#control module 1

[sw5w]

Theed Spaceport

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:38:26 - 00:38:35

I probably missed a few ships at the spaceport, but rest assured they’re unidentified vessels. Kinto points out that some of the objects in the spaceport just cargo containers, and also corrected me on the name of the Action VI bulk freighter. Thanks Kinto!

Thanks to Spookywilloww on Wookieepedia for clueing me into the Spaceports spread in the Complete Locations book for further identification of objects in this scene. Previously I was only using the diagram of the spaceport from the DeAgostini Star Wars Encyclopedia #60: Naboo.

I also removed the identifications of the DSS-02 shield generators (the model seen in The Empire Strikes Back) as they're never actually clarified as the same, only labeled as "auxiliary power generators" in Complete Locations.

They're possibly similar generators also produced by Kuat Drive Yards.

[mrrn2rrmn]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/semiconductors--lighting-solutions--lighting-controls/3-2444029-1-te-connectivity-6182895

LED assemblies, lighting controls, LED Drivers, LED Lighting Components

LUMAWISE Motion Sensor, Programmable Circular detection Zone

[diagnozabam]

Coduri erori OBD2 Smart Fortwo

Smart OBD Powertrain Generic Trouble Codes DTC Codes — P0100-P0199 – Fuel and Air Metering P0100 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit Malfunction P0101 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit Range/Performance Problem P0102 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit Low Input P0103 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit High Input P0104 Mass or Volume Air Flow Circuit Intermittent P0105 Manifold Absolute Pressure/Barometric…

[bortalis]

My concepts for the development progress of an Iterators Puppet

-my ideas below

-Feasibility Study  

[1]: First autonomous control module, any instruction to be given must be done manually through physical means (the keys), outputs were shown through the screen. A very primitive system, however, did its job proving the greater machine concept was achievable. While it does look like a lens above the monitor, this was a simple status gauge for benchmarking.

-Prototyping and Development  

[2]: Now with the capability to wirelessly and audibly communicate to receive instructions and inputs. The system was no longer directly integrated into the facility, and resided on the first instance of an iterator's arm. This was considered a feat due to the complications with isolating the control module from the rest of the iterators components, while keeping processing power. A permanent connection/umbilical was needed to sustain life and function though. 

To “talk” back, they were crafted with multidimensional projectors, the mobile arm allowing the angles and variance for this projection. Only later into development were advanced speakers installed for optimized understanding, however the extra computing power required to synthesize proper speech was found to strain the contained module, so this function had rare use in the end.

[3]: At this point there was a change in perspective in the project. What once were machines to simply compute and simulate, were now planned to be the home, caregiver, and providers. The further the project came to fruition the more religious importance was placed upon these “random gods”. From this stance not only did the puppets have to manage and control their facilities, they had to communicate with the people and priests. To represent benevolent beings who will bring their end and salvation. In this process iterators began to take a more humanoid shape, to better reflect their parents. Development was focused on compacting the puppet closer to the size of an ancient for this purpose. This stage was the first to incorporate a cloak/clothing into their design considerations, to further akin themselves in looks. The cloak would hide the iterators' engineered bodies and give a body to their silhouette. 

[4]: As bioengineering and mechanics were rapidly progressing due to the void fluid revolution, this allowed plenty of margin for developing the outer design of the iterator puppets. This prototype was the first to incorporate limbs for the purpose of body language. This was another step in the drive to give a body to their random gods.

-Final Iterations

[5]: First generation iterators had the final redesign of puppet bodies. Far different from their first designs, they are fully humanoid. Their bodies are shaped to be organic and as full of life as they could at the time. Their center of sapience has fully settled within their body, as can be seen as their unconscious use of limbs without the direct intention for communication. This can also see how they manage their work, where many of the functions (which can be done with just an internal request) are operated through physical gestures of their limbs. Their puppet chambers also allow for full comprehensive projection, where many of their working monitors are displayed. It is seen how iterators prefer to utilize their traversal arm to transfer between the current working projection window.

These designs were hardy and nearly self-sufficient, only requiring minimal power from their umbilical to charge. (However was still limited in the terms of internal power production, for this first generation extensive batteries sufficed)

[6]: Later generation not only incorporated advanced bioengineering internally, but externally. While still a hardened shell, their body plates have been incorporated into the organics of the puppet, maintaining the protective requirements while barely leaving a trace of hinges or plates. This “soft” skin had drawbacks, such as reduced durability to the first generations, this was offset by the greatly enhanced repair speeds and capability this type of skin allowed.

Internal power generation was implemented into these late generation models. If the case arose, the Puppet could be disconnected from their umbilical and still be conscious from an undefined period of time. (However this would limit the operating capacity of the puppet when running self sufficiently) This greatly eased maintenance works, as the Puppet could still run the greater facility wirelessly while work was done on the chamber, arm or whatever as needed.

[nectar-cellar]

Downtown Roles Mod Tutorial - TS3 - Mature Gameplay Ideas

NSFW 18+ mature content / a long read   

TLDR: this is a compilation/recommendation list of mods, a tutorial on how to set up NPCs, and how to tie it all together to add some mature gameplay to your save. 😈

Misukisu/Virtual Artisan had a “Downtown Roles” mod that sadly does not work anymore for the latest versions of TS3. Her mod basically allowed players to add role sims to community lots so your sims could have more NPCs to interact with, making the lots feel more alive in a mature "downtown" sort of way.

I was inspired by her mod and I want to share how you can recreate and expand her mod’s functions with Nraas Register and Arsil’s Custom Generic Role mod. Some players might already know how these mods work, but it was a new discovery for me. I didn’t know how useful role sims could be! It got the gears in my dirty mind turning.

The main purpose of this mod list/tutorial: to add role sims to community lots for your main sims to interact with, while they’re out on the town. These will be sims outside of your household. Their main “job” is to hang out at the lot. You can let the game generate new sims to fill these roles, or assign existing sims in the town to fill the roles.

Examples of role sims you can create: 

A regular patron at a dive bar for your sim to befriend or make enemies with.

A sexy single sim at a beach, gym, pool, bar or club for your sim to mingle and hook up with. 

An escort at a brothel for your sim to woohoo with (Passion mod). 

A client for your sim to sell drugs/weapons to (MonocoDoll Vile Ventures mod and Arms Dealing mod) - I have not tested this but in theory it should work. 

You can add multiple role sims on each lot. You could have a number of partygoers on a club lot/a number of escorts on a brothel lot/a number of mobsters or criminals on a warehouse lot who will always be there when your sim visits.

Why role sims?

Townies are unpredictable - you never know which lot they’ll show up on, and how long they’ll stay. Role sims will consistently be there as the supporting characters in your main sim’s story. 

Having consistent NPCs at certain locations around town can help with story-driven gameplay scenarios.

You can move a household of your own sims into town and assign them to fill various roles. See pretty NPCs around town!

If you let the game generate new sims for the roles, then it saves you the hassle of setting up new households yourself. You can always edit them later in CAS.

Limitations: 

According to Arsil, it seems like sims who are already employed (such as most townies) will be removed from their jobs if they are assigned to be role sims. So I would avoid using any employed townies for this unless you are ok with that. Use unemployed residents instead.

I believe the role sim cannot leave the lot during the designated work hours. Your sim cannot form a group with them and go to another venue. However, you can invite the sim over or hang out afterwards from the relationship panel.

Mods Needed:

Nraas Master Controller + Integration Module

Nraas Register

Arsil‘s Custom Generic Role mod (both the floor marker and the desk)

Passion (if you want your sim to be able to have sex with the role sims on the lot or have the role sims dance on the stripper pole) 

MonocoDoll’s Vile Ventures mod (if you want to create NPC clients for your sim to sell to) 

MonocoDoll’s Arms Dealing mod (if you want to create NPC clients for your sim to sell to) 

How to Set Up: 

Step 1: Install the mods listed above. Then, open the save file you want to add some downtown sleaze to. 

Step 2: Find a community lot you want to add role sims to. This could be a bar, nightclub, brothel/motel/strip club, a run-down warehouse or block of buildings, casino, etc. I have downloaded many lots from Flora2 at ModtheSims and @simsmidgen here on Tumblr that fit the gritty urban vibe.  

Step 3: Enter Build/Buy mode. You can do this from Live mode. 

Press Ctrl + Shift + C, enter this cheat: testingcheatsenabled true 

Press the Shift key and click on the ground of the community lot. 

Click on “Build on this lot”. 

You can also enter Edit Town mode to renovate the community lot. 

Step 4: Place Arsil’s Custom Generic Role floor marker or desk on the lot. Place one for each role sim you want to create. They are located in Build Mode -> Community Objects -> Misc. If the desk looks out of place, use the floor marker instead. 

Step 5: In Live mode, click on the object -> Settings to set:

The name of the role (clubgoer/stripper/escort/mobster/etc.) 

The “work” hours the sim will be on the lot for 

The days off 

The motives to freeze or not (I recommend freezing all the motives to avoid interactions being interrupted/sims complaining due to low motives) 

If the sim you want to assign to the role already lives in town, click on the object -> Nraas -> Register -> Select -> Choose criteria -> select the sim from the list. I would avoid choosing any employed townies as they may lose their job when switching to this role. Choose unemployed residents to avoid conflicts.

Remove assigned roles: click on the object to remove the sim from the role.

Step 6: In Live mode, click on City Hall -> Nraas -> Register

Allow immigration: choose whether you want new sims to be moved into town to take the roles (enable this if you want the game to generate new sims for the roles) 

Allow immigration = False: if you set this option to false, then a new option called "Find Empty Roles" should appear. You can then assign any sim to the role object you placed, from City Hall.

Allow resident assignment: choose whether you want existing unemployed townies to be randomly assigned to fill the roles (I recommend to disable this. I had Buster Clavell show up to work at my strip club. NO!)

Pay per hour: I'm not sure how to adjust the pay for each custom role but you can just leave it at the default or change it globally

Remove roles: click on the object to remove the sim from the role, or click on City Hall -> Nraas -> Register -> Global Roles -> Remove by sim

Step 7: In Live mode, give the game some time to generate the role sims. Visit the community lot and have a look at your new role sims. The role sims should autonomously interact with other sims and objects on the lot. Using Nraas Master Controller, you can take the sim into CAS to give them a makeover, edit their traits, or replace them with a sim from your sim bin. 

Step 8: Make your sim interact with the shiny new role sims and play out the storylines you always wished were possible. Public hookups, functioning brothels, selling drugs and guns - this is what The Sims 3 was made for, baby!!! 

Related Mods:

Arsil’s Exotic Dancer Stage - if you have a club community lot, you can use this mod to hire dancers. You can use role sims to add other NPCs to the club such as guests, shady business sims, or non-dancer sex workers. 

Nraas Relativity - this handy mod can slow down the speed of time so your sim can spend more time doing their "activities"

Nraas Woohooer - if you don’t want the explicit sex animations from Passion, you could use this mod instead to provide more woohoo options. 

Passion - for brothels/strip clubs, this mod will add sex animations and the ability to have role sims dance on the stripper pole. 

MonocoDoll’s Vile Ventures mod and Arms Dealing mod - you can use role sims to create more clients for your sim to sell drugs and weapons to, like different individuals/gangs/mobs. You could have different clients hanging out at different spots in the city. 

LazyDuchess Lot Population - this mod populates community lots with townies, and they can interact with the role sims you’ve created. 

Service Sims Out on the Town - this pushes service sims to visit community lots, to add even more variety to your crowds. 

Conclusion

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading. Please let me know if you try out this style of gameplay, and if you have ideas for more role sims and community lots to make. This tutorial was NSFW-oriented but you could easily adapt it to create NPCs for SFW community lots.

[mintymarabell]

Soft Hands, Sharp Claws

Part 1

I feel like if a start a series I’ll be more active and be able to do other drabbles/oneshots!

~

Dull skin. Bones poking through skin.

Tired eyes, brittle nails. And these moments, this life. It was her worst nightmare. Born on an alien planet, born from parents who didn’t know each other and didn’t want to live.

Like a calf. She was taken not even moments after touching her mother’s own skin. Her life reduced to experiments and sedatives. 28. It was her 28th birthday. Another birthday celebrated with white walls and bright lights.

The meat of her arm failed to cushion her head. The facility was dark, it was quiet. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing.

One of her many captors opened the door. She learned from her ex-cellmate, they were yautja. A scratched out mark on each of their heads. Some of them colored differently. Uniquely.

The yautja kicked at her, pulling at her hair to make her stand. There was a loud crash in the far distant. The oppressor turned away, alarmed, storming off. Her cell door shut closed. She laid back down, cradling her bruising stomach.

The silence returned, broken only by the low hum of flickering lights. She curled tighter, her breath uneven. Every sound now made her flinch. Heavy footsteps echoed in the distance—different this time. Slower. Heavier. Controlled.

She had sat up to listen.

This wasn’t the rushed stomp of an angry oppressor or the erratic gait of a drunken captor. These steps were deliberate. Calculated. Powerful.

The door hissed. Not a slam, not a forced entry. It opened with almost reverence.

He stepped inside, towering, cloaked in shadow and the dim red glow of warning lights. His helmet was black with a single mark, it wasn’t scratched out ike the others. His armor was intact. Clean. Silent.

Her eyes widened. She expected pain. Instead, he knelt.

And for the first time in years, no one reached to hurt her.

“Let me help you.” His voice was modulated, robotic.

She had cower away, he didn’t move. Instead, he sank lower, crouching—deliberately slow, unthreatening.

His hand extended, palm open. Clawed, calloused—but steady. Offering.

She didn’t take it. Not yet. But she didn’t retreat either.

That was enough.

He spoke again, softer this time. The translation garbled slightly, but the message was clear. “Let me take you to a safer place.”

Reluctantly, she took his hand.

[orcasoul]

Falling Hard

Summary: Both you and Din have been dancing around your obvious feelings for far too long, much to Grogu's frustration.

Warinings: None, just fluff, and Grogu being an adorable little menace, as usual. Use of Y/N.

Word Count: 1, 486

This is just a silly, fluffy little idea I got after watching Mandalorian season 1 Ep7 where Grogu takes control of the Razor Crest and sends the ship rocking, don't ask, I just had to do this... 🙈

"Dank Farrick," you curse in frustration. No matter how hard you pull, this effing panel just won't come lose on this hunk of junk Razor Crest. For almost twenty minutes you've been struggling, building a sweat, but you really don't want to have to ask for help. The last time Mando had to get close to you it was almost impossible to concentrate; his smell, his body heat, just his aura made you want want to melt into a puddle. To say you have a crush is an understatement!

And even though you're 99% sure Mando feels something for you too, you're just too shy to find out, the fear of that 1% forcing you to keep your feelings hidden. "Urrgh, come on!" It's no use and now your fingertips are raw from prying the stubborn panel. Groaning internally, both from frustration and from the torture you're about to put yourself through you call out, "Mando? Could you come down here and help me out?"

Din heard your voice carry from the hull while sitting with Grogu in the cockpit. The little guy sat surrounded by his many plushie toys, making some float and some fight. "Be there, now," he called back before turning to Grogu. "I'll be right back, Pal," Din tickled his sons' ear. "Be good and don't touch anything." "Patu," Grogu babbled in response, watching Din descend to the hull. The moment he was alone, Grogu's attention went straight to the control panel, a devilish idea forming in his mind....

*****

Entering the hull, Din finds you struggling with the same panel you'd been working on since take off. You're in a wide leg stance, butt jutting out and Din can't keep his eyes from following the curve of your body. "I could use an extra pair of hands with this... kriffin thing," you huff, pulling the panel to no avail. Din forces back his chuckle; maker you're adorable when you get all wound up. Din walks up behind you, placing a hand at your hip to move you out of the way. "Scoot over, Cyar'ika. I've got this," he crooned through his modulator.

Butterflies erupted in your tummy at the sensation of Mando's hand on your hip, all coherent thought abandoning you. That is until he rips the panel off in one pull. "Twenty minutes I've been fighting with that blasted thing and you get it off in two seconds! No fair!" you moan, but your voice carries more amusement than annoyance. Mando just shrugs while tilting his helmet to the side, mock arrogance oozing from him. "Just gotta have the strength for this stuff."

You cross your arms over your chest, a smirk spreading over your face. "Well, if you're the brawn that must make me the brains." Mando rests his hands on his hips, and you just now he's smiling under his helmet. "I don't know about that," he teases. You match his posture, about to give a witty comeback when suddenly the entire ship violently jolts to the side, throwing Mando's huge frame into you, sending the both of you into the wall.

Quick as lightening Mando's hand cups the back of your head to cushion the impact against the wall, his other hand grabbing at the wall for stability. In any other scenario, having Mando's whole body pressed up against yours would have short circuited your brain, but fear is the main response right now. "Hey, kid!" Mando shouts over his shoulder as he scrambles to regain his footing. Loose cargo crates scrape along the floor, bric a brac fall from shelves and storage nets and the alarms blaze as you and Mando slip and slide your way to the ladder. "What the hell is he doing?!" you yelped while holding onto the bounty hunters' arm.

With great difficulty you clamber up the ladder after Mando, practically tumbling into the cockpit. Gorgu is in the pilot seat, squealing and giggling as he thrashes the joystick erratically from side to side, all the while watching you both fall about the place. "Grogu! What did I... tell you about... not touching anything?!" Mando sputtered as he pushed his way to the pilot chair. Grogu pulled the joystick back, purposely sending him crashing into you.

You are both a tangle of limbs now as you roll about the floor. Just as sudden as the chaos started it settled down, with you now on top of Mando, your face less than an inch from his black visor. Time seems to have frozen as you find yourself transfixed by the close proximity to the man you've been fantasizing of for months and, maker, his hands are on your hips again, gripping like there's no tomorrow.

Din has forgotten how to breathe! How did this happen?! How did you end up sprawled out over him just like he'd seen so many times in his dreams? Good gods, you feel incredible, so soft, so delicate, your hands pressed against his breastplate steadying yourself. Thank the force you can't see his blazing cheeks right now. Oh, but he can see yours; in fact his helmet is picking up the unmistakable rise in body temperature as you look at him with blown pupils. The spell is suddenly broken by the sounds of lips smacking together, both of you snapping your heads to the pilot seat, which has spun to face you.

Grogu is now holding two of his plushies in front of him, bumping their faces together and making kissy noises, stopping now and then to point at you both, then resuming the same action. Omg, the little stinker! Has it been that obvious that even Grogu could see how you both felt? Guess you did a crap job at keeping your feelings hidden after all. You slowly climb off Mando, resting on your knees beside him as he sits up. His helmet turns from Grogu to you and right now you're not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that you can't see his face. What do you even say? Grogu points at you both again, making an almost annoyed sound as if to say 'for goodness sake just tell each other how you feel already!'

Now there's no avoiding it, that much is obvious. You look from Grogu to Mando who's now rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. "I uh... think he's trying to tell us something!" Mando whispered awkwardly. "And what's that?" you ask, hesitantly. Mando exhales, slowly. "I think you know, Cyare." "I think I know too but I need to hear you say it," you smile, uncertainty in your eyes. Din knows it's now or never, and he also knows how shy you can be so he has to make the first move, even if he's not used to expressing his feelings.

"I like you..." he blurts out, cringing inwardly as he confesses. Couldn't he do any better than that? He tries again, "I like you Y/N, more than a friend. You're passionate and smart and funny, and so beautiful. I really like you. I have for a long time now." Din's heart beats wildly as he lays it all on the table. He's faced many enemies and deadly situations countless times, but this moment has to be one of the most terrifying moments of his life. However his nerves soon relax as he sees the beaming smile breaking out across your face. "I like you too, Mando, so much!"

Mando cups your cheek, smoothing his thumb gently over your blushing skin. "Din..." he whispers. "What?" you ask, still smiling although somewhat confused. "That's my name, Din Djarin." "Din Djarin..." you breathed quietly, almost reverently. It's such a beautiful name and more importantly, he actually shared it with you! This is big. "I really like you too Din. I care for you, more than I have for any other man, and I want to be with you." Din's entire posture loosens as you say those words, the weight of uncertainty draining from him and leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in it's place.

Still holding your cheek, he pulls you closer, lowering his head to gently rest his forehead against yours, both of you closing your eyes and basking in one another. "I want that more than anything," Din purrs. An excited squeal erupts from the chair, two little green hands clapping together. Chuckling, you pull away from Din and scoop Grogu into your arms, cradling him between the both of you.

"Guess we have this little matchmaker to thank," you grin, booping his nose. "I guess we do," Din laughed. "But the next time you have a point to make try doing it in a less dramatic manner, you little womp rat." Grogu gurgled up at Din, his little toothy grin melting your heart. You pressed your forehead against Din's once more. You're finally a clan of three.

@negrita2345 @imherefordeanandbones @missadangel @pickettniffler

[scary-grace]

certain stars - a shigaraki x reader fic

Nothing in your training prepared you for this: A deadly virus that burnt through Space Station Ultra, leaving only two survivors -- you, and Mission Specialist Shigaraki, trapped together in the command module. With time, food, and life-support running out, you have a choice about how you'll spend your final hours. You just wish you had any idea what you're supposed to do.

This is for @shigarakislaughter (happy birthday!) who asked for a forced-proximity roommates to lovers situation. Being me, I had to make it weird, and being one of my fics, it had to get away from me. I'm posting part 1 now so you'll have it for your birthday, and part 2 as soon as it's done! Shigaraki x reader, rated M, space station au, angst + suggestive content. dividers by @cafekitsune.

You stare out the windscreen, into the darkness. As empty as what lies before you is, a pure black void pierced here and there by distant stars, it’s less disturbing than what lies on the other side of Station Ultra’s rotation – Earth, wrapped in clouds, brown and green and blue. It’s only four hundred kilometers below you, no distance at all when compared to vastness of space beyond your high orbit, and yet it’s never felt further away.

It shouldn’t be. There’s nothing wrong with the space station, no malfunction that would prevent the shuttle docked to this very module from bringing you and your fellow astronauts home. It’s not a mechanical problem that’s keeping you here. And as if you needed a reminder, your control panel blips at you, the shipboard computer speaking up in its cool, mechanical voice. “Ventilation recycling complete for all compartments. Parts per million remains unchanged.”

You knew it would. Your heart still sinks. “Understood. Contact Mission Control.”

Mission Control picks up right away. Director Sasaki’s voice fills your headset. “Status?”

“I recycled the ventilation system in all compartments. Parts per million in the affected compartments hasn’t changed.”

“All other systems?”

“Normal,” you say. “Propulsion, auxiliary, heat-shield, life-support. It all works like it’s supposed to.”

“And what about you?” Sasaki asks. “Are you functional?”

You haven’t slept well in three weeks. You aren’t eating much, to conserve food, but even if you could eat as much as you wanted, you’d still be too stressed to be hungry. You’re getting claustrophobic in here. The air feels stale, even though you know it isn’t. “As functional as can be expected. Given everything that’s happened.”

“Yes,” Director Sasaki says after a moment. “This was not an outcome anyone could have predicted.”

Someone, somewhere must have, though. You’ve taken three trips up to Station Ultra since you graduated from the academy, and every time you’ve come back down, you’ve spent a month in quarantine, just to make sure you didn’t pick up any deadly space bacteria while you were in orbit. It was kind of a joke to you, like it was a joke to everybody. The vacuum of space is completely inhospitable, incompatible with any form of life. There’s no way anyone could come back to earth with a disease.

But a virus isn’t life, not the same way other things are. A virus could survive inert, waiting for the correct conditions to claim a host and multiply within them. Conditions like warmth and light and ample food. The kind of things that exist inside a space station. It came inside on Togata’s spacesuit, when he returned from a walk to fix some of the reflective tiles on the propulsor housing, and as soon as it touched air, it exploded to life.

You were in the command module, because it was your shift. By the time the viral load in the compartment was significant enough to trip the ventilation system’s alarms, it had already spread to six other modules, infecting everyone it found. You sealed off all the modules in response, isolating each ventilation system from the others. It’s the only reason you’re still alive.

You, and one other person. “What about Mission Specialist Shigaraki?” Director Sasaki asks. “Is he functional?”

“Close enough,” you say. Shigaraki’s been climbing the walls, but then again, this is his first trip into orbit. Most first-timers are anxious enough without being walled up in a single module, hiding from a virus that’s deadly on contact. “He’s sleeping right now.”

“I’d like to speak to him as well. Wake him up.”

You’d rather not. He’s been having a hard time settling down enough to sleep. Still, you’re not interested in getting busted by Control right now. “Right away.”

You pick up a pen, stand it upright in the air, then give it a flick, sending it rotating end over end across the compartment to bump against Shigaraki’s cheek. He’s a light sleeper. He jerks awake at once, grabbing for his mask. “Is it –”

“Everything’s fine,” you say, then wince. “Control wants to check in with you.”

“Don’t know what they want me to say.” Shigaraki rubs his eyes. “Same shit, different sol.”

“Then it’ll be a really short check-in.” You hold the headset out, and Shigaraki makes his way across the compartment to you. Station Ultra’s gravity is about a quarter of Earth’s, enough to make smaller objects float and enough to let Shigaraki get from his makeshift bed to you without touching the floor once. “Director Sasaki, he’s here.”

Shigaraki settles the headset over his tangled white hair, and you go back to staring out the windscreen, listening with half an ear. “It’s shit,” Shigaraki says, in response to whatever Sasaki just asked him. “I’m sick of listening to you all pretend we aren’t going to die up here.”

Your stomach clenches. You can’t hear Sasaki’s response, but Shigaraki’s comes through loud and clear. “You all are stupid if you’re thinking about taking that kind of risk. If this thing gets down there, everything’s fucked, so stop lying and figure out a way to off us both. Go to hell.”

He takes the headset off, ends the call, and tosses it back to you. “You were right. It was short.”

“I told him you were functional,” you say lamely. “Now he’s going to think you’ve got Pandorum or something.”

“We’d be better off with Pandorum than whatever got in here,” Shigaraki says. You’re expecting him to go back to bed, but instead he sits down next to you at the windscreen. “At least Pandorum fucks off once you’re planetside.”

He stares out the windscreen. You study him, like you’ve been doing when you get the chance. Out of all the crewmembers you could have picked to get stuck with at the beginning of the mission, you wouldn’t have chosen him. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t happy he’s here.

Shigaraki was a last-minute addition to the crew, after the mission specialist who was supposed to go caught the flu, and he was unhappy about it from the second he set foot on the shuttle. You don’t think anybody in the history of manned spaceflight has ever bitched about going into space as much as he did on the way up, but once you docked at Station Ultra, you figured out why in a hurry. He has motion sickness – bad – and short of being on a fishing trawler in the North Sea during a storm, there’s no worse place for that than a space station that orbits the earth while moving in a constant rotation. In his spot, you’d have bitched, too.

You tried to help him. Whenever you were on shift in the command module, you altered the gravity of whatever compartment he was in, trying to make it more like Earth’s and less like whatever his version of Hell is. You parted with most of your share of Dramamine, then all of it, hoping it would help. Maybe if you’d let him know you were doing it, he wouldn’t have been such a jackass to you – or maybe he’d have been exactly the same. Worse, even. Based on the way he snapped at people who asked after him, he doesn’t want anybody’s pity.

As far as mission specialists go, though, he’s great at his job, using the lack of signal interference in orbit to gather data from the most distant unmanned probes that have been sent out, ones that have been lost to contact on Earth for decades. Voyager, Pioneer, New Horizons, Odyssey, Earendil – all of them in interstellar space, all of them still transmitting. One time you wandered into the observation module on an off-shift and found him hunched over something, headphones clamped down over his ears. You knew better than to ask what he was listening to, but when he looked up and spotted you, he kicked out the chair next to his.

You were so surprised that you didn’t question it. You sat down, accepted the pair of headphones he pushed at you, and settled them over your ears, too. At first there was nothing but silence, the quiet of deep space without a hint of static. And then you heard it, so faint it was almost a mirage – soft humming, interspersed with high, clear notes that reverberate endlessly, overlapping with others before growing too distant to hear. It sent chills down your spine.

The two of you listened in silence for a long time, until even the humming faded away. You pulled off your headphones and turned to Shigaraki. “What was that?”

“Earendil’s been picking it up. This is the first time I caught more than a few seconds.” Shigaraki tapped something on his console, and a red light flickered off. He was recording. “It’s music.”

“From where?” you asked. “Aliens?”

Shigaraki shook his head. “It’s not a signal,” he said. “It’s something else. People used to theorize about it, back before science existed, but –”

“Musica universalis,” you said, and he nodded. “The music of the spheres. It’s real?”

“If that was what I think it is, yeah.” Shigaraki’s expression was thoughtful, softer than you’d seen it before. “Cool, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, even though it didn’t feel like the right word. Eerie. Awe-inspiring. Unreal. You watched as Shigaraki bent back over his console, pulling out an old-fashioned jump drive and feeding it into the nearest port. “Cool.”

It was hard to look away from him then. It’s hard to look away now, even though he’s the only person you’ve seen for weeks, the only person still alive in here with you. His white hair, which needs a trim. His red eyes, half-lidded as he looks out the window. The scars on his eye and his mouth, which you’ve wondered about but never asked after. You’ve got questions about him. And even though he’s right, even though you probably are going to die up here, you still can’t get it together enough to ask.

The two of you sit in silence until one of the alarms you’ve set goes off. You know what this one’s for. “Virus check,” you say, and Shigaraki nods. “Let’s get this over with.”

Every six hours, you check for signs of the virus. Temperature, pupil response, blood pressure, pulse oxygen level – and then a self-exam to make sure the pale splotches that signify infection aren’t anywhere on your bodies. The air in your module is clear, still, but you and Shigaraki still act like you’re in quarantine. Like at some point you’ll be declared virus-free and safe to go home.

Your vitals are normal. So are Shigaraki’s. “I was thinking,” he says as you put the blood pressure cuff away. “I’m pretty pale. I don’t know if I’d be able to pick out the spots on myself.”

“Do you want me to check for you?”

“We should check each other,” Shigaraki says. Your face heats up, and you look away. “Accountability or something. In case one of us gets infected and tries to hide it.”

“If one of us got infected, it would be too late for the other one,” you say. “Fine, though. Let’s check each other. I’m sick of trying to look at my own back without a mirror.”

You feel beyond awkward stripping down in front of Shigaraki, even though you leave your underwear on. He leaves his on, too. “I’ll check you first, since you’re the one who’s worried about it,” you say. “Turn around.”

His back is more muscled than you expected, not that you were expecting much. Other than patches of eczema, dry and angry red from the bone-dry air, he looks clear. “I’m not seeing anything.”

“Check for texture,” Shigaraki says, and your face heats up again. “Himura was pale like me, and they thought he was clear until they touched him.”

You set your hands on Shigaraki’s back, and he startles at your touch, even though he asked you to do this. You try to think back to what you’re looking for, what the others in the infected modules reported before they succumbed. Hard, pale circles on the skin that don’t change color when pressed on. Shigaraki’s skin is clear, everywhere you run your fingers over it, but you check again, and again. You haven’t touched anyone in weeks, not even to high-five or shake hands. It’s hard to pull away.

You make yourself do it before things can get weird. “You’re clear. On your back at least.”

“Your turn,” Shigaraki says, and you turn away immediately. At least now you won’t have to keep your arms crossed. He takes one look at your back and laughs. “A tattoo? Are you yakuza or something?”

“People get tattoos where I come from. Not just gangsters.” You jump as the rough tip of one finger traces over the design on your shoulder. “Don’t touch it if you’re just going to make fun of it.”

“I’m not. What is it?”

“I thought you didn’t care about backstory stuff,” you say. “Isn’t that what you said when we got stuck? We’re not gonna bond just because we’re breathing the same air?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. He usually doesn’t answer when he’s wrong about something. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Are you going to check me for the rash or not?” You wait until Shigaraki’s hands move, then answer his question, mainly to give yourself something to think about other than the fact that he’s touching you. “It’s Centaurus. The constellation.”

“I know what Centaurus is,” Shigaraki snaps, almost absently. His fingertips drift across your shoulder blades. “Closest stars to the sun, right?”

“Yeah. Alpha Centauri.” For some reason, your throat goes tight. “I always wanted to be an astronaut, even when I was a little kid. But kids are bad at distance, and time – the stuff that tells you what’s actually possible when it comes to space travel. I used to say I wanted to fly to Alpha Centauri and back. Just a few light-years away.”

You wait for Shigaraki to make fun of little-kid you for not understanding how spacetime works. He keeps quiet, his hands moving down your spine, and you don’t know what to do except to keep talking. “I don’t remember who told me. Probably some smart kid in elementary school. And I felt really stupid about it for a long time.”

“So you got a tattoo of it?”

“Yeah. When I got accepted to the academy,” you say. “Everybody was talking about why they wanted to be astronauts – I know we seem like a bunch of meatheads to you scientists, but it’s not easy – and I thought about how excited younger me would have been to be where I was. All the amazing things I was going to get to do and see. And if it was daydreaming about Alpha Centauri that got me there, even if I could never go that far, I didn’t want to be embarrassed about it any longer.”

Shigaraki’s hands come to a stop at your lower back, fingers curling around your hips in a way that’s not strictly necessary for what he’s supposed to be doing. “Did you ever think you’d die out here?”

“I knew it was possible,” you say. In the academy, they take you through every fatal accident, one by one, teaching you ever detail to demystify it. “I didn’t think it would go like this.”

“Yeah.” Shigaraki exhales, and you feel his breath against your shoulder. “You’re clear, by the way. Turn around.”

You turn to face him and realize that the two of you are standing much closer together than you started out. Shigaraki’s hands lifted away as you turned, but they settle back on your hips at once. “Um –”

“I’ve seen you watching me,” Shigaraki says. Of course he has. There’s nothing for the two of you to watch here but each other. You should have known better than to think you could get away with anything. “What do you think about when you do that?”

You’re going to die, right? Both of you, up here, whether Mission Control finds out a way to kill you humanely or just lets you starve. It doesn’t matter what you say. “You’re pretty. I like looking at you. I look at you and I can think about something other than this.”

His grip tightens ever so slightly. “Were you ever going to do more than just look?”

You’re both going to die. It doesn’t matter anymore. You lift your hands, set them on his shoulders, and step in close. Close enough to kiss, if Shigaraki wants to – and he closes the rest of the distance himself.

It doesn’t mean anything. You’re the last two alive. If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else. You aren’t special. You remind yourself of that as his lips press insistently against yours, as you tangle your hands in his hair and hear him mumble your name. You could be anyone. It doesn’t matter that it’s you.

It’s an effort to detach yourself from Shigaraki long enough to lead him over to the pile of blankets you’ve each been sleeping in when it’s your turn to rest. You’re both mostly naked already, so it’s not a question of where things will go. It’s not the best sex you’ve ever had. With what’s hanging over the two of you, what you’re both trying to forget, you don’t think it’s possible to have really good sex. What you get instead is what you need – connection, contact, a way to ground yourself in one moment, with the only other person in the universe who understands what it’s like to stare this down.

Shigaraki’s desperate in a way that surprises you, responsive in a way you wouldn’t expect, even though this was his idea in the first place. Clingy, too – you’ve both finished, and he won’t let go of you, not even to let you get more comfortable. “I’m not leaving,” you say, exasperated. “Where would I even go?”

He finally shifts to one side, and you’re able to get settled, just in time for him to crawl all over you again. “Touch-starved much?”

“I waited too long,” Shigaraki says. You make a questioning sound. “I should have done it when I figured out who was messing with the gravity.”

Maybe you’re hallucinating. There’s no way he’s liked you that long. Or at all. “Okay, but if we’d hooked up in the command module back then everybody would have known about it.”

“They’d have been jealous.” Shigaraki’s eyelashes flutter against the side of your neck. “And alive.”

And now they’ll never find out, because they’re dead. You feel sick when you think about all the people who will mourn your crewmates, who are mourning them right now – their friends, their families, their girlfriends or boyfriends or spouses or children. Some of them have kids. Who lived, and who lived a little longer, came down to luck. Being in the right place at the right time. Being on shift in the command module for you, and standing in the doorway for Shigaraki, just as the alarms started to sound.

Something crosses your mind. “What were you doing at the command module that night, anyway? I never asked.”

“Why do you think?” Shigaraki’s voice is blurring with sleep, and you resign yourself to being stuck here until the next timer goes off. “Tell you later.”

You’re not all that familiar with hookups – you didn’t have a lot of time for that stuff with your job, or maybe you didn’t make time. You’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to fall asleep together, all but intertwined. But maybe the rules are different when it comes to hookups when you’re both about to die. Hookups where you like each other. Where things could have gone somewhere, maybe, if you’d had more time.

Sleep is tugging at you, trying to lure you down. It’s hard to resist when it’s warm. How long has it been since you were warm? Your sleeping pouch in the dormitory module feels like a distant memory, and with the ventilation isolated, the heaters haven’t been able to shift warm air to the command module in weeks. You and Shigaraki should have been sleeping like this the whole time, if it was ever appropriate for both of you to sleep at once. One person needs to be awake in the command module at all times. That’s you.

Station Ultra completes half an orbit, putting you on the dark side of the planet, and when the module rotates to show you the blackness of space, you look through the windscreen and pick out the stars. Alpha Centauri is right there, close enough to see, millennia away. You’ll never get there, but some virus could drift through space, right up close to Earth’s atmosphere? Bullshit. Then again, a virus isn’t as complex as a human. It doesn’t need air or atmosphere or water to survive. The only thing you and the virus have in common is –

Heat. The virus is inert in the vacuum of space. It activates in sufficient heat. Out in space, it can’t hurt anyone. What if you could send it back where it belongs? You sit up, shifting Shigaraki out of position, and he swears sleepily at you. “What the hell? Lie down.”

“No.” You tolerate Shigaraki’s attempts to drag you back down for about two seconds, then use the hand-to-hand training you received in the academy to pin him. “Listen to me. I have an idea.”

He stares up at you, wide-eyed, a weird flush in his face. “About how to die painlessly?”

“No,” you say. “About how to get home.”

taglist: @atspiss @baking-ghoul @boogiemansbitch @handumb @agente707 @warxhammer @shikiblessed @cheeseonatower @koohiii @stardustdreamersisi @xeveryxstarfallx @lacrimae-lotos @aslutforfictionalmen @evilcookie5 @issaortiz @lvtuss @dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @f3r4lfr0gg3r @deadhands69

[beatrice-otter]

[image description: chart titled Talk Like A Technician: The Use of Technobabble.

Technology in Star Trek is complex and works in scientific concepts and principles that are far beyond what the majority of Players and Gamemasters are knowledgeable in. Throughout the collected media, Starfleet officers discuss technology using terms that most Players are not going to know. Instead of expecting Players to study and memorize technical manuals and reference books that have been published over the years we've provided an easy way to talk like a Starfleet engineer. Anyone can do "technobabble"!

To use the chart simply gather and roll d20s and consult the chart below for technical new terms and concepts.

Occasionally portions of the chart may not be applicable to the scene or circumstance. In that case simply omit that portion of technobabble!

The chart has six columns, Roll, Action, Descriptor, Source, Effect, and Device. Each has 20 rows.

Roll: numbers 1-20

Action: refocus, amplify, synchronize, redirect, recalibrate, modulate, oscillate, intensify, nullify, boost, reverse, reconfigure, actuate, focus, invert, reroute, modify, restrict, reset, extend

Descriptor: microscopic, macroscopic, linear, non-linear, isometric, multivariant, nano, phased, master, auxiliary, primary, secondary, tertiary, back-up, polymodal, multiphasic, tri-fold, balanced, oscillating

Source: Quantum, positronic, thermionic, osmotic, neutrino, spatial, resonating, thermal, photon, ionic, plasma, nucleonic, verteron, gravimetric, nadion, subspace, baryon, tetryon, polaron, tachyon

Effect: flux, reaction, field, particle, gradient, induction, conversion, polarizing, displacement, feed, imagining, reciprocating, frequency, pulse, phased, harmonic, interference, distortion, dampening, invariance

Device: inhibitor, equalizer, damper, chamber, catalyst, coil, unit, grid, regulator, sustainer, relay, discriminator, array, coupling, controller, actuator, harmonic, generator, manifold, stabilizer.

/end id]

[anim-ttrpgs]

Welcome to tumblr page of The Agency of Narrative Intrigue and Mystery (A.N.I.M.)!

We are a small independent team of LGBT and disabled individuals who make innovative and well-polished tabletop roleplaying games that have a lot to say, best known for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy.

Combined, our team has over 20 years of experience.

Continue reading for more information about us, our games, and more!

Our Games

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is a groundbreaking TTRPG that revolutionizes mystery investigation of all kinds!

Leave behind the days of "We walk into the room and roll Investigate." Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is a TTRPG all about investigation, and its purpose-driven mechanics let players take initiative, use their characters' unique strengths to find clues, and deduce conclusions themselves. We post about it in-depth a lot, so check out our blog for more info, or just read it yourself! Payment is optional!

We plan to support Eureka for many years to come through supplements and adventure modules. It comes with a short adventure module made specifically for teaching you, your players, and their characters the ropes, but you can also find the first set of higher-stakes adventures right here!

The Eye of Neptune and FORIVA: The Angel Game

Two adventure modules for use with Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy!

Eureka: The Fanservice Files

A mini-expansion originally intended to just be an April Fools thing, but then turned into a real expansion! This features several new character Traits and powers!

Eureka: The XXX-Files

Another mini-expansion, featuring several new character Traits and optional rules!

"Eureka: Cold Open"

Not actually a game, rather a short-story set in the world of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy.

Silk & Dagger: A Sensible Drow RPG

An asymmetric comedy game of drama and drow. Players either take the role of a brutal mistress whom everything she says goes, whether she understands what she’s talking about or not, and whose position of dominance is maintained by the respect of her peers, respect that hinges on how brutal and controlling she is to her subordinates; or an array of pathetic servants who are helpless without their mistress’s “leadership,” (and maybe even be more so with it).

Edge Hedge Arena

This goofy omage to the Sonic the Hedgehog fanbase of the 2000s and 2010s is more of a party game than a conventional TTRPG, but that’s just means it’s fast to play and play again. The game will pair you with a real Sonic OC, so you can stat them out and battle them against others in the ultimate blood sport.

Our Mission Statements

1. To provide a source of income for those of our team who cannot support themselves by any regular means through disability.

To this end, we ask for your support as fans, if you want us to be able to continue to create more of the work you love. We put our games up in beta for feedback and extra publicity/support while we work diligently on finishing them, and as a completely independent and unsponsored studio, we are entirely dependent on word-of-mouth from fans like you to bring our projects in front of new eyes and keep us afloat through sales and patreon subscriptions.

What you can do to ensure that we can support ourselves and continue operations:

Follow us on tumblr and bluesky

Reblogging/retweeting/whatever our posts on these sites, even if you don't have many followers, makes a huge difference and is actually how we get most of our new fans and patreon subscribers.

Talk about us!

Play our games, tell your friends about them, make posts about your adventures or characters from our games, make homebrew stuff, etc. Like with the social media posts, this is the only way the word gets out about who we are and what we do! Without word-of-mouth, we're dead in the water.

Subscribe to our Patreon!

You get monthly rewards such as Eureka updates, adventure modules, short stories, previews of new games, etc. It also gets you into our patron-exclusive discord server!

Buy, or just download, our games on Itch.io

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Eureka Adventure Modules Vol. 1

Edge Hedge Arena

Money helps a lot, but even just downloading them for free gives us a boost in the algorithm and gets more eyes on us!

Donate on Ko-fi How this helps is pretty obvious.

Buy our snoop merchandise

We only get a small cut of this, but the stuff is pretty cool, and they're good conversation starters!

2. To fight back against the overwhelming hegemonic monopoly held over the TTRPG artform by Wizards of the Coast. This goes deeper than you think.

We don’t just promote our own games, we promote the games of others, and healthy play habits as well through the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club!

This is a welcoming and diverse space for fans of TTRPGs to discuss and play them. Plenty of different games will be running at any given time, but the main “book club” aspect of it is that people nominate RPGs they’d like to play, then the nominations are voted on regularly. Whatever wins, we all read and play. People are sorted into play groups based on schedule compatibility, so it’s very flexible.

Players are strongly encouraged to buy the RPG themselves to support the authors, but if you cannot for any reason, a PDF will always be provided for you. We have raised hundreds of dollars for indie and small press RPGs this way, and the community just keeps growing! If you’re a TTRPG designer, feel free to come in and nominate your own game!

Contact Us

Come talk to us in the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club or our patreon-exclusive discord server, or send us an email at anim.contactus@gmail.com!

You can also message us on tumblr and bluesky!

[amanda-plays]

Hey! I'm Amanda | Not WCIF | 18+ (Sometimes NSFW)

Find me on YouTube: Here Main series on YouTube: The Aspiring Artist | Rotational Gameplay All posts related to The Aspiring Artist can be found here. Casual gameplay posts on my blog are separate from the storyline on YouTube. All of my Sims 4 posts | All of my reblogs | Other nsfw posts CAS Mods Cas background | Cas lighting (Studio flat) | Controlled Position Mod | More Cas Columns (6 columns) Game Lighting Mods In-Game Lighting (Dark) | Sunblind Gshade/Reshade I make my own Gshade presets. They are not available for download. However, here are some that I would recommend if you are looking for a preset: Boho dreams (Neecxle) | Birdie (Sforzinda) | Lithium (Gunthermunch) | Luminescent (HazelMine) | Raices (Folkbreeze) | Almond (Glimersims) | Kaleidoscope (Okruee) | White Willow (Tianaberrie) | Serenity (Misslollypopsims) | Neapolitan (Midsummermoon) Photo Resources I use SRWE for a lot of my screenshots. I take some of them on a higher resolution monitor without hotsampling. I use Krita for photo editing and sometimes Canva. I usually crop my photos and resize them for faster uploading. Check out this tutorial if you're new to hotsampling. Check out this FAQ for help with understanding reshade. Video Resources I use OBS to record my videos and Filmora to edit. I also recommend Davinci for a free editing alternative. I use this mic for narrated episodes. Essential Gameplay Mods These are the mods that I consider essential for my game: Basemental Drugs (21+) | Wicked Whims (18+) | MCCC Other Mods The other mods I have installed: UI Cheats Extension | RPO (I only use modules 1, 7, and 14) | Somnik and Severinka Custom Foods | Control Any Sim | No Zzz | No Music Notes | Hidden Highlight | Tool | No Romantic Satisfaction Decay | Seasons Tuner | Kiss and Grind | Chalk'd UI Defaults/Overrides My current default skin can be found here , default eyes here, default feet here, and default teeth here. I mostly use these skintones. Default phone | Toothbrush | Headphones | Male animation replacer (18+) Some Commonly Used CC I use a lot of eyes from these creators found here and here. I typically use skins, skin details, and other genetics from these creators found here, here, and here.

[august-anon]

Brothers Bound in Revenge

Brother's in Arms series: 1 - 2 (you are here)

-----------------------------------

It's finally done!! Definitely wound up longer than I meant it to lol, but I have no regrets. As usual, I have barely edited this. Also, I have still barely read any comics yet (working on it) so these will be very fanon characterizations.

While I already wanted to write a sequel for Brothers Forged in Laughter, ao3 user sweetlikesalt solidified the idea with this comment of theirs, so everyone say thank you lol:

----------------------------------------

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jason & Lers!Tim and Dick (plus VERY brief ler!Jason, and lees!Tim and Dick)

Word Count: 6106 words (how did this wind up LONGER than the last one sdkjfh)

Summary: Jason's figuring out how to be family again, and learning how to be a big brother. Dick decides he needs to be reminded what it's like to be a little brother, too -- along with letting Tim get a little revenge.

[ao3 link]

------------------------------------

“Are you coming to family dinner this week?”

The Red Hood bit back a sigh – not that the voice modulator in his helmet would have necessarily picked it up – and kept his back to Robin, focusing instead on the gang members loitering beneath his ledge.

“Don’t know about that, Robin,” he said. Then, as an afterthought, “Sorry.”

Aside from his little bonding moment with the new bird, his first (and last) family dinner didn’t go so well. It was tense and awkward, Bruce asking stilted, surface level questions that turned more and more pointed as the night went on. Dick and Tim tried to buffer him, and even Alfred admonished him a couple times, but Bruce always managed to circle back. Dessert ended early with a screaming match and Jason storming back down to the Cave to his motorcycle before anyone could chase after him and convince him to try and patch things up. He’d missed the past two family dinners since, and had avoided the Batcave as much as he possibly could.

It always came down to the same things with Bruce. Jason was reckless, dangerous, out of control and, as always, it was Bruce’s responsibility to curb, calm, and corral him. Bruce’s responsibility to rehabilitate him, as if Jason needed to be rehabilitated at all. He’d dropped the crime lord thing almost as soon as his plan for Bruce to kill the Joker blew up in his face (literally), and it wasn’t like the bodies he’d been dropping since were without merit. No one would miss those scum – abusers, pedophiles, serial murderers. Batman needed to learn that not everyone was capable of being saved.

“Are you sure?” Robin asked, creeping up to crouch beside him on the ledge. “Agent A misses you.”

The we miss you went unsaid. Hood knew he’d dropped the ball with his brothers since that dinner. Avoiding that Batcave (and the Manor) meant avoiding them by extension, since he was too wary of Bruce stalking their lines of communication to give them directions to any of his safehouses. Not to mention the fact that he moved between them so frequently that it would be difficult for them to keep up with where he was staying, anyways. He’d just started becoming family to Tim, and he almost immediately left the kid high and dry. Some big brother he was.

“Tell him I’ll try to come by soon.”

Robin hummed noncommittally, clearly seeing through Hood’s attempt to placate him. This time, Hood did sigh, the helmet translating it into static, and reached over to ruffle Robin’s hair. He resisted the urge to dig his fingers into one of the softer joints of Robin’s armor – his targets would absolutely hear that squeaking laughter.

“Tell you what, kid – I could use some help, here. Wanna help me take this group down?”

Robin perked up, sending a grin in his direction.

“Just make sure to leave one awake – we need to know where their boss is.”

“You got it.”

“On three. One, two–”

*     *     *

Nightwing didn’t even try to be stealthy as he landed behind the Red Hood, practically skipping across the rooftop to plop himself on the edge next to him. Hood didn’t spare him a glance, keeping his gaze firmly locked on the clouds above, as if he could see beyond them to the stars above. Though Gotham was his home, he couldn’t help but feel a bit homesick for the shine of the stars. He’d seen so many when he was with Talia and the LoA, but between Gotham’s constantly shit weather and all the light pollution, he hadn’t seen a single one since he returned.

“If you’re here about dinner,” Hood said, “I already told the little bird ‘no.’”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nightwing shrug. “Figured. I’m not going to try and convince you.”

“Really?” He said flatly.

In his peripheral, he saw Nightwing turn to stare at him. Hood kept his gaze forward. He’d taken his helmet off for a breath of fresh air, and having little more than a domino mask to protect his expressions made him feel far too exposed at the moment. At least the profile view added some sort of barrier to reading him.

“When I was close to your age, I didn’t exactly want to be around B most of the time either. There was a reason I moved out, and there was a reason I always made myself so busy with the Titans.”

Hood let out a long breath. “You’re around a lot more now than you used to be”

Nightwing finally turned away, looking down at his hands clasped between his knees. “It’s one of my biggest regrets, letting my shit relationship with B affect my relationship with you. When I did come by, it was mostly to see you – steal you away, teach you to be Robin, sneak out for train-hopping.”

Hood didn’t know what to say. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

“With Robin, it still took me a while to get over myself, but I didn’t want to make the same mistakes twice. I overcompensated for a while before finding my balance.” He chuckled. “It drove Robin crazy sometimes. I was just so scared to lose another brother, especially without him knowing how much I cared about him. Me and B… we came to an understanding – at least, for the most part – over time, with me being around so often again.”

Guilt churned deep in Hood’s stomach. “Nightwing–”

Nightwing shook his head. “I’m not saying you have to come around. Honestly, stay away for as long as you need. Sometimes I still can’t even stand to be around him, no matter how much we’ve grown or how much I care about him. That’s probably why it hurts so much.” Nightwing turned to stare at him again, and this time Hood couldn’t keep himself from looking in Nightwing’s direction. “But don’t lock us out too just because B can’t get his righteous head out of his ass.”

Don’t make my mistakes, Hood heard underneath.

“Yeah,” was all Hood could manage.

They sat in silence for a bit longer before Hood heard the tell-tale buzz of a distant comm line. Nightwing raised his hand to his ear, likely for Hood’s benefit because Hood knew that’s not how the Bat-comms operated, and said, “I’m on my way.”

“Duty calls?”

Nightwing shot him a strained grin. “When doesn’t it?” His smile became a bit more natural as he scrubbed his hand over Hood’s head, making his helmet-hair even worse. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Red Hood didn’t have a chance to reply as Nightwing dove off the building, shooting out his grapnel line halfway through his fall. He waited until Nightwing disappeared in the smog before shoving his helmet back on. The Bats could handle the rest of the city, but Crime Alley wasn’t going to protect itself.

*     *     *

Jason got himself a phone.

He had plenty of phones, honestly – enough burners to cover all his bases and then some, and he frequently dumped and replaced them. This phone though, it was his first personal phone since he came back. He made sure to pass it off to Barbara first, get it souped up with all the Bat-grade protections it could possibly need, and with her sincere promise that Bruce himself wouldn’t have any way into the device despite that.

When she returned it, she’d done more than just upgrade his security. Where his contacts before had been a blank slate, there was now a neat list of five names. He flipped through them, changing four of the contact names to be much less formal. Opening the final contact, he hovered his thumb over the “Delete” button for several long minutes before letting out a slew of swears and closing out of the contacts app, leaving that final contact untouched.

He shot off quick texts to Dick and Tim, nothing more than a “Hey, it’s Jason.” and got a set of responses back almost immediately. Dick was a spam-texter, it seemed, cheering through his messages and telling Jason it was “about damn time” he got a phone. Tim sent him only two messages in reply. A brief “ew” and a follow-up of “you text with proper grammar??”

From that day on, there was not a single moment where Jason was free of his brothers. Dick started sending him dozens of TikToks a day (where he found the time to scroll TikTok so much in-between his day job and the vigilantism, Jason had no idea), practically forcing Jason to download the app just to keep up, as much as he despised social media. He was loathe to admit it, but every once in a while, some of the videos Dick sent him were actually kind of funny. 

Tim, on the other hand, seemed to get a kick out of sending Jason memes that he either wasn’t alive to see come about, or he was stuck with the League at the time with no knowledge of the current popular culture. He communicated almost exclusively through them, and Jason knew it was intentional to get under his nerves. It felt like he was trying to translate hieroglyphics at times, and whenever he asked Dick or Barbara for help, they just laughed at him.

And then, a few weeks in, the invites started coming through. 

A new coffee shop just opened up in the Bowery, you in? Jason was never getting coffee with Tim again after that, because holy shit, was his order horrific. 

There’s this adult arcade downtown — you in? Jason knew that they were the heirs to a billionaire, but he still couldn’t fathom the amount of money Dick spent on goddamn claw games. And somehow, he won every time. Jason didn’t even know where to put all the plushies Dick forced on him after that trip. 

Bowling?? Steph said this place is actually only marginally sketchy. Jason and his brothers were now banned from the bowling alley.

Okay so bowling was a bust — roller-skating? Jason and Tim were now banned from the skating rink. Dick somehow got off scott-free. Jason blamed the puppy-dog eyes.

*     *     *

Even once he and Bruce were on speaking terms again, the invites didn’t stop – which was how Jason found himself making the drive to Bludhaven one evening. Dick decided that they were due for a movie night, and since Jason was still avoiding the Manor itself, he’d decided that the next best place would be his own apartment.

They ordered some absolute monstrosities from the nearby pizza joint (Dick’s pineapple and andouille pizza was always horrifying, but at least Jason had been prepared for it – Tim’s Canadian bacon pizza with onions and artichoke hearts, Jason never wanted to see again), and Dick left the two of them to pick the movie while he went to pick up the pizza.

Of course, the little snot was nothing if not an absolute nerd, and most of his suggestions were weird sci-fi shit. As if they didn’t get enough of that with their gallery of doctorate-wielding Rogues and their insane fucking inventions. Then again – Jason had the perfect solution to get what he wanted out of the kid.

“I’m gonna kill you!” Tim shrieked in-between frantice giggling, trying to pry Jason’s hands off his sides.

Jason hummed. “Dick would be very disappointed in you when he got back if you did.”

Tim managed to twist out of his grip, throwing himself across the rug to create distance between them. “What’s wrong with Interstellar anyways?”

Jason wrinkled his nose. “Don’t we deal with enough dimension-travel and time-travel shit enough in our night jobs?” He launched himself forward after Tim, ignoring the kid’s squeals as he dragged him close again. “Besides, letting you win the movie pick means I don’t get to do this.”

Jason wasted no time on this second attack, immediately digging his fingers into Tim’s highest ribs. Tim almost choked on his laughter, shrieking out a few curse words, and Jason had little doubt that Dick would have a noise complaint by the end of the night. Whatever – it wasn’t like it was Jason’s problem. No, the only thing Jason needed to worry about right now was what method made Tim laugh the hardest. Fingernails or fingertips? Wiggling or squeezing? Vibrating fingers or fast skittering? He just couldn’t decide.

Tim was practically in tears by the time he finally conceded to Jason’s movie choice, having laughed himself nearly hoarse. Just in time, too, because Dick just texted their group chat (also new – and the incessant spam of notifications that often burst from it annoyed Jason to no end) that he was on the way up.

“Just you wait,” Tim said, chest heaving and face cherry-red. “I’m gonna sic Dick on you, and then you’ll be sorry.”

Jason snorted, making himself comfortable on Dick’s lumpy-ass sofa. “Good luck with that kid. I already told you both – the Pit took care of that. I’m immune.” He gave a playfully malicious grin. “Leaves me with plenty of chances to torture you, though, don’t worry.”

The front door to the apartment banged open. “Hey – does anyone know why my neighbor just cussed me out in the hallway? I swear, he’s never looked that– Timmy? What the hell happened?”

Jason laughed.

*     *     *

Bruce was out of town for a few days – an actual business trip this time, no JL covers – and he took Alfred with him. Which meant that someone needed to cover Gotham for the week. Which meant that Dick was in town for an extended period of time. All of this also meant that Dick and Tim were left in the Manor unsupervised with no Alfred to keep them from burning down the kitchen.

That’s how Jason found himself being guilt-tripped into spending the week at the Manor with them, if only to ensure they didn’t survive solely off of cereal, microwave meals, and caffeine. Dick, of course, was thrilled at their “Brother Sleepover,” and promptly spent the week kicking their ass at Mario Kart. Not even Tim, in all his nerdy, geeky glory could beat him, and death had done Jason no favors with his own virtual racing skills.

Overall, despite the constant skin-crawling feelings Jason had for half the week, his stay at the Manor didn’t go horribly. Plus, it was kind of nice cooking for more than just one person. He might have to establish a more permanent safehouse so he could have his brothers (and Barbie – he’d have to make sure the elevator was actually working in whatever building he chose) over for dinner. Or maybe he’d finally try coming to another family dinner, just for the excuse of helping Alfred cook.

Either way, by the end of the week, Dick was adamant that it was about time for another brothers’ movie night. Jason rolled his eyes and put up the expected complaints (it was a familiar song and dance now – even if he didn’t mean it), but still found himself at the grocery store while Dick picked Tim up from school, picking out ingredients to make them a special dinner for the last night of their “Brother Sleepover.” He was shoving everything into the kitchen when Dick and Tim got home, Tim groaning as he entered the kitchen for a snack.

“Jason – your food is amazing and all, but can we please just get takeout tonight?”

Jason turned around, his eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“We can just order pizza instead – I won’t even get anything weird on it!”

“You’d rather have greasy takeout pizza than a home-cooked meal?” Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the kitchen island. “You’d give Alfred a heart-attack.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve never begged Alfred for takeout instead of something from home.”

Jason pursed his lips. He couldn’t exactly argue that – they all had at some point. Still, “I already got the shit, we’re eating here.”

Jason pinpointed the exact moment when Tim went from normal vigilante teenager to horribly obnoxious piece of shit. He narrowed his eyes for a moment before his expression turned to an exaggerated pout. He slumped his shoulders and gazed up at Jason with his little wounded-baby-bird eyes. 

“Come on, Jay, please? We can make it another night – can’t we have pizza?”

Jason huffed and pushed himself away from the counter. “Alright you little shit – get over here.”

He made a swipe for Tim, who shrieked and immediately launched himself out of reach when Jason’s fingers grazed his ribs. When he looked up at Jason this time, gone was the faux-pout. Instead, his eyes were wide with surprise and anticipation, the twitch of his mouth almost giddy as he eyed Jason’s hands warily. Jason grinned and took a heavy step forward, drawing out the game. Then, suddenly, Tim’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set. Without warning, he bolted from the kitchen.

“Wha– get back here! Face your sentence like a man, TimTam!”

Jason raced after him, winding through the labyrinthian halls of the Manor. As they got closer to the front side of the mansion, Tim started shouting.

“Dick! Dick, help me!”

Jason’s jaw dropped. “You fucking– running to Dick for help, as if you don’t deserve this!”

“Dick, he’s doing it again!”

As they approached the den, Jason put on a burst of speed. Unfortunately, it seemed as though Tim was holding back as well, breaking into a dead sprint to reach the den first. The two of them crashed through the entryway, knocking down a whole stack of pillows and blankets that someone had piled by the door. Dick stood in the middle of the room, clearly having been rearranging furniture for the “ideal movie night positioning,” looking absolutely flabbergasted.

Tim, still with that young Robin springiness, was able to extricate himself from the avalanche of comfy items easily. He bounced out of the pile and darted behind Dick, using him as a human shield. Jason, while highly trained, was now all bulky muscle instead of flexible springiness, and had a harder time wading out of the mess.

“What on earth is going on, here?” Dick asked, gaze darting between Jason and Tim behind his back.

“He’s trying to kill me!”

Jason scoffed. “Please – you were being a little shit, you can’t tell me you didn’t deserve it.”

Tim peeked around Dick’s torso to stick his tongue out at Jason, before ducking back behind Dick as Jason finally got his foot free of the last blanket and began to approach.

Dick had a look on his face, that constipated one he made when he wanted to laugh but was still trying to take them seriously for the sake of their pride. “And how, exactly, was Jason going to kill you?” Dick tilted slightly to the side to look at Tim, exposing him to Jason’s sight.

The apples of Tim’s cheeks went pink as he scowled at them both. “Tickle me,” he mumbled.

Jason clicked his tongue, advancing on them both. “You heard the kid – he said to tickle him, let’s get to it Goldie.”

Dick broke, laughing as Tim yelped and ducked fully behind him again. He laughed even harder as Jason tried to reach around him and snatch Tim, doing nothing to help.

“You know, Jay – you’ve turned into quite the tickle monster over the past few months.”

Jason grunted, barely paying attention. “Yeah? He’s getting the full little brother experience, I remember what you were like when I was a kid.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed. Before Jason had even fully processed the change in expression, his hackles had raised. He backed out of Dick’s space quickly, eyeing him with suspicion. Tim perked up, picking up on the change in vibes. Jason was no longer the most dominant personality in the room. 

Dick’s mouth twisted into a smirk. One that Jason remembered all too well. “Maybe a little payback is in order, Little Wing. What do you think?

Jason crossed his arms, raising to his full height to try and cut a more intimidating figure. Dick’s eyes twinkled, and he could practically imagine Dick cooing at the posturing inside his own head.

“I’ve already told you both, the Pit got rid of all that.”

Dick looked him up and down. “Really? Why are you all the way over there, then?”

“Muscle memory.”

“Right, right. You know, you never have let us prove that theory of yours.”

Jason widened his stance as subtly as he could, preparing to run. “What would be the point of that?”

Dick bared his teeth, a facsimile of a friendly smile. Jason turned tail to bolt, but a body suddenly latched onto his back. Knocked off balance, Jason found himself tumbling face-first into the mountain of pillows and blankets. Seriously – why had Dick brought so many? He tossed the body off his back, hearing Tim’s laughter filled oof as he got swallowed by the plush pile as well. He barely managed to roll over in time to catch Dick’s hands as he dove towards Jason’s prone form.

“I think someone’s been lying,” Dick sing-songed, trying to twist his hands out of Jason’s grip

“I think you’re full of shit – let me up, Dick.”

Dick pulled out his most innocent expression. “But Little Wing – you’re the one holding onto me.”

“Yeah because you’re going to– be a jerk!”

Dick laughed, his own grip on Jason’s hands flexing. “Yeah? How am I gonna be a jerk?”

“I’m not falling for that.”

Dick shrugged. “Doesn’t change anything.”

Tim popped up from the bedding, hair sticking every which way from being mussed against the fabrics. “You do kinda deserve it.”

“Shut your trap, snotface.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “Rude.”

Jason pursed his lips, running through every escape plan in his mind. He was trapped in this comfy avalanche, sinking deeper with every struggle – even if Dick wasn’t hovering overtop him, it would take him way too long to crawl his way out. The second he let go of Dick’s hands to try and get away, he was a goner – Dick knew all his worst spots, and exactly how to target them. Dick was like a shark who smelled blood, there was almost no getting out of this now.

Unless he took Dick down first.

Jason tossed Dick’s hands to the sides as hard as he could. He heard Tim yelp and collapse back into the blankets to avoid a flying limb, but he figured the kid was fine – Robins had quick reflexes. Before Dick could recover, Jason dove his own hands toward Dick’s knees and thighs, squeezing away the moment he found muscle. Dick cried out, immediately bursting into cackles. After a few seconds, he wavered and collapsed sideways into the blanket pile next to Jason.

“Fucking jerk!”

Jason grinned. “Don’t forget Dickie – I’m bigger than you now.”

Despite laughing his head off and failing to squirm away from Jason’s hands, Dick still had that devious twinkle in his eyes. He fought to speak through his laughter, “You may be bigger, but we have numbers.”

“We–?”

For the second time in as many minutes, a small body barrelled into Jason’s back. Overbalancing, Jason was forced to take one hand off of Dick and plant it into the blankets to compensate for the new weight.

“I still don’t get why you had to throw me at him like a ragdoll the first time,” Tim piped up from behind him.

Dick twisted and contorted in ways only he could and suddenly Jason found himself swallowed by the blankets and cushions once more. Tim yelped and barely scrambled off in time to avoid getting crushed.

“You threw him?” Jason asked incredulously.

Dick shrugged. “Enrichment for baby birds. They love flying.”

Tim popped back up, his hair even worse than before. “That’s fair.”

While Jason was distracted by the absolute robin’s nest on Tim’s head, Dick lunged again. They entered into a grapple, one that Jason quickly lost at the unexpected flutter of Tim’s fingers in the crook of his neck. He yelped at an embarrassing pitch as one hand darted up to snatch the offending fingers.

“You are still ticklish!” Dick crowed.

“Liar!” Tim shouted at the same time.

Dick took full advantage of the moment of distraction, grabbing onto the wrist of Jason’s raised hand with both of his and pinning it in the pile of fluff. His torso wound up draped diagonally over Jason’s chest to do it, almost knocking the wind out of him.

“Get him!”

Small, precise fingers slipped under Jason’s leather jacket, scribbling against the hoodie underneath. It was thick enough to provide protection from the hesitant touch, but Jason still couldn’t stop the instinctive flinch from fingers just existing that close to his underarms.

“Fuck you!” He yelled, struggling under Dick’s weight. He had Jason’s arm well-pinned, he had far better leverage and the angle was awkward from the shifting of the blankets. Jason reached to pry the fingers away with his free arm, but Dick’s body blocked his arm from being able to reach.

“Harder, Timmy! He’s got layers–”

“I’m not fucking Shrek–”

“Are you sure?” Tim, that little snot.

“You’re such a fucking– No!”

Two hands delivered a series of nibbling pinches up and down Jason’s exposed side and ribs, the sensation cutting through his hoodie like it was nothing. He tossed his head back with laughter, hating how bubbly it sounded. His legs lurched up, bending at the knees.

“Wow,” Tim said over his laughter. “I didn’t know you could laugh and it actually sound happy.”

Dick chuckled. “You should’ve heard him when he was younger – all shrieky and giggly. I’m glad he didn’t grow out of it.”

“I’m right here, assholes!”

Dick clicked his tongue. “That you are, Jay. Are we not paying enough attention to you? Here, I’ll help.”

“Dick, no!”

Obviously, Dick did not listen. With Jason already growing weaker from the laughter and tickling, Dick could easily keep him pinned with just one hand. With his newly freed fingers, he reached down and clawed into Jason’s stomach. Jason shrieked, his legs lurching up again as he instinctively tried to curl around the weak point and was halted by Dick being in the way.

“Wow,” Tim said. “Dick really wasn’t joking, you are freakishly ticklish.”

Jason tried to bare his teeth. With how wide his smile was, he wasn’t sure the threat came across. “Not as ticklish as you.”

Tim only smirked at him. “Well, I’m not the one pinned down, am I?”

Little shit. Jason was absolutely going to get him later. And Dick, too.

“Might as well get revenge while I can, right?” Tim continued. “What’s that thing you like to do to me? Rib counting?”

Dick laughed again, leaning his weight more heavily on Jason’s torso. He took his own tickling fingers away, using that hand to try and shove Jason’s legs down instead.

“Diabolical, Baby Bird. Count away, I’ll try to keep our little pill-bug here from messing you up.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Tim’s voice was the epitome of innocence. “If he messes me up, it just means I have to start over again. I mean, that’s what you taught me, right, Jay?”

“I’m gonna kill you!”

Tim hummed. “Yeah, it pays to be thorough.”

Jason’s ribs were far from his most ticklish spot, but when Tim’s hands slipped underneath his hoodie, leaving him only with a threadbare t-shirt as his last layer of defense, Jason thought he was going to die. He always knew he was ticklish as all hell, but going without the feeling for so long, every sensation felt electric. He couldn’t even keep track of his own laughter, and he tried his damndest to tune out Tim’s count because he was not about to let his baby brother get the upper hand in teasing, too. 

The most infuriating part? The fact that he couldn’t stop the warm, melty feeling in his chest, hearing Tim giggle along or seeing Dick beaming down at him. He was the goddamned Red Hood. He should not be having this much fun in a one-sided tickle fight with his brothers – especially not on the losing side.

Jason’s legs jumped up again, and this time Jason put a little more control into it. He tried to ram his knees into Dick’s side – jostle him, knock him off Jason’s torso, or hell, even just annoy him. Jason didn’t care, so long as he landed a hit. Unfortunately, Dick’s free hand was still poised to ward off any attacks, shoving his legs away every time they got too close. When he finally slipped a knee past Dick’s defenses, he called out an affronted “hey” and reached out to grab the joint.

The squawking little yip that Jason let out as the joint was squeezed may have been the most embarrassing noise that he’d ever made in his life. Both Dick and Tim tumbled into laughter, pausing their attack.

“Let me go,” Jason demanded as he regained his breath. His voice didn’t quite carry the heat he had been looking for.

Dick turned to give him that creepy stare-down that made it feel like he was tearing Jason’s soul open to look inside. Satisfied with whatever he found, his mouth twisted back into his patented “tickle monster” smirk.

“I don’t think so, Little Wing. I mean, a few rounds of rib counting is hardly revenge.”

Jason started squirming and kicking, making a show out of trying to get away despite knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere. Dick gave him a few squeezes to the kneecap for the trouble, sending Jason into mortifying titters. 

“Where’s his tickle spot?” Tim asked eagerly, raising up on his knees to scan over Jason’s torso. “That’ll show him.”

Dick pressed his lips together on a smile. Apparently, laughing at Jason was fair game, but laughing at the adorable menace that was Tim Drake was not allowed.

“Dick—“

“I think it’s cheating to tell, Timmy.” Dick cut off Jason’s protest before he could even get started. Jason nearly let out a sigh of relief, but Dick wasn’t done. “I think you’re just gonna have to keep going until you find it.”

“What—“

Tim let out an evil laugh, far more menacing than any 15 year old had the right to be — let alone one that looked so much like a wet cat.

Too quickly for Jason to take advantage of, Dick raised off his body and slid into place behind his head. Jason tried to go for Tim with his newfound reach, but Dick snatched his wrist out of the air and easily pinned it down. After a brief struggle, Jason gave up and just laid there, staring at the ceiling.

“I hate you both.”

“Sure you do, Jay.”

Tim waddled up to Jason, wading through the blankets and pillows surrounding them on his knees. He hovered over Jason for a moment, uncertainty flashing through his eyes.

Aw, hell.

“Well, Timbo? Do your worst. I know you won’t find it.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, the uncertainty vanishing as Tim was confronted with a competition.

“Oh, yeah? And what if I do?”

Jason hummed, pretending to consider. “You might earn yourself a pizza.”

Tim lit up like a Christmas tree. His hands shot out to Jason’s ribs, provoking that bubbly laughter once more.

“Well, we already know it’s not here.”

“So why are you tickling there?!”

Dick laughed at them.

Tim stuck his tongue out at him. “‘Cause it’s funny.”

But he did move his hands, crawling them up into Jason’s armpits like two devious little spiders. Jason jolted, snorts intermingling with his laughter.

“Get out!”

Tim perked up. “Did I find it?”

“Sorry, Baby Bird,” Dick said. “Not just yet.”

Tim frowned and furrowed his brow — his thinking face looked uncannily like Bruce’s — and scanned Jason’s torso. His hands flitted down to Jason’s stomach and sides, his laughter dying down the slightest bit but thankfully not at giggles quite yet. The Red Hood did not giggle.

“Dick got you here, so it’s not here.”

Jason’s legs bounced up as he instinctively tried to curl around the hands. Tim took a page out of Dick’s book, squeezing Jason’s kneecap until it jumped out of his grasp.

“Or here, but you sound ridiculous right now.”

Jason tried to growl through his laughter, but Tim wasn’t exactly wrong. Jumping between the light laughter from his stomach and the high pitched tittering from his knees, Jason was making an absolute fool of himself. His only saving grace was that Bruce wasn’t home to witness it. He’d never live that down.

Tim gave Jason a break, lifting his hands to run them through his messy hair. “Am I completely off track, is it your feet or something?”

“Not. Telling.” 

Tim glared at Jason for a moment before flicking his eyes up to Dick’s, giving him that puppy-gaze. Jason looked up too, trying to burn holes through Dick’s skull with his eyes. Dick smirked, his eyes darting down to Jason’s torso and back up to Tim’s face again. Tim got that constipated look again, his own eyes darting back down to Jason’s abdomen.

“But—?”

Then Tim made The Face. The same face he made when he’d solved a tough case that he’d been working for a while. The wide eyes, the slightly parted lips, as if he was surprised at his own success, the relaxing of his ever-scrunched-up eyebrows. A jolt of giddy panic sparked up Jason’s chest.

“You already lost,” he said quickly. “You asked Dick for help. You cheated.”

Tim met his eyes. “Well then, I guess I have nothing else to lose.”

Giving Jason no time to prepare, Tim started squeezing away at Jason’s hips. It wasn’t as bad as his memories of Bruce or Dick attacking him, but they’d had the benefit of practice. A lot of practice. As it was, it still tickled like hell. Jason’s mind went blank as he practically screamed out cackles. He tried to curl himself into a ball again, and this time, his brothers let him. Dick released his arms and Tim let his legs shoot up, and Jason curled himself into the tightest ball that he could around all the bulky muscle he had now.

That didn’t mean Tim had stopped tickling though. No, even as Jason rolled onto his side in a feeble defense, Tim just targeted both hands on the hip that was still accessible.

“Aw, little pill-bug Jay is alive and well,” Dick cooed.

I’ll kill you here and now, Jason wanted to say. Unfortunately, all his breath was currently being directed to support his laughter. Thankfully, Dick only let Tim go on for a couple more minutes before pulling him back, leaving Jason to heave in breaths as he recovered.

“Next time,” Dick stage-whispered. “I’ll show you how ticklish his back is.”

“Next time,” Jason grumbled. “I’ll cut off your damn hands.”

Tim snorted. Dick patted him on the back. 

“Sure you will, buddy.”

“So,” Tim said, drawing out the word, “since you’re so tired from that and all – maybe you wanna get pizza instead of cooking?”

Jason took a deep breath before heaving himself up to a sitting position, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Nope.”

Tim groaned as well, flopping back into the mess they made of Dick’s pile of bedding.

Shaking off the last of the ghost tickles, Jason gave Dick a heated glare as he pushed himself to his feet. Dick blinked back innocently. His brothers were such goddamned liars.

“I already bought the ingredients,” Jason said. “I’m cooking and you’re going to like it.”

Tim levelled him with a challenging look. “And what if I don’t.”

“Then you’ll suck it up and eat it anyway.”

Jason tromped out of the room, heading back toward the kitchen. Dick and Tim could handle the den setup without him – they were much pickier about blanket nests than he was. Where Jason would just slap together a blanket fort with some kitchen chairs and sheets, Tim preferred to engineer a structurally sound blanket castle when he had the chance. Leaving Tim with free reign of the den furniture and half the Manor’s worth of bedding to accomplish this task gave Jason more than enough time to finish up dinner with the prep he’d done earlier that day.

Seeing Tim’s face light up as Jason personally delivered his monstrosity of a pizza order, made from scratch, almost made the whole meaningless argument that led to his torture worth it. 

Almost.

Dick and Tim weren’t going to escape from his revenge that easily.

[hiddenincommand]

FIELD MANUAL ENTRY

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

MODULE: SUB MODULE I – OBEDIENCE FOUNDATION

CATEGORY: 1. VERBAL SUBMISSION DRILLS – Yes, Sir. No, Sir.

PROTOCOL ID: OF-01-VB

ENTRY NUMBER: 0002

ISSUED BY: S.C.D.D.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

TACTICAL SUMMARY:

The Verbal Submission Drill establishes total linguistic obedience by enforcing a binary response system. Through the ritual repetition of “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir,” the subject’s speech is stripped of personality and transformed into pure compliance. This protocol eliminates informal speech, autonomy, and inner hesitation. Every utterance becomes a tool of surrender—clear, sharp, controlled. The voice no longer belongs to the subject; it is leased, weaponised, and returned only in acknowledgment of command.

BREAKDOWN:

I. APPROVED RESPONSES – BINARY SUBMISSION LEXICON

Only two phrases are permitted during this drill:

• “Yes, Sir.”

• “No, Sir.”

They must be spoken immediately, with unwavering clarity. The tone must be neutral but firm—no emotion, no softness, no question inflection.

Violations: delays, murmurs, inflections, added words.

Immediate correction: enforced repetition until uniformity is achieved.

Subjects must remain in eye-down posture throughout unless explicitly told otherwise.

II. REPETITIVE CONDITIONING – 100-PHRASE RESPONSE DRILL

The subject is placed in kneeling or standing attention posture. The officer issues binary-format questions at a steady pace. Examples:

• “Have you earned your silence today?”

– “No, Sir.”

• “Should you be speaking without permission?”

– “No, Sir.”

• “Will you obey when corrected?”

– “Yes, Sir.”

100 iterations per session. No breaks. One mistake resets the count.

III. POSTURE AND VOCAL DISCIPLINE

Physical compliance enhances vocal submission:

• Posture: back straight, hands flat on thighs or locked behind back

• Voice: directed forward, volume clear but not shouting

• Gaze: downward at a fixed point

Any vocal hesitation, sideways glance, or deviation in breathing rhythm is grounds for disciplinary pause.

COMMAND DRILL:

Officer: “Are you in control?”

Subject: “No, Sir.”

Officer: “Is hesitation acceptable?”

Subject: “No, Sir.”

Officer: “Will you respond without thought?”

Subject: “Yes, Sir.”

Repeat until no deviation is present. Voice becomes automatic. Identity dissolves.

CLOSING MAXIM:

Obedience begins where language ends.

[xomarzz]

vital signs

~2.2k words, premed!zayne x black!fem!premed!reader, college au, fluff, SLOW burn, smut, semi-proofread, oral (f receiving), soft & slow sex, a little dirty talk, wouldn’t be me without yearning, micro-aggression mentions if you squint, black reader intended, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, i WILL block you!!

a/n: just graduated college & also prepping to apply to medical school so this was kind of just self indulgent, i love this one though :)

entry 1: initial observations

date: week 1

course: anatomy & physiology

you were late. first day of spring semester, anatomy and physiology, and your phone’s gps led you in a circle twice before you stumbled into the lecture hall, breathless and sweating out your edge control. eyes turned as you entered the room, the only seat left was beside someone with impossibly straight posture, dark clothes pressed so clean you could see your reflection in those buttons.

you dropped into the chair, whispering a quick “hi.”

no reply, just the sound of his pen gliding over a yellow legal pad with perfect precision as he stared intensely at the lecture.

you snuck a glance. sharp jawline, lips pressed into a line, brows so still they looked sculpted, like expression never bothered to land there. he looked like he woke up every morning already two hours ahead of the world.

oh, one of those, you thought. probably thinks i’m not serious..now being in your junior year of undergrad, you’ve had your fair share of “gunner” pre-med students at this point, nothing a surprise anymore.

you sat a little taller anyway. matching energy.

notes:

he probably thinks i’m not serious.

(so now i have to be.)

entry 2: contact under sterile conditions date: week 4 — dissection module

course: a & p

weeks passed, you weren’t surprised when no one wanted to partner with zayne for the dissection module. his vibe was… clinical. unapproachable. maybe even intimidating.

you volunteered, not to prove a point, okay, maybe a little.

he didn’t look at you when you suited up beside him, just handed you gloves. “try not to cut too deep,” he murmured, tone cool, eyes on the cadaver like it was a puzzle to be solved.

when your scalpel hesitated mid-air, his hand moved to yours, steady, gloved, and warm through the latex. he didn’t take over. just guided, a subtle nudge of reassurance rather than correction.

his voice, usually so clipped, dropped just enough to feel different. “you’ve got a steady hand, don’t overthink it.”

a compliment?

your brain lagged for a second. you glanced at him, expecting that same blank focus, but for the first time, his face shifted. barley, but enough for you to notice.

notes:caught him looking longer than necessary :p

still expressionless but not unreadable.almost like curiosity.

conclusion:hand contact counts as data.so does the way he said don’t overthink it.

(too late.)

entry 3: passive proximity

date: mid-semester

location: third floor library, table by the window

you started sitting across from him at the library, not intentionally at first, then, maybe a little intentionally.

he never said no. never said much at all. but he always shifted his laptop slightly, making space for you. you’d eventually find your pens migrated into his space, your outlines somehow shared, annotated in his unmistakably neat print.

notes:i never asked to share notes.he never asked to stop.

it’s the quietest collaboration i’ve ever had.

entry 4: study buddies

date: week 8 — post study group

location: study room 4C

a study group was your idea. you liked how people bounced off each other, how information got clarified when it had to be said out loud. zayne stayed behind after everyone else left.

you were packing your notes when you heard him say, “you explain glycolysis like you’ve lived it.”

you turned, caught off-guard. “is that a compliment or…?”

he looked directly at you, that cool mask still firmly in place. “it means i remember it when you say it. that’s not normal for me.”

your breath caught in your throat. you smiled, soft and genuine, pushing your prescription glasses up to your face. he looked down, and for once, you thought he might be the nervous one.

notes:he remembers what i say.even when he says nothing at all.

that was definitely a compliment ;)

entry 5: fieldwork — collaboration

daye: week 10 — student clinic volunteering

location: pediatric wing, room 3

the student clinic had its own kind of quiet chaos, sick kids, anxious parents, paperwork piling up while the waiting room buzzed low and tense. but you liked it. it made everything you were working toward feel tangible, grounded.

you’d heard rumors that zayne had been volunteering here for months before classes even started, quietly showing up early, staying late, always just… there. you never asked why.

the boy in room 3 was maybe six, trembling as he tucked himself behind his mother’s legs. you crouched down, voice soft and steady, explaining the procedure in the gentlest way you knew how. but he only clung tighter, eyes wide with fear.

zayne stepped in, wordless at first, kneeling beside you.

“she’s very good,” he said quietly, addressing the boy. “she helped me when i didn’t know what i was doing, you can trust her.”

you turned toward him, surprised by how calm his voice sounded, not cold, just certain. something fluttered in your chest. you’d never seen him vouch for anyone, yet here he was, offering his credibility like it cost him nothing.

like trusting you was the most obvious choice in the world.

notes: subject’s trust is not given lightly.trusting me felt obvious to him. coldness thawing under microscope <3

entry 6: unexpected shelter

date: week 12 — post-clinic

location: campus walkway, outside dorm

it poured the second you stepped outside. your hoodie adorning the school’s logo was no match for it. you were about to bolt when an umbrella opened over your head. zayne stood beside you, holding it without a word.

he didn’t offer his arm, didn’t make small talk, just walked beside you, perfectly poised, sharing the umbrella like it was a contract.

at your door, you turned to say thanks. but your words caught in your throat. rain clung to his lashes. his eyes dipped to your lips for a breath of a second. then he was gone.

and you were left wondering if you’d imagined it.

entry 7: behavioral assessment— mock interview

date: week 14

location: reserved study room

you’d spent hours preparing for this, rehearsing answers, perfecting your tone, making sure your confidence felt real and unshakable.

today, you wore your best blazer, the one that made you feel like you could take on the world. across the table, zayne sat composed, unreadable as ever, his eyes sharp and focused. not a hint of a smile, not a single blink to give you away, but beneath the surface, something quietly stirred. his foot tapped just once, twice, barely noticeable, like he was keeping a secret locked inside.

afterwards, you laughed as you stepped out the door. “so? did i pass your standard of cold professionalism?”

he tilted his head, eyes steady. “you’ll get into medical school before i do.”

you stopped in your tracks. “jealous?”you replied teasingly, poling your lip out as you spoke.

he side-eyed you, looking at you like the word was foreign. “i don’t usually admire people.” he replied courtly before speeding up his walk, leaving you to chase after him.

notes :

cold professionalism + light teasing = suspiciously warm vibes.

“i don’t usually admire people” = code for “i’m secretly impressed, don’t tell anyone.”

entry 8: stairwell breakdown

date: tuesday before finals

location: stairwell outside lecture hall

it all came crashing down the tuesday before finals. you found yourself slumped on the cold stairwell, shoulders trembling, not from the chill, but from the weight pressing down inside your chest. the flashcards in your hands blurred into indecipherable shapes, words slipping through your tired mind like water through fingers. doubt gnawed relentlessly at you, maybe you’re not cut out for this. maybe everyone else belongs here more than you do. the exhaustion wasn’t just physical anymore, it was the heavy, suffocating ache of feeling like an outsider follwing your own dream.

footsteps approached, you didn’t look up, but then a protein bar appeared in your lap, and a blonde espresso caramel macchiato was placed beside you.

zayne sat beside you without a word. your breathing slowed, anchored by his quiet presence.

you finally exhaled, the words slipping out like something you’d been holding in for too long. “i don’t think i’m good enough for this.”

he turned to you then, something gentler in his eyes, barely visible, but there.

“you’re one of the best,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “the rest of us are just trying to keep up. including me.”

your heart clenched. you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until that moment how much of yourself had been tied up in proving something you were already becoming.

you sniffed, managing a weak laugh as you nudged his shoulder with yours. “bruh, you’re literally top of every class.”

he gave a small shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching, almost a smile. “doesn’t mean i’m not chasing you.”

entry 9: confession protocol

date: last day of semester

location: a&p lab

it was the final lab, leaving just you and zayne finishing clean-up. the air between you felt too charged to ignore.

you were hanging up your lab coat when you heard him say it, quiet, controlled, like every word was chosen.

“i’m not good at this.”

you turned. “at what?”

his eyes met yours. unflinching. vulnerable.

“at pretending i don’t think about you all the time.”

your breath hitched. everything you’d suppressed all semester while focusing on classes rose to the surface like steam from an open wound.

say something, say anything, you thought.

all you did was step closer.

entry 10: final

date: last day of semester

location: a&p lab

you reached for his hand first, trembling. zayne met you halfway. his palm was cold, steady, reverent.

he pulled you in with slow gravity, like he’d been holding back the entire semester. you leaned in. so did he.

when your lips met, it wasn’t desperate, it was inevitable.

and for the first time, he let the softness show. just for you.

it started with that kiss that tasted like everything you’d held back.

zayne’s hands were steady as always, but something in them had shifted, urgency pulsing just beneath the surface. the lab had been cleaned, the lights off. it was supposed to be over. but the way he looked at you made it clear something unfinished remained between you.

he kissed you like he’d been memorizing the thought of it for weeks. polished hands slid along your jaw, holding you still not possessive, but deliberate. his thumb brushed your cheekbone like you were fragile. you weren’t, and you both knew that, but the softness made your knees weaken all the same.

when he pulled back, his voice was low, controlled. but rough around the edges.

“tell me if you want me to stop.”

you didn’t. you couldn’t. you only nodded.

zayne guided you backwards carefully, always carefully, until you bumped into the edge of a table. he didn’t rush. his fingertips skimmed your hips like he was reading anatomy again, like every curve had to be relearned under his hands. his lips followed, tracing your neck with patient admiration.

you breathed out, voice barely a whisper. “do you always take this long?”

a faint smile attached to your hip. his hands tightened just enough to make your breath catch and make you let out a small moan.

“i don’t rush what i care about.”

the air between you tightened. clothes fell away in slow layers, peeled back like secrets. every time his fingers touched bare skin, it felt like a vow, silent and absolute. he never fumbled. every motion had purpose. every kiss landed like it was meant to stay.

and when his mouth moved lower down your chest, across your stomach you felt it in the ache in your cunt. he kissed like he was studying you. still obsessed with knowing everything beneath the surface.

“look at me,” he said, voice like silk over heat.

the moment his tongue touched you, your body arched in response. he held your thighs firm, anchoring you while he worshiped you with precision. no hesitation, no wasted movement. just slow, focused attention like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

you came on his face feeling your entire body melting, his name breaking from your lips before you could stop it. he covered your mouth as he worked you down from your high. zayne rose, kissing you again, tasting your own juices against his tongue.

“you—” you tried to speak, dazed. “you’re not what i expected.”

his eyes locked on yours, dark with everything he hadn’t said.

“i’m exactly what i want to be. for you.” he stated, removing his erection from the neatly tailored pants.

he entered you slow, controlled, deep, reverent. and stayed close, forehead resting against yours as your bodies found rhythm. each thrust was deliberate, more emotional than physical. not fast, not rough, just intense.

your clung to him as he murmured things you barely caught. “so beautiful.” “been dreaming of this.” “mine.”

when you came again, eyes rolling back, he followed, shuddering against you as he pulled out with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender.

you laid there after, hearts syncing in the dark of the lab. zayne brushed damp curls from your forehead. for once, his voice held no chill. just quiet awe.

“you undo me.”

you smiled, eyes heavy, heart full.

“good.”

~gg ♡

[nowimjustastranger]

What is this, a crossover follow-up?

You know it! Thank fuck Part 2 is finally done, it was fighting me this whole time and I finally managed to wrangle it into submission lol.

Art by @tearosepedall

Part 1

“You’re going to have to remove a few layers if I’m to administer proper medical attention.” Ford grunted, scanning Jerk Ford to keep an eye on his surprisingly stable vitals. They were just now starting to dip into potentially life-threatening territory, which was impressive considering that Jerk Ford had been riddled with holes for at least an hour.

“Only if you take off your helmet." Jerk Ford retorted, his words at odds with how he moved to dutifully hold his hoodie and undershirts up so Ford could scrutinize his wounds unhindered.

“No.” Ford snapped without conscious thought, a knee-jerk denial to such vulnerability. Taking off the helmet would remove his prescience from the equation and tip the scales in Jerk Ford’s favor. He couldn’t afford to give Jerk Ford any advantage or he might take control of the situation.

"You're asking me to strip in the middle of a grimy alleyway, the least you could do is take the damn bucket off. We have the same face for fuck’s sake." Jerk Ford scowled, his grip on the bunched up fabric of his layers tightening. His nails were brittle, indicating an underlying health problem beyond his current injuries.

Ford grimaced, acknowledging that Jerk Ford had a point. And, for the sake of keeping things somewhat amicable, he supposed that it was a small price to pay. Besides, he still outmatched Jerk Ford in terms of both speed and strength. If his counterpart tried anything, he was confident that he could handle it.

Ford reached under his jaw, fingers finding the metal side release buckle and unclipping it with a firm press on either side. The thin, needle-like probe plugged into the port embedded in the back of his head slid out and folded away into a hidden compartment before he hesitantly dragged his helmet off. He squinted at the sudden wave of sensory input, no longer filtered by the helmet.

"Huh, interesting. That a prescription helmet? Or did you bite the bullet and get some Space LASIK?" Jerk Ford huffed, sharp eyes roaming over his face as if committing it to memory; or perhaps searching for something. Either way, Ford felt exposed under his piercing gaze.

“I had eye surgery to enhance my vision.” Ford mumbled, oddly self-conscious about his voice now that he didn’t have the built-in voice modulator to mask certain emotions. It was easier to talk to people when they didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling. Of course, that’s not to say his composure wasn’t immaculate, but it was hard to hide from himself.

Jerk Ford nodded, his eyes drifting to the mouth of the alley as he let go of the cloth clenched in his hands in favor of dragging his hoodie up and off, closely followed by his undershirt and thermal shirt. He carelessly draped all three items over one of his arms to keep them off the ground but out of the way, his free hand adjusting his glasses since they had been knocked askew as he stripped.

The first thing that Ford noticed was how thin he was, his ribs visible under sickly pale skin. The brittle fingernails, the almost grayish cast to his complexion, the dark circles under his eyes, and the sheer amount of layers he wore on a pleasantly warm day had Ford suspecting that he was anemic on top of being malnourished. Ford contemplated giving Jerk Ford one of the snacks he kept stashed on his person before they parted ways, though he doubted it would be well received.

"How did you end up in the multiverse?” Ford asked, shedding both his gloves and trench coat to maybe help the other man feel less uncomfortable by further baring himself. His arms were covered in extensive scarring from blades and burns and bullets, though Jerk Ford didn’t give them more than a passing glance, far more interested in his face for some reason.

Ford rummaged through the pouches on his utility belt, retrieving a serum to kick-start the healing process and a second one that would help his body replenish the lost blood faster. Ford instinctively pressed a warm palm to Jerk Ford’s side as he stuck the first needle into the bullet wound, administering an equal amount into each hole in Jerk Ford’s torso before waiting for them to start steadily closing to make sure he didn’t need another dose.

"Bill possessed me and tried to start the portal, but my brother came downstairs to stop him. There was a fight." Jerk Ford recounted, mouth twisting as his eyes got distant, staring at nothing in particular when his attention turned inward. "Bill pinned him against a control panel and burned him, and he kicked us back as a knee-jerk reaction."

“I see.” Ford said in a carefully neutral tone, processing the freely offered information as his gaze swept over each injury to ensure that the damage was repaired, leaving sensitive pink skin where gaping wounds used to be.

"Knowing him, he still feels guilty about it, all these years later.” Jerk Ford sighed, blinking a few times as he returned to the present when one of Ford’s hands cupped his forearm, the other using two fingers to prod Jerk Ford’s inner elbow to search for a vein.

"If he hadn't kicked you into the portal, Bill would have made you kill him.” Ford stated, uncapping the second syringe to ease the needle into the vein that seemed most promising.

"I can hardly tell him that from this side, dumbass.” Jerk Ford scoffed, watching Ford slowly press the plunger so the iridescent liquid could enter his bloodstream. A beneficial side effect of the serum was that Jerk Ford would be warmed from the inside until the serum was fully converted into red and white blood cells, which would ease the complications that came with being anemic.

"Do you miss him? Your brother?” Ford asked, tucking the emptied syringe into the same pouch that held the first one before stepping back. Jerk Ford took that as his cue to shrug back into his undershirt and trademark hoodie, Ford himself pulling his trench coat and gloves back on.

"What a stupid question, of course I do. Every fucking day." Jerk Ford declared in such a casual tone that Ford paused, his brows furrowing as he scrutinized this strangely open variation of himself. He’d said those words like it was a simple fact, like it was expected and shouldn’t be surprising to hear in the least. "Most of the Fordverse does, but you know that pride and ego get in the way of admitting it.”

“You’re very self-aware for a Ford.” Ford remarked, tone cautious. He was used to navigating a minefield of bitterness and excessive anger –or even outright violence on occasion– when he brought up a Ford’s variation of Stanley; this was jarringly different from the usual routine of arguing with a man who would rather commit suicide desperately trying to kill a cosmic god then admit that they missed their brother.

"We all have the ability to be. But for a lot of us, we're too stubborn. The sin of pride hangs over my head as it does any other version of us; the only real difference is that my ego is not the most important thing in the multiverse to me." Jerk Ford said with an indifferent shrug, bracing a hand on the wall to push himself up straight, looking pleasantly surprised when he found that his legs held his weight.

“What is the most important thing to you then?” Ford asked, intrigued by this strange version of himself who’s brutal honesty came off as jerkish and abrasive. Ford has met all kinds of Fords from every stage of life; but this Ford, this so-called Jerk Ford, was the first one he had met that he didn’t actively want to maim.

"Going home. It's been a long time, but I know there's at least one person who is still waiting for me." Jerk Ford admitted, brushing himself off. He was avoiding eye contact and his posture indicated that he felt awkward, all signs that pointed toward Jerk Ford making himself look occupied on purpose. It was a common tactic used among Fords when the matter of feelings came up.

“And what of Bill Cipher?” Ford prompted with a grimace. Uttering the name made his mouth feel numb even now, all these years later. The chill that crawled down his spine was expected, as was the sudden flare-up of his rampant paranoia. Suddenly, he wanted the helmet back on more than anything, wanted the comfort of his technology.

"What about him? He's probably being a total bitch to someone else right now." Jerk scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. Ford was momentarily stunned by how… unaffected by the topic of Bill Jerk Ford was, as if Bill didn’t have the same hold on him as the demon did other Fords. “If I wanted him on my mind 24/7, I wouldn't have bothered with a metal plate."

“You’re not concerned that he might seek revenge against you and your family?” Ford asked, his voice harder than he’d intended. Jerk Ford’s eyes cut to him, staring with an intensity that made Ford posture on instinct.

"I can either go back to my dimension and seal it against him because I'm the only one from my Earth who knows his weaknesses. Or, I can die in a suicide mission against him, and no one seals it. It's not a hard choice. I'm not some hero trying to take on some omniscient triangle who's mad at being told ‘no’." Jerk Ford bit out, crossing his arms.

“And the destruction and pain he will cause because you didn’t destroy him?” Ford seethed, hands curling into fists. Jerk Ford’s narrowed eyes briefly darted down to them, something flickering underneath the defensive anger before it was swiftly buried again. “Do you often let others suffer the consequences of your mistakes because you can’t be bothered to fix them?”

"First you want to know about my relationship with my twin, and now you're getting on my case about Bill Cipher?” Jerk Ford retorted, bracing himself in a manner that signalled that he was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “If you're so concerned, why don't you go around eradicating that isosceles bastard and all of his alternates? Is it because you're too busy committing the most elaborate method of self-harming possible?"

“You can’t just go home and pretend he doesn't exist and that he doesn't have a personal vendetta against you!” Ford snarled, closing the gap between them with an abrupt burst of movement, slamming his counterpart up against the wall. Jerk Ford’s annoyed expression finally cracked, revealing the unmistakable wariness beneath. “He will destroy everything you care about and everyone you love, saving you for last. And if you’re lucky he’ll just kill you and be done with it.”

"I don't think this is really about me right now." Jerk Ford said slowly, one of his hands tentatively moving to Ford’s wrist. His fingers curled around the sliver of skin beneath his sleeve, gently squeezing, and Ford’s entire body hummed with the cautious contact. "Look at me, I can't even fight you. If I tried to take Cipher head-on, it's going to end with me dead, Cipher alive, and my dimension unsealed. It's my fault, I'm not going to lie about that, just like most versions of us I did this. But if I'm gonna fix it, I can't do it from out here."

“I–” Ford cut himself off with a shuddering breath, his grip on Jerk Ford’s hoodie loosening. The red film over his vision slinked back into the bowels of his mind, leaving Ford staring at his counterpart, towering over Jerk Ford’s slightly shorter frame menacingly. “I… can see where you’re coming from. The best offense is a good defense, as it were. Play to your strengths.”

Ford let go of Jerk Ford’s hoodie. Stepped back.

“That’s all we can do, out here.” Jerk Ford murmured, his lax hold lingering, a welcome warmth against Ford’s skin. He breathed in deep, holding for a few moments, before exhaling slowly. Ford’s insides were jittery, but the contact grounded him to the here and now. He wondered how Jerk Ford had figured it out, or if he had simply made an educated guess and hoped for the best.

"You never did say why you hounded me. Any version of us would be down for a philosophy chat if that’s what you were looking for. You're not after a bounty. And the Hate Club has a policy of shooting someone dead if they 'sympathize' with me.” Jerk Ford changed the subject with surprising tact, finally relinquishing his loose grip. Ford watched his counterpart’s arm fall limp at his side, a part of him mourning the loss.

"I wasn't after your bounty specifically, no. Though you were brought to my attention due to a wanted poster.” Ford hummed, taking the out that was freely offered with no small amount of relief. "I was mainly concerned for your brother, so I figured I would evaluate your character to determine whether or not you were as bad as your hate club claims.”

"Oh no, I'm definitely as bad as they say. Except to my brother. You won't believe me when I say this, but he is literally the only person in this whole multiverse that I've never been mean to. It's not like they ever believed that… or bothered to ask.” Jerk Ford snorted, something akin to bitterness in his tone. Ford really couldn’t blame him, not when the vast majority of their variants were insufferable.

"So long as you're an adequate brother to Stan, I could care less if you're good or bad.” Ford grunted, striding over to where he had discarded his helmet in his rage, scooping it up and wiping the grime off the otherwise unblemished surface with the sleeve of his trench coat.

“Why do you care at all?” Jerk Ford asked, his voice closer than Ford expected. Ford turned to confirm that, yes, Jerk Ford had trailed after him. Ford had been one wrong word from inflicting bodily harm no more than a minute ago and his intended victim wasn’t running for the hills. How peculiar. “Don’t you have your own brother to look after?”

“My brother…" Ford pauses, a lump forming in his throat. He swiftly donned the helmet to hide behind carbon fiber, fiberglass, and expanded polypropylene. He swallowed thickly, mouth twisted with grief and guilt. When he tried again, his voice was monotone after being filtered through the built-in modulator. "My original brother. He's– well. I haven't seen him in decades.”

"Like the rest of us?" Jerk Ford drawled, raising a brow.

“I'm just one of the many Fords who didn't realize the damage they were doing until it was far too late." Ford said blandly, head ducking a bit so he could stare down at his hands. Being destined for greatness meant very little when it had cost him half his soul, a price that Ford realized was far too steep far too late. "I have no one to blame but myself for what happened.”

“Hm.” Jerk Ford hummed, his expression giving nothing away. Ford had no idea what he could be thinking, it was… unsettling. Ford would analyze his counterpart to figure it out, but he didn’t actually want to know what the other man thought of him now that his inadequacy was made so glaringly obvious.

“No scathing comment? From what I’ve been able to gather about your character thus far, it’s unlike you.” Ford huffed, attempting to make light of the situation, but it fell horribly flat. Stans excelled in this area, but Ford had never seemed to get the hang of coping with humor no matter how much time he spent around variations of his brother.

"Look, I've been called a lot of things; a jerk, an asshole, a jackass, a bitch–and all of those things are true.” Jerk Ford stressed, his brows furrowed. He almost looked offended by the implication that he would be that cruel, and his next words confirmed it: “But I'm not a monster.”

“No, you’re not.” Ford agreed, his attention drawn away from his counterpart when his proximity sensor chirped at him. Ford’s eyes flicked to the icon, selecting it with a blink. Movement at the mouth of the alley, steadily making its way closer. The dot was moving slowly, indicating cautiousness. There was a high probability that whoever was approaching was one of Jerk Ford’s allies, over 70%.

"I did have to sink that low once. Once. It was to save my life, but I still wish I didn't have to.” Jerk Ford continued, as if he couldn’t stop himself, like he was trying to convince Ford –or perhaps himself– that whatever he had done didn’t make him scum. Once upon a time Ford would’ve been able to relate, but now there were only a handful of lines that he would not cross.

"We all do things we're not proud of to survive. I would never hold that against you, doing so would make me a hypocrite.” Ford offered, multitasking between keeping track of the dot and presenting his own opinion on the matter. He could tell that his words settled Jerk Ford a bit, easing a deep-rooted doubt that no amount of empty words could soothe.

“Psst! Jerk!” A familiar voice carried through the quiet alley, Ford turning to get eyes on the colorful man that was crouched behind a dumpster nearby. The Anti-Ford’s gaze kept straying from Jerk Ford, anxiously checking to see if Ford had moved. “Dude, let’s get out of here before… he tries anything. S is waiting around the corner for us.”

Jerk Ford heaved a sigh and shuffled forward, bypassing Ford to reach his ally, who lurched to his feet in order to meet him. Quite brave of the Anti-Ford considering he was clearly terrified, all but dragging Jerk Ford back the way that Anti-Ford had come. The Anti Ford was whispering a mile a minute, continuously looking behind them like he expected to see Ford rushing at them.

However, Jerk Ford only looked back a moment before the pair turned the corner to meet up with this mysterious ‘S’ figure that the Anti-Ford had mentioned, his expression once again unreadable.