was a combination since regardless of which way you tried to spin it you’re head always came back to the sweat.

he always showered after working out. it’s surprised you at first, considering how gross he is, but he always did. every. single. time. usually he’d give you a kiss before he went to do so hoping you’d give him some kind of reaction he could laugh at but he was pleasantly surprised to find that you reciprocated the affections regardless. you always pressed your lips to his in a fashion that you really tried not to seem needy. he never seemed to pick up on your desires for worse or better. it made you feel slightly disappointed sometimes. you almost wanted him to start talking down to you, making fun of you, so he’d be ‘cruel’ enough to indulge you.

on one such day, he finished working out, he did his usual routine of hunting you down to give you a sloppy kiss. you had been typing away at your computer, curtesy of Ajax’s wallet, when he crept up behind you. he spun the chair around and leaned over you as he grabbed your chin to plant a firm kiss to your mouth. it startled you slightly. the off guard nature was enough for your throat to fail stopping the whine that came out in response to his musky form. he pulled away looking slightly surprised; an unusual emotion for him.

“oh?” the second he grinned you knew he deduced the reason for your desperate response. you mentally cursed his brain for a moment. “you like it when i’m all sweaty, don’t you?” your flushed face said enough. his smile somehow grew wider. “finally. i was hoping you’d admit it yourself but this works too. you think i didn’t notice the way you stare at me, hm? your eyes follow the beads of sweat, sweetness.” his tone betrayed the intentions of the words. “why don’t i give you want we both want.”

his hand sharply moved from your chin to grip your hair harshly. the other moved to pull his shorts and boxers down just enough for his dick to pop out. once freed, he yanked you down to the floor and thrusted his hips forward to harshly smack your face with his cock. he pulled you down slightly further and put his balls right on your nose. “clean me up, yeah? take time to enjoy it while you’re at it. i know you will, girlie.” <3

#cw: incel #cw: sweat #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #chit chats

[everlastiingiimmortals]

When it comes to Ratio's appearance, the first thing one might notice about him will probably be his bicep (hard not to. he just has it out there like nothing), but really I think the more striking thing about his appearance is his eyes. Though not as obviously feline in appearance as Jing Yuan's, there's something that seems distinctly, if vaguely, cat-like about them all the same. Perhaps it's the way the rings of pale gold in his inner irises pierce through the dark, or the shape of his pupils, or perhaps his stare -- regardless, there's something distinctly unsettling, even intimidating about them.

While I don't think Ratio is necessarily adverse to eye contact, I do imagine it's rather hard to get a good look at his eyes because. well. gestures to the headpiece. That, and the fact that he very much favors his personal space. But if anyone were to be fortunate enough for him to allow them to study his face, they'd find he has beautiful long lashes, and in certain lightings the maroon of his eyes seems more purple than red, and vice versa -- yet the yellow of his inner irises never changes. Somewhat in contrast to the rest of his form, the angle of his jaw, cheekbones, and the tall shape of his nose give him a rather slim face, rather than the sturdier, squarer face shape that I give Jing Yuan. His lips are also a little on the thinner side, usually set in a frown.

I somehow have a penchant for fluffy haired muses -- Jing Yuan is not my first, Ratio will definitely not be my last -- but I'm sure you all can tell from the way I draw him that his hair falls in waves; though not as curled as Jing Yuan's, without proper care and with too much humidity his hair definitely starts to curl in a more unruly, frizzy manner (common in the summer of his home) and he hates it. Mullet. Wolfcut? Whatever. Yes. Moving on.

Ratio definitely has an athletic build, with a low body fat percentage mostly due to his pickiness and aversion to heavy foods. That being said, he is very conscious about how he eats, and is as diligent in exercise as he is any of his fields of mastery. A healthy body begets a healthy mind, he'd say, and I do imagine when particularly stressed he has a bit of a tendency to be excessive in his exercise, despite his acute awareness of moderation, if only to sweat out all his agitation and have an even more rewarding bath -- another overindulgence of his. Well defined trapezius muscles, side shoulders, and strong arms, of course, both due to carrying heavy things all the time and working with stone. Otherwise, he has something of a swimmer's body; swimming is one of his preferred means of exercise, though he'll also go on runs, and yes, discus and javelin are things that he can and will indulge in on occasion, as he does appreciate traditional sports. Powerful legs! Good for swimming and walking with stone! He doesn't train so much with weights, as marble is enough of a weight on its own. Don't ask him to do boxing. Don't ask him if he does παγκράτιον (pankration) either. Those are too brutish for him. (And before you ask, no he's not very flexible. Yes, he stretches to warm up before exercising but he is also SO stressed ALL the time because of PEOPLE so his muscles tend to be quite tense. Tension headaches are, as much as he does his best to care for himself, unfortunately common)

The efforts of his labor show in his hands-- though deft (he twirls a piece of chalk between his fingers in his trailer), he does have callouses on his palms and the sides of his fingers from his chisel, hammer, and pen. I'd say his hands are slightly rough due to stonework, too, but it's not like woah, your hands are rough levels. He keeps his nails short and neat, because the buildup of chalk and marble dust underneath gets easier to manage and clean that way. No manicures/pedicures that aren't his own care, though, because he doesn't want other people touching him.

Due to how much time he spends outside, though, he's definitely got a warmer skin tone than in canon, also because I like it that way. He is a man of the coast and you can pry mediterranean Ratio from my cold dead hands.

#//about; (DOCTOR OF TRUTH) #the ratioposting continues #ratio: i dont engage in /brutish/ behaviors or activities #also ratio: would absolutely throw hands if someone pissed him off enough without hesitation and is soooo not proud to admit it #reading this over i realize it sounds like the descriptions in a bad fanfic but fuck it we ball

[azucarmorena97]

Come Through (Jungkook Love Story Prologue)

A/N: This story is based off of Jungkook's section in my "BTS As Cliched School Tropes" piece, found here.

Flashforward 1 ||

The class is full, the low hum of students chatting and getting to know each other, save for a few tables with people who seem desperate to avoid human contact. You're at one such table, the two other people seated around you have their noses shoved so far into their phone you kind of can't even really see what they look like all the way. The classroom door opens, and in walks a short older lady dressed in an apron and loose button up shirt and linen pants. Definitely the teacher.

"Good morning everyone!" She greets cheerfully, to which many of the students respond with an equally (or slightly less) cheerful tone. "I'm so excited to meet you all for this semester of ceramics class! My name is Professor Han-" She continues on into the introduction of herself and the curriculum you'll be learning in the semester. "Okay, everyone- we won't be getting into any clay today but we will be doing a quick get-to-know-you activity. I've printed out these sheets," She lifts up a stack of papers that seem to have a bunch of squares on them, "You're gonna take one and then you'll be walking around the room to see who fits the descriptions in each box- For example, this square says 'I've traveled out of the country before', so if that person fits the description, you'll write that person's name-" You're already dreading the exercise as you're not necessarily very outgoing the first time around. Just as she's about to finish explaining, the door opens again, though this time, it's as though a great, collective silence falls over the entire room.

At first, only a tall, dark silhouette- barely illuminated by the hallway's lights behind him- though when he finally does step inside, your breath catches in your throat and you can feel your cheeks burning. A guy with long, dark, shaggy black hair that falls just over his eyes; his body is slim but so toned even through his loose-fitting white tee-shirt, and his blue jeans hug his legs in the best way possible. It doesn't take you long to notice that he's completed tatted up on one arm. Oh the things you'd do to him- "Thank you for joining us, please take a seat! Someone please explain the activity to your classmate," Professor Han seems to be the only one not completely affected by this perfect marble statue before her; everyone else seems to be on pause- though you do notice some girls immediately removing their backpacks and purses out of the seats next to them. You don't even get a second to gather yourself before you realize he's walking over to your table. You feel you might barf. "Is this seat taken?" He asks, leaning forward so he's whispering close to your ear. You shake your head and motion for him to sit, "You're good" is the only thing you're able to peep out. "Thanks," He says simply before taking his seat. He must have hit some invisible switch because suddenly, the other two people at your table (the ones who couldn't even be bothered before to glance in yours or eachother's direction) now have their eyes fixed on him. He doesn't seem to notice as the papers are being passed to every table; he's too busy looking confusedly down at the activity. "So...what are we supposed to do?" He asks, leaning in again. You can feel the hairs all over your body stand on end- a visceral reaction to his angelic voice. "You basically try to look for someone to fit the description of each one of the boxes," You do your best to avoid eye contact, fearing you'll easily fall apart with even just a single glance. "I see," He strokes his chin briefly before taking a pen out from behind his ear, "Seems easy enough." You nod and reach into your bag for a pen of your own. "So, which ones of these do you fall under?" He asks, looking up from the paper. Dammit. You failed. You can't manage to look away quickly enough, and your eyes connect. You swallow, "I- I've uhm-" You tear your eyes away from his and back to the paper, hoping to God he didn't notice how nervous he'd made you, "I've broken my arm before." He raises his eyebrows, "Oh yeah? How?" "I was 12- climbed a tree and fell straight down," You laugh sheepishly, "Not my best moment." He chuckles, "Been there, done that. I've never broken a bone before but I've fallen out of a few trees in my day- wait, what's your name?" "Oh- it's Y/n." "Y/n," He repeats. Your heart jumps when he says it; you've never wanted someone to say your name again so much in your life. "Wh-what about you? What do you fall under?" "Hm... I can speak Korean, I play an instrument-" He chews on his bottom lip as he reads over the other boxes. "Okay, well I only need one box anyway," You proceed to position your pen, "What's your name?" "Wait, one box? Did she say we couldn't do the same person for all the boxes?" "Well, no but I'm assuming-" "Eh, forget the assumption. Just write my name for all these boxes," He says, reaching over you to point to a few other boxes. The smell of his cologne envelopes you so snuggly, you don't ever want him to move away from you. "Alrighty then," You say, clearing your throat. "Jungkook," He says, leaning backward in his chair. "Y/n?" His voice snaps you back into reality, followed by him waving his hand in front of your face. "Oh, sorry- I spaced out," You blush. He chuckles, "Don't worry about it. Thanks for the help," He says, sticking his hand out for you to shake it, to which you comply. "Of course." Without another word, he's up and out of his chair and walking around to find more names to write on the rest of his boxes.

"Jungkook," You repeat as he had only minutes ago with your name. You almost want to savor each syllable; to feel it roll on your tongue. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back. And. Forth.

#bts #jungkook #suga #jimin #jin #namjoon #bts imagine #angst #jhope #jungkook x reader

[milawritesstuff]

kinda random but all those talks about footballers dating models who had jobs done made me think about my views on plastic surgery lol

im not gonna shame any girl for doing it but i find it very sad that we have to do surgeries to look attractive to men. society is pushing those beauty standards and then women feel like they need to have bigger boobs, slim waists, small noses, big lips etc. and do (sometimes dangerous) surgeries to feel confident in their own bodies🥲 and its not only adults, little girls are also brainwashed into thinking that they should look a certain way to be considered attractive

I’ll start off by saying, I am 100% for your body your choice and that includes plastic surgeries.

I was a late bloomer so I remember in middle school being like as soon as possible I’m getting a bbl and boobs. Luckily I didn’t. And I actually just went through puberty and also started exercising which I think had a lot with me being content with my body.

But I’m not sure how it is in other countries but I did see for a while the whole kylie Jenner body was like goals. So many influencers with the bbls, boobs, lips, hair extensions, etc. it’s like everyone is trying to fit into that mold and unfortunately some girls think that’s what men want.

It might be something also men mature into? Let’s look at Paulo’s gf … she’s not at all like that. Alvaro Morata’s wife is gorgeous and although she may have some sort of surgery (I’m not sure) looks more natural.

I don’t think we can fault the girls but our society if we’re being honest.

[hjmorgan]

&. AN INTRODUCTION TO :

— HARPER MORGAN.

'if i told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?'

BIO.

INTRODUCTION

BIRTH NAME: HARPER JANE MORGAN

CHOSEN NAME: HARPER

NICKNAME(S): MORGAN, HARPS, BLOSSOM ( HER GRANDMOTHER )

TITLE(S): N/A

AGE: 29

DATE OF BIRTH: 25/11

STAR SIGN: SAGITTARIUS

GENDER: CIS WOMAN

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: SHE/THEY

SEXUALITY: SHE ISN’T FOND OF LABELS, BUT WOULD SAY BISEXUAL IF SHE HAS TO

HOMETOWN: SOMERSET, ENGLAND

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: ENGLISH, GAELIC

RESIDENCE IN FENRIR'S WOOD: IN A STANDARD HOTEL DOWN AT SUNE'S HARBOUR

OCCUPATION: BARTENDER AT STARSTRUCK

SPECIES: WITCH

APPEARANCE

FACECLAIM: LUCA HOLLESTELLE

GENERAL APPEARANCE: USUALLY PRETTY CASUAL AND SIMPLE. DOESN'T SPEND TOO MUCH TIME ON MAKE-UP AND HER HAIR IS LEFT TO DO AS IT PLEASES UNLESS SHE TIES IT UP. HAS A SCRUNCHY ON HER WRIST AT ALL TIMES

HAIRSTYLE/COLOUR(S): SHOULDER LENGTH, WAVY, NATURAL REDHEAD

EYE COLOUR: WARM BROWN

HEIGHT: 5'5"

BODYSHAPE/BUILD: SLIM ATHLETIC

IDENTIFYING MARKS: A SCAR ACROSS HER NOSE SHE GAINED AS A CHILD DURING HER GRANDMOTHER'S RITUAL ( THOUGH SHE HAS NO MEMORY OF THE HOW ), FRECKLES ACROSS HIS NOSE, A SMATTERING OF SCARS ON HER KNEES FROM PLAYING IN THE WOODS GROWING UP

DEEPER DIVE

ALIGNMENT: CHAOTIC GOOD

POSITIVE TRAITS: CREATIVE, COURAGEOUS, COMPASSIONATE, OPEN-MINDED, ACCEPTING, LOYAL, STEADFAST, PROTECTIVE

NEGATIVE TRAITS: STUBBORN, DISMISSIVE, IMPULSIVE, EASILY DISINTERESTED

LIKES: BEING OUT IN THE WOODS, NATURE, SKETCHING, PHOTOGRAPHY, SINGING, PLAYING HER OLD AND BEAT UP GUITAR, SWEET FOODS, EXERCISING, BEING OUTDOORS, FLUFFY SOCKS, ROCK AND INDIE MUSIC, FRUITY SHAMPOOS, DOGS, HER PICK UP TRUCK

DISLIKES: BEING COLD, SOUR FOOD, BEING STUCK INSIDE ALL DAY, WHEN HER THROAT GETS SORE FROM SINGING, EGOTISTICAL PEOPLE, BEING TOLD WHAT TO DO OR BELIEVE, CATS

SKILLS AND STRENGTHS: CAN PICK A LOCK WITHOUT TOO MUCH OF A PROBLEM, MISDIRECTION, PICK-POCKETING, HAS GREAT ENDURANCE AND STAMINA, CAN BE CALM IN EMERGENCIES

WEAKNESSES: LEADING, TAKING CHARGE, FOLLOWING ORDERS, IS CLAUSTROPHOBIC, HAS A TENDENCY TO RUN AWAY

FEARS: MAGIC, SPIRITS, BEING STUCK IN THE SAME PLACE FOR TOO LONG, BEING ALONE FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE, NEVER FITTING IN ANYWHERE

DISABILITIES/ILLNESSES: N/A

ALLERGIES: CATS

ADDICTIONS: N/A

DRUGS/ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION: SMOKES WEED, DOESN'T DRINK

SMELLS LIKE: LAVENDER AND GOOSEBERRIES, OCCASIONALLY SMELLS LIKE WEED IF SHE'S BEEN SMOKING IT

PRIZED POSSESSIONS: HER OLD GUITAR

PET(S): N/A

VOICE CLAIM FOR SINGING: LIZA ANNE

FAVOURITES

MUSIC: INDIE/ROCK, ALTERNATIVE

FILMS: ACTION AND ROMCOMS

COLOUR: DARK GREENS

FOOD: A BURGER WITH A SIDE OF CHEESY FRIES AND A CHOCOLATE MILKSHAKE

SMELLS: EARTHY SMELLS, SWEET FLORAL SCENTS, CITRUS

FAMILY AND RELATIONS

FAMILY:

GRANDMOTHER ( DECEASED, DIED WHEN HARPER WAS A TEENAGER. HARPER USED TO VISIT HER IN TOWN WHEN SHE WAS A CHILD UP UNTIL THE AGE OF SIX WHEN HER GRANDMOTHER CAST A RITUAL UPON HER TO ALLOW HER TO SEE GHOSTS, WHICH FRIGHTENED HARPER SO BADLY SHE REFUSED TO GO BACK )

FATHER ( DECEASED, DIED WHEN SHE WAS YOUNG )

MOTHER ( ESTRANGED, NO CONTACT )

RELATIONS:

HASAN JACKSON / her baby sitter as a kid. used to spend a lot of time with him when her grandmother was busy during her visits to town. most memorable moments were running away from him 90% of the time to go hide in the woods

NISHANT DOSHI / another friend she made as a child. would come to the park just to hang out with him and his friends

AFFILIATIONS:

SAGA COVEN / tba.

GENERAL BACKSTORY

WAS BORN IN SOMERSET, ENGLAND TO AN ENGLISH FATHER AND AN IRISH MOTHER

MOVED TO IRELAND WHEN SHE WAS AROUND 2 YEARS OLD AFTER HER FATHER DIED

WOULD COME BACK TO ENGLAND TO VISIT HER GRANDMOTHER AT FENRIRS WOOD REGULARLY AT HER GRANDMOTHER'S REQUEST. HER MOTHER COULD NEVER SAY NO AS SHE FEARED WHAT HER GRANDMOTHER WOULD DO

HARPER'S MOTHER SPENT HER CHILDHOOD TELLING HER MAGIC WASN'T REAL, THAT IT WAS ALL A JOKE HER GRANDMOTHER BELIEVED IN, THAT ANYTHING TO DO WITH HER WOULD BE DANGEROUS, BUT HARPER DIDN'T CARE. HARPER LOVED HER GRANDMOTHER AND WISHED TO SEE HER AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE

SHE LOVED MAGIC, SHE LOVED THE SPIRITS, SHE LOVED THE FREEDOM SHE FELT INSIDE WHENEVER SHE CONNECTED WITH THEM

SPENT A LOT OF TIME IN TOWN AS A KID, USUALLY RUNNING OFF SOMEWHERE THE MOMENT ANYONE TOOK THEIR EYES OFF HER

HAD AN AFFINITY FOR THE WOODS AND NATURE, HER FAVOURITE PLACE BEING HER GRANDMOTHER' GARDEN AS IT USUALLY WOULD BE FILLED WITH MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLANTS AND MAGICAL ELEMENTS

AT THE AGE OF SIX, SHE DEMANDED TO MEET HER GRANDMOTHER'S FRIENDS WHO ONLY SHE COULD SEE. HER GRANDMOTHER OBLIGED

THE RITUAL TO ALLOW HARPER TO BECOME A GHOST WHISPERER WAS CAST ON SAMHAIN, TO WHICH HARPER DIDN'T RESPOND TO AS WELL AS HER GRANDMOTHER HAD HOPED

HARPER BECAME TERRIFIED OF EVERYTHING SHE SAW. OF THE GHOSTS, OF THE MAGIC SHE'D GROWN UP ADORING. SHE SPENT THE REST OF HER STAY WITH HER GRANDMOTHER CONFINED TO HER ROOM, REFUSING TO OPEN HER EYES OR ACKNOWLEDGE ANYTHING AROUND HER

AFTER HARPER RETURNED TO IRELAND, SHE NEVER WENT BACK TO FENRIRS WOOD, AND NEVER SAW HER GRANDMOTHER AGAIN

HARPER DIDN'T ATTEND HER GRANDMOTHER'S FUNERAL

AT THE AGE OF 18, HARPER LEFT HOME. HER RELATIONSHIP WITH HER MOTHER HAD FALLEN APART OVER THE YEARS AS HARPER'S GIFT TO SEE GHOSTS AND CONNECTION TO MAGIC GREW STRONGER. HARPER HAD CONFIDED IN HER MOTHER HER FEARS, TO WHICH HER MOTHER DISMISSED HER

HARPER THEN SPENT MUCH OF HER TIME TRAVELLING IN AN OLD PICK UP TRUCK THAT SHE STILL DRIVES TODAY, TRAVELLING ALL OVER IRELAND, AND THEN EVENTUALLY MOVING TO ENGLAND WHEN SHE TURNED 25 AND HAD SAVED ENOUGH MONEY TO GET AWAY

HARPER SPENT 4 YEARS MOVING AROUND ENGLAND, TAKING UP ODD JOBS TO GET BUY, BUSKING ON THE STREETS AND MOSTLY SLEEPING IN HER TRUCK. SHE LOVED THE WAY OF LIFE BUT COULDN'T SHAKE THE FEELING OF BEING PULLED TOWARDS FENRIRS WOOD

HARPER ARRIVED IN TOWN AROUND TWO WEEKS BEFORE EASTER

IMPORTANT DETAILS

HARPER DOESN'T USE MAGIC. SHE DOESN'T ACKNOWLEDGE IT. SHE DENIES ITS EXISTENCE DESPITE BEING VERY AWARE OF IT

HARPER DOESN'T MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANYONE AND WILL CHOOSE TO KEEP HER GAZE ON THE GROUND MOST OF THE TIME. SHE'S AFRAID OF WHAT SHE'LL SEE, OR IF SHE'LL REALISE THE PERSON STANDING BEFORE HER IS A GHOST

CURRENTLY, SHE HAS NO CONNECTION TO THE SAGA COVEN. YET

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS

TBA

WANTED CONNECTIONS

HARPER CURRENTLY LIVES IN A HOTEL. EVENTUALLY, IT'D BE NICE IF SHE FOUND A ROOMMATE OR TWO SHE COULD TAKE UP A RESIDENCE WITH. I'D LOVE TO GIVE HER A REAL HOME ( 0/? )

A BEST FRIEND. SOMEONE SHE CAN RELY ON. HARPER HASN'T HAD FRIENDS SINCE SHE WAS A KID. I'D LOVE FOR HER TO FIND HER PERSON, OR PEOPLE ( 0/? )

A MAGICAL MENTOR. SOMEONE WHO CAN TEACH HER MAGIC ISN'T EVERYTHING SHE FEARS. SOMEONE WHO CAN HELP HER RE-ESTABLISH HER CONNECTION TO HER HERITAGE AND THE LONG LINE OF WITCHES THAT CAME BEFORE HER ( 0/1 )

NOTES

HARPER IS NOT AVAILABLE FOR PLOTS THAT INVOLVES PREGNANCY OR PREGNANCY SCARES. I'M NOT COMFORTABLE WITH WRITING THOSE PLOTLINES, SORRY!

I DON'T PUSH FOR ROMANTIC INTERESTS OR CRUSHES FROM THE GET GO. I PREFER RELATIONSHIPS ( WHETHER FRIENDLY, PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC ) TO DEVELOP ORGANICALLY

LINKS/TAGS/PAGES

TBA

#bio #pinned post

[thegrayascendancy-if]

Hi there! I know you’ve given descriptions of characters, but do you by chance have more references? (Heights, Pinterest boards, face claims, artbreeders) for them for Art Reasons? Thank you!!!

Hi!

Honestly, I have been rereading my original response to the question about their appearances several times, and I actually want to apologize to the person who asked for it back then because... I feel like even then I had more to say than I ended up saying?.. I've been meaning to update them anyway, so I'm happy that could be of service to someone, and for such exciting Reasons👀, no less!

I have opted for small pinterest collections for hairstyles, clothes and vibes, but please note the pins are never about faces or skintone. For the former I am providing updated info below, and for the latter I am giving skin color references at the bottom of this post. In the boards I tried to avoid faces as much as possible (while trying not to drop into the treacherous Timothée Chalamet/Cole Sprouse pinterest pit), but in a hunt for an even approximate hairstyle or outfit they are almost unavoidable. The characters' most prominent features are mentioned in these descriptions (like Darla's freckles and Gale's eyes), and the rest should be fine as you envision it, respecting the skintone 😊

Pinterest boards

The Gray Ascendancy character boards

More info on character appearances

Ianthe has ivory skin, deep blue eyes and the hair of very light blond, thin so that it almost looks silver. It is long, wispy, wavy and kept either loose or in a low ponytail. She has a heart-shaped face, all of her features are round and relaxed. Ianthe is of average height, curvy. For the way she is typically dressed: many chaotic layers of thin clothes from light materials, primarily in shades of muted purple and gray.

Y has deep olive skin, amber cat-like eyes and thick brown hair in soft waves. Yvette often wears a long side braid almost reaching to her waist, her face shaped by the escaped curls. Yves' hair is shoulder length and loose. Y is of average height and build, they wear clothes that cover most of their skin (buttoned up, no open shoulders), strict silhouettes with firm lines but rich in embellishment.

Darla is quite short and well-built. Her hair is floofy curly and full, a whole cloud the color of chestnut on her head that she usually keeps in check with a metal hairband. Her skin is bronze with freckles across her nose and cheeks, full lips, light-green eyes. For a long time as she travels, she wears a light armor, changing into leathers when not on the road.

Jax is on the taller side of average, thin but in a way you know they don't actually exercise. Their hair is very dark brown, cut very close on the sides and a few inches long on top where it is Very Coily. Deep brown skin with a warm undertone and dark hazel eyes. Their preferred style of clothes is a waistcoat on top of a shirt or a blouse (either form-fitting or a loose one, doesn't matter) and a pair of trousers. [When using magic, their eyes light up with gold]

Arthur is tall and broad-shouldered with distinct auburn hair that just reaches to his jaw and is usually styled back. His eyes are dark gray, prominent cheekbones and sharp jawline, beige skin. His road outfit looks sturdy, reinforced at the arms and through a chest guard, all in various shades of dusted brown. [When high on bellona, his eyes light up with light blue]

Gale has hooded eyes of dark green with visible eyebags under them, his hair is of very dark brown, almost black, tousled and reaching to his ears. He is lean, slightly taller than average. When traveling he always wears a black cape, but underneath all the layers of protective travel gear there is an uncourtly black slim-fitting sleeveless shirt. [When using magic, his eyes light up with red]

Skin tone reference:

[skin chart source]

#the gray ascendancy #tga if #ch: all #ch: arthur #ch: darla #ch: gale #ch: ianthe #ch: jax #ch: y #info: descriptions #info: pinterest references

[elexuscal]

[Image ID: Two picrews of the same person, though flipped horizontally as mirror images. The person is a slim-figured person with warm brown skin and black-brown hair, with a wide nose and silver augmentation surrounding one eye, trailing down their cheek, and on their ears.

In the image on the left, the person presented against a green and yellow background, wearing a casual high-necked shirt with overalls on top of it. Its hair is shoulder-length, with a bun pulled back. It is smiling.

In the image on the right, their background is blue and white. It is wearing a formal looking uniform. Its hair is short-cropped, and its expression is neutral.]

Today in 'self-indulgent fanfic stuff'...

As a character exercise, a few months back, I used karam_ba's sci-fi picrew generator to compare canon-Murderbot against my role-swap version of it, where it was raised among Preservation. Here it is in some of the casual clothing it wears when lending a hand on the Mensah farm!

As you can see, it is... significantly more chill than canon. The wonders of not being tortured your whole life, I guess!

#murderbot diaries #fanfic #murderbot

[dandelionlovesyou]

My Shelter - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 "You have to listen, boy, okay?" Peeta whispers to Rye while holding his powerful jaw

and affectionately tugging it close to his fine-looking doggie face. The brown and white two-year-old boxer rescued from a dog fighting arena licks his cheeks and then barks twice in answer. He gives Peeta cold and wet kisses with his dark gray nose, groaning with affection for his favorite trainer as he always does.

They're at the shelter training ground with Katniss, Johanna, and … eherm … Gale Hawthorne, so Peeta is anxious and feels he has to step up his game and impress his girl.

Technically, Katniss is not his girl. But she will be someday, Peeta thought. He just shrugs his shoulders and focuses on the task at hand.

"Let's review your basics first, Rye-rye," he says as he stands in front of the well-built woofer and unclasps his orange leash. "Okay, sit."

Rye is already sitting, so the dog gives him a whine and a quizzical look. Such funny faces dogs could make.

"Okay, I was just testing you. Here, have a milky bone," Peeta praises and picks out the treat from his neon pink fanny pack. It's not his preferred color, he'd rather get sunset orange or evergreen (Katniss' favorite!) but Gale beat him to it when they were getting the supplies earlier.

That Hawthorne jock sure has some tricks up his sleeves. I need to cock block him one of these days.

“Okay. Lie down.” Rye follows swiftly. “Very good, buddy!”

Peeta repeats the commands with a confident tone and a soft smile, adding roll over, shake hands (left and right), stay, catch, and spin to the mix. Rye loves spinning, so they do that several times and Rye gets a lot of milky bone treats with an occasional sprinkling of bacon bits. Oh, such a wonderful life for a dog!

Glancing in the direction where Katniss, Johanna, and Gale are, Peeta thinks that he needs to bring out the big guns today. Gale is with Bandit out in the field, and the old surrendered German Shepherd has perfect obedience as he rifts through a mini-course with tunnels and slides.

Whoever said that an old dog can't learn new tricks is just a lazy ass.

A Frisbee is on standby on a wooden bench behind Gale, and Peeta knows that his archnemesis will use it after they finish the course. He aims to please, and it clearly shows.

Damn it! My chance is just so, so slim ...

“Look at Bandit, Rye-rye. He can be the school’s football mascot with tall, dark, and hothead over there,”  Peeta tells his loyal trainee, hooking his thumb in their direction. “You can be like that if you want to. You can reach for the stars, buddy! I know you can do it.”

If only Peeta had the same confidence in himself that he bestows on every rescued animal in the shelter. He never was entirely self-assured. A hard family life put a chip on his shoulder that he could not shake despite Katniss' assertion of his capacities and skills.

As if showing his understanding, Rye barks in answer and places his paw on Peeta's chest. If Finnick, the dog whisperer slash shelter manager, was there, he would give voice to Rye's affirmation of his kind blonde trainer. Dogs see more than what humans see, Finnick always says. They never lie too.

Taking a second look across the ground, Peeta sees Katniss with Whitney, a black and (very) large Newfoundland, doing sits and stays on the grass. At the same time, Johanna distracts her ward with squeaky toys and Gravvy, a tricolor Australian shepherd.

Gravvy was also surrendered to the shelter because his owners couldn't handle his high energy. They just didn't understand the nature of his breed. Gravvy is a working dog and needs exercise every day instead of being cooped up inside the house, where he becomes destructive and a little aggressive. It was not his fault, Johanna argued, the dog owners should have done their research before buying him out of puppy cuteness.

Whitney is doing awesome under Katniss’ mentorship. Even at twenty yards, she’s focused on her trainer despite all the distractions Jo and Gravvy are mischievously enjoying. Tough job, Peeta mutters to himself.

My queen is just fabled. Katniss can train me anytime she wants to. I'll obey her with no qualms nor plea.

I'll freely give her slobbering kisses to show my affection.

My Alpha

My Beta

Omega

Theta

Zed

My everything

"Let's see how you fetch, Rye-rye," Peeta proposes after the doggo licked his daydreaming face away. It's not a Level 3 trick, but it's relatively new for Rye, and he has been teaching him to fetch for two weeks now. He's sure that he will succeed with this one.

Though very much food-motivated, Rye also loves to play and chew things in his mouth, so Peeta brings out his Chuckit! Durable Rubber Ball along with the launcher so he can toss the ball farther out. He swings it several times, twirling the contraption in his fingers as he smiles at his bright idea.

This launcher will make me and Rye look good. I just know it!

At the sight of his favorite toy, Rye wiggles his body in front of his trainer, his docked tail, wagging at high speed. Wide-eyed and drooling a little bit, he puts his right paw on Peeta's prosthetic knee.

"You remember this, boy? You love this, right? I know you do … I know you do … you're the best fetcher in this district!" Peeta excites the rum buffer, wagging his own round butt in unison with Rye's tail. They're a hilarious pair but totally endearing to anyone watching.

“Let’s try it first. Remember to return the ball, okay?”

Rye woofs in excitement, his eyes following the ball wherever Peeta's hand goes. Knowing what his human friend will ask next, he sits down on the grass without being told and gives his full attention to Peeta. Very smart doggo.

Did you see that?! Did Katniss see that? Rye-rye sat by himself!

“I have a good feeling about this, buddy,” Peeta exclaims confidently, giving Rye another bacon bit. “You’re such a good boy!”

Not waiting any longer, Peeta tosses the ball a few meters away. Rye bolts to retrieve it, chewing it happily as he walks back and prolongs his time with the chew toy. Cheerfully, he drops it in front of Peeta and barks for him to throw it again.

"Gooob boy … goooob boy…," Peeta butters him up freely, elongating his vowels with puckered lips. "Now, let's play!"

Peeta launches the ball over and over, throwing it farther and farther every time. Feeling special and affectionately loved, Rye consistently returns the rubber toy to Peeta's feet. In turn, the young boxer gets showered with milky bones, back rubs, and forehead kisses. Peeta just loves the high-energy stinker and would like to adopt him if only he could.

If Peeta had his way, he would have adopted ten dogs by now.

The dog’s breed didn’t matter. He loves mutts just the same.

But his mother wouldn’t allow it.

So he’ll have to wait until he gets his own place someday.

A place with Katniss Everdeen as his beautiful wife.

They’ll be living the dream!

I’ll prepare a love nest for you and our fur babies, mi amore.

Enjoying themselves too much and daydreaming away under the afternoon sun, they did not notice Katniss, Gale, and Johanna walking towards them from across the field.

"You look like a very sunny baboon there, bread boy," Johanna jokes, making Gale smirk like a primate himself.

Johanna Mason is a senior volunteer at the center, providing pro bono work for more than a decade. She's a no-nonsense lawyer when it comes to pursuing animal rights and settling cruelty cases. More of a cat person, she has adopted three felines from the shelter over the years. They're named Mister Ripper, Wild Whiskey, and Climax.

"Hi Jo," Peeta responds casually, trying his darndest to tame the wide grin on his face.

This is it! I can show them what Rye can do!

“Want to see what Rye learned today?” he offers with restrained joy in his voice. “He could fetch now.”

Gale snorts, but he catches himself.

Johanna clucks her tongue, looking slightly impressed.

And Katniss? She genuinely smiles and pets Rye.

You are just perfect, my sunshine.

Katniss settles down on the grass beside them, followed by Whitney, lying her big head on her trainer's lap. The giant sweetheart has gone a long way in gaining her self-confidence back. Abandoned just six months ago, she got depressed from the change of environment and lack of parents. The story goes that the couple who previously cared for her was having a baby, and the new apartment they moved into didn't allow dogs -- especially dogs her size. Whitney is practically another human being with her one hundred and twenty-pound built. But Katniss loves her. She has a soft heart for big dog breeds.

"Okay, bread boy. Show us what Rye got," Jo bats out, then slaps the boyish smirk on Gale's face.

Good for him.

"Okay, it's nothing much but Rye, and I have been working on this for two weeks now. He's really gotten the hang of it," Peeta quips.

Taking a minute to refocus, he walks away a few meters from the group, setting the young boxer aside and leaning his forehead with the bump on Rye's brown and white head. "Okay, time to impress my girl, Rye. You're gonna help me out?"

"Sure, buddy. I got your back," Peeta mutters with the secret dog voice that he uses when he spills his heart out to his loyal furry friend. They've had many conversations about Katniss Everdeen, a little too much for a normal person, but it is what it is. The young man just has a unique relationship with the dog, and he converses freely with him if only to have some relief from his aching heart.

“Thanks, Rye-rye. I love you, you cutie pie.”

"Love you too, loverboy. Let's go get your girl," he replies to himself.

“Enough of the prayers! Let’s see what Rye can do, bread boy!”

"Okay, Rye. This is it, buddy!"

Johanna lets out an encouraging whistle, and Katniss claps loudly, cheering Rye on. Surprisingly, Gale does the same, giving a whoop and puff, making everyone laugh. Bandit hides his head under his paws out of embarrassment.

"Okay, boy. Go fetch!" The ball goes far with a near-perfect trajectory, and Peeta felt proud of his good arm.

"Look at him go!" Jo cheers as the bork-bork sprints.

"Go get it, Rye!" Katniss adds while Gale whistles.

Peeta prays to the gods.

When Rye retrieves the rubber ball, Peeta jumps and pumps his fist in the air like he just won an Olympic gold medal. Like his usual jolly self, Rye chews the ball before running back to Peeta. Elated, Peeta holds out his arms and pats his chest as if telling the stinker to jump on his broad torso and give him a giant hug. Peeta is beaming and almost teary-eyed from joy.

I'm so proud of you, Rye! So, so proud …

"Goooob boy! Such a goooob boy!" Peeta celebrates freely. "You want another run? You wanna annoo-da one? Yeah? Yeah? Okay, okay, go fetch!" Peeta plays in high spirit.

Everyone grins broadly as Rye repeats the command flawlessly for the second time in a row.

"Okay, Rye, third time's the charm! Last one before we give you a bath."

A little overly enthusiastic, Peeta tells Rye to sit, and he obeys beautifully. His paws are alternately lifting off the grass, a cadence urging his human friend to stop stalling and just throw the ball instead.

"Go on, Peeta, give it to him!" Jo shouts with a snicker. Gravvy whines a little, seemingly wanting to run as well. Jo tells him to wait and then pets his belly.

Mission accomplished. Happy days for Gravvy!

"Okay, Rye. Go fetch!"

Peeta throws the ball farther out, and Rye runs like a pro. His agility and strength shone through, the chords of his leg muscle visible in his brown and white coat. Such an incredible dog.

Everyone cheers, but then Peeta sees Rye's moment of hesitation. His heart sinks to his stomach …

Rye is going rogue.

No, boy! No! No! ... Stay on course!

But Rye has other plans. Peeta shouldn't have told him about his bath because … Rye HATES baths.

He loathes it to his doggie core.

How could Peeta have forgotten?!

Rye takes the ball and chews it as he slobbers all over the field. He nudges it, then catches it like a cat pouncing on a mouse. Ignoring Peeta in the process, he does it again and again like a wild child. Rye is having his way with his favorite toy, wagging his tail, shaking his head, all while chomping the rubber, and rolling on the grass like he has an unconquerable itch on his back. The canine is just plain old having the time of his life!

"Ryeee, come on!" Peeta groans, throwing his arms out, then scratching the back of his head and blushing profusely. He's about forty meters out and thinks twice if he should go and get his trainee. "Come back, boy!"

But Rye has gone deaf. It's just him and his toy.

Or so Peeta thought ...

He's Peeta's wingman, or paw pal, after all.

Dropping the ball and with eyes focused on the field, Rye digs his back legs into the earth as if preparing to bolt.

Peeta holds his breath.

Oh no …

To everyone's surprise, Rye sprints and weaves through the mini-course that Bandit was working on earlier. He's so fast yet calculated that he burned through Bandit's time like he was F1's Michael Schumacher.

He also did it twice.

Like it was nothing.

Gale's jaw touched the ground.

Peeta stilled, wide-eyed.

And Katniss?

She's beaming like the most beautiful goddess on the face of the earth. Proud beyond belief.

"Incredible, Rye!" Katniss cheers as she stands up from the grass. Whitney follows through with deep huffs and boofs. Laughing and radiant, Katniss is the perfect picture of joy and admiration.

"Peeta, Rye's doing it!" Jo snaps him out of his shock. She holds both his shoulders, shaking him while grinning in front of him. For some time now, she knows Peeta's trying to impress Katniss, but he's missing out on what's happening. "Peeta! Look!" she utters and slaps him like a buzzing mosquito. Turning his head to the side, he catches the stunning smile of the love of his life.

My forever.

My moon.

My star.

My universe.

I will love you all the days of my life, baby.

"Yeah, you got this, bread boy ... you got this …," Jo snickers as everything goes slow-mo. Romantic music starts playing in Peeta's ears, the spring air filling his lungs sweetly. It's just him and Katniss now. Nothing else exists. Such a dream.

I wish I could freeze this moment right here, right now, and live in it forever.

"What did you say?" Gale asks unexpectedly, his head jerking towards him and interrupting his star gazing. "You wish what?"

Oh no, did I just say that out loud?

Shit! Shit!

"What did you wish, Peeta?" Katniss asks softly, smiling at him. Her grey eyes are unfailing and full of hope, and the slight movement of her lips shows that she's chewing the insides of her bottom lip again.

She looked at him longingly.

What for? Peeta could only wish it was his face running through her mind.

AND heart.

"Ummm ...," he begins, looking down at Rye, who has now returned to the side of his prosthetic leg. He kneels down to pet him, contemplating if he should confess now.

Should I, Rye-rye? Is today the day?

"Ummm ... I wish ... I wish … Rye ... would get adopted soon," Peeta briskly says. He's afraid of being rejected by the only girl he ever loved since he was five. His answer is only half a lie, he thought, because he does wish for his ward to be adopted, preferably by him, but that's just not possible right now. Feeling defeated, he drops his eyes to his hands as he strokes his loyal pal. He's not winning anything in his life right now.

The hopeful look on Katniss' face disappears, and a sympathetic expression follows. She kneels down on one knee and runs her palm over Rye's back.

"The monthly adoption fair is in three weeks," Peeta whispers, his hand lightly brushing Katniss' on Rye's fur. "And he's been here for a little more than half a year now ... He deserves a loving home, Katniss."

"There's always hope, Peeta," Katniss responds, eyes understanding and comforting. She holds his sad blue eyes with hers. "You taught me that a long time ago."

As if on cue, Whitney walks in between them, interrupting the lingering gaze they both have and nudging Rye aside. The dog's intuition kicked in from feeling her trainer's sadness. Doing what dogs do best, she eagerly licks Katniss' cheeks while pushing her down on the green grass. Everyone breaks into laughter as Katniss' small body gets covered by Whitney's giant form. Rye joins in, and Jo lets go of Gravvy's leash to add to the saliva kisses the canines are showering Katniss.

Bandit, the senior German Shepherd, lies down, eyes sleepy as he watches the heap in front of him. Gale runs his palms over his head and back, giving him soothing massages as he grins at the three other dogs.

Peeta remains silent, watching everything unfold right in front of him with serious eyes. He may not have confessed today, but his heart is full of joy at the sight before him. All the shelter dogs are happy, and his Katniss is laughing musically from getting a million doggie kisses.

Someday, my love … someday …

#I finally got to write again after nearly two months! #dandelionlovesyou writes #everlark #dogs #animal shelter #high school everlark

[nikoldragonne12]

Despicable Minions (DM AU) - New facts 2

Wilde-Fournier's household heights (female minions aren't included):

Amber - 183 cm

Tom - 195 cm

Damien - 210 cm

Ruby - 176 cm

Amber's whole first name isn't "Amber", it's "Amberlynn". Nobody really calls her that, though.

Since the female minions started living with Amber and her family, the Wilde-Fournier's house has never been robbed by any robber - Susie and Vivi, the IT experts of the female minion tribe, installed a very effective security system that does its job well.

Damien used to be reserved, careful and distrustful after his parents kicked him from home and before he met Tom. Nowadays, he's pretty easy-going and calm, though he kept his carefulness, stubbornness and perseverance.

Most of Amber's sweaters were knitted either by Ruby or by Vicky.

Vicky, the female minion alpha, sees Amber as her second younger sister and is very overprotective of her.

Tom easily panics when something unexpected happens and it's mostly Damien who's saving the situation.

Lydia, the tallest of all minions, also likes chocolate and often fights with Dove to get one (much to the chagrin of Vicky because Lydia and Dove usually fights right under her office).

Melinda, Dove's youngest sister also known as Meli, Mels or Melody, is the one who deals with the two fighters most of the time.

Minnie owns a monkey plushie that Rita, Dove's other sister, made for her.

Colette has type 1 diabetes and has to follow a diet and an eating plan.

Amber helps her human friend and often exercises with her - both people with asthma and people with diabetes should exercise. From what I have read, it affects them positively (if they're exercising the way they should, of course).

Also, Amber sometimes makes Colette some dia desserts.

Bonus facts:

I've stated in the past that Colette is a talented hobby dancer - this ability is a little to the chagrin of her mother Roselle, because it reminds her a lot of Balthazar Bratt (Colette's biological father).

Speaking of Roselle (b. 2nd January 1980), she works in the office of an unnamed company. Even if she strictly stated she doesn't want any partner (unsurprisingly, when you think about how she ended after falling love with Balthazar Bratt), there's one customer of Wilde-Fournier's bakery who would like to ask her out - Collete, Amber, Tom and Damien (and the female minions, of course) offered him some help with this plan.

Pearl, Melinda's wife, is a family fashion designer and is responsible for a lot of outfits, including several of Amber's and/or Colette's ones.

Both Damien and Tom has a significant scar on each of their faces:

Dami has a scar on his crooked nose from how he fell on the ground back in France - when I said his parents kicked him from home, it wasn't just a metaphor. Damien's father really threw his son on the ground (Dami used to be pretty slim before he started his bakery path). And speaking of his crooked nose, it's also from the fall.

Tom's scar is on his lower lip and it's from a fight he had. As I said before, the Wilde-Fournier's house has never been robbed by any robber since the minions moved there, however one broke into the house a year before Tom and Dami met. Tom heard the robber and decided to protect his aunt and daughter but he got into the fight - the robber was eventually arrested and Tom had to go to the hospital due to a big number of bruises… and because of the scar on his lip.

Tom isn't the greatest fighter but when his father's instinct takes over, he can be pretty dangerous.

Roselle's family is also from France but compared to Damien, she (Roselle) was already born in Canada (not in Toronto, though).

Her parents are alive and still in contact with their daughter and granddaughter. They always stop by during holidays.

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