50 years later meme

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Fast forward into the future of Station 72 where your character has been a part of the Hive for however many years. Are they still themselves? Have they integrated fully with the symbiote? Are they the only ones left of their brood? Have they formed other connections in their brood's absence? Do they remember anything of their life before the station? How do they relate to the other Hosts still around, or to new ones who have come in since others have fallen? What else can you come up with?


HOW TO PLAY
STEP ONE: POST WITH YOUR CHARACTER

STEP TWO: Either set up the scene or give some info of what your character is like X years down the line.

STEP THREE: TAG OTHER PEOPLE'S CHARACTERS

STEP FOUR ?????

STEP FIVE: PROFIT

Comments

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ All right, all right, maybe not constant all night - but that's exactly what he's gonna be angling for. Their part in the fight is done, no reason not to spend the rest of it like this and then pick right back up once they're back on the Station.

He can feel the way his words spread heat in their wake, grins at the way Kavinsky bares his teeth in response. Sam knows Kavinsky now, has too much of him under his skin and in his mind, and between the teeth snapping and the roll of Kavinsky's hips, Sam knows which one he's gonna listen to. ]

( That's how it is, huh? You know exactly what you want? )

[ The too light touches are exactly what Sam wants right now, honestly. He likes it, the here and there grazes of Kavinsky's fingers, enough to keep him interested but not much else. Still, he pulls his hands away, but only enough to start pushing Kavinsky's shirt up. Sam tugs the front half over his head, hooks it behind his neck - and leaves it there, distracted.

He gets his mouth on Kavinsky's neck, teeth grazing sharply down the line of his throat before he kisses his way back up. He doesn't have to take his mouth from Kavinsky's skin to talk, but he does anyway, because he wants to see the way the explosion lights his boy up. And wonders briefly if Kavinsky would protest that, would mean it if he did, but decides he doesn't care. There's admiration obvious in his gaze. ]

Look at you. [ It's a low murmur, rough with desire and the fact that he just doesn't talk out loud as much as he used to. ] The fire's got nothing on you.

[ Then he turns his attention back to Kavinsky's shirt, pushing it down over his shoulders - and aiming to use it to pull Kavinsky's arms behind his back, to hold it tangled around his wrists. ]