#I just have a knee-jerk reaction to it as a default expectation

[batrogers]

Linked Universe Time with PTSD

My friends have gotten the brunt of me going on these rambles at them directly, so I decided I’d make this everyone else’s problem as well. Especially after the recent update and the somewhat... questionable words exchanged between him and Twilight, I figured this could be a salve for people like me and a few friends going “What the fuck” about how out of the blue it feels.

A comment on my approach to canon: I am aware there are things shared in the Discord that are creator content, and on the Patreon to which not everyone has equal access or can even manage to relocate again with any ease. As such, like I do with most fandoms, I will be discounting those as “extra-canon” only referenced to augment the “core materials” which I am treating as the Tumblr account archive, because that is available to everyone, without an account and without paying.

I am, of course, including all base canon of the games in this analysis as well, which is to say all the canon directly included in the games and not including the Ocarina of Time or Twilight Princess comics. Interviews and so on are considered "extra-canon" here as well.

(Also I am in the Patreon and at the moment none of the “bonus” content is relevant to this anyways, for the curious. I am not, and have never been, in the Discord.)

Approx 1500 words.

IIII

I’m going to start from the comment everyone is making about this update: that Malon must be pregnant. Obviously nothing can prove or disprove that in and of itself, but I would argue that’s both not a necessary read of this and the mere question is actually part of my analysis: Link and Malon are, by word of god and how they’re drawn, in their thirties. They’ve been a couple since they were late teens to early twenties, and they very clearly want to have children from how they react to Twilight!

So why don’t they?

Infertility is suspected after two years of a (presumably) reproductive capable couple having unprotected sex without a pregnancy. If Time and Malon have been trying for ten to twenty years to have children (assuming their relationship started between 15-20, and currently are 30-35), they are incredibly infertile. It’s not out of the question, and a wild stroke of luck could still occur (my own cousin conceived unexpectedly after ten years of trying) but it does serve to investigate other reasons: maybe they had some reason they weren’t trying, either on purpose or because something was keeping them apart.

Something, perhaps, like a war.

The base game of Ocarina of Time does not leave Hyrule in a good state. We are told, in-game, that Hyrule was in a civil war when Link was a baby. His mother died getting him into the Lost Woods, where he was raised as an orphan. The Shadow Temple explicitly states it was used to imprison (and, strongly implied, torture) the enemies of the Hylian royal family. Ocarina of Time is the only game to use its unique script for Hylian, which suggests it wasn’t the original language and did not last into Twilight Princess later on.

Lon Lon Ranch itself is both very protected by location (very close to the Castle, close enough it supplies it with food and other supplies) and by a twelve foot log palisade. The castle grounds themselves have two guarded gates between it and Castletown (do they not trust their own populace?) and a vast number of guards on the hills around it. Kakariko also has guarded, gated entrances.

(This all has a game mechanics explanation, of course. Closing off each section with “gates” and high walls permits loading screens to feel justified and more immersive, and saves game data and space. It creates clearly defined, restricted areas for the console capabilities at the time. But they can still be interpreted this way, because that is ultimately still the world they built in the end.)

In addition to that base of implied precarious stability at home, we have the question of how the matter of Ganondorf was resolved. Time very briefly references pointing the finger at him and causing something to happen, but ultimately there is no result that would not have made the situation politically volatile for some time after. Even if they executed Ganondorf immediately, the bad blood between Hyrule and the Gerudo would’ve festered under Koume and Kotake as potential leaders. If they didn’t, and simply threw him out or banished him, the same would apply this time with Ganondorf still alive... and, if we assume that the Twilight Princess Ganondorf and this one are the same, he looks much older in-model than he does in Ocarian of Time which suggests this interpretation holds more weight.

It’s not really a question of “if” things devolved again after these events, but when and how badly. Remember, again, my comment that the script of Ocarina of Time is gone by the time of Twilight Princess. In addition, I've done an analysis of Twilight Princess game implications that do not imply Child Timeline has been peaceful, either.

But, of course, the question of what the games themselves leave us with doesn’t answer if Jojo went with this position within the canon of the comics. There is of course the potential to disregard this if someone doesn’t want to go the route of war post-game for Ocarina of Time. Many people just don’t want to write it, and that’s valid! I honestly don’t think Jojo really considered it.

But, there is evidence that could support it if you wanted to go there.

First of all, we have Time’s platemail. This is based off of the Hero’s Shade platemail in Twilight Princess. Disregarding all other factors, platemail directly implies a few things about Time’s social position at the start of Linked Universe: he has enough money, influence, and reason to have suffered the cost and length of time required to make what is extremely high-level, personalized (in size and design) armour. This means several things:

Time has social status. That armour is meant to be seen and noticed; it’s something that either was made for show (a “jewel of the crown” level of regard), or because he wanted people to notice it personally. He has money, or political favour: that shit’s expensive. He either paid for it himself, or someone paid for it for him. And he has cause to want the level of defense offered by platemail over chainmail or hardened leather. Platemail is uncomfortable. It's heavy, and reduces agility. You wear plate because you expect to get hit, and hit hard by something that could surpass chainmail or hardened leather. Something like a moblin... or an iron knuckle.

Malon directly references this in their visit to see her: “You’re in danger if you took your best gear.”

Time chose to wear his platemail to go after Dink, but this is armour he already owns before Dink ever entered the picture. In that same chapter, Malon directly states “all the times you’ve come home beaten and bleeding.” While they also joke that Talon doesn’t believe him, remember that Lon Lon Ranch is in a very protected place within Hyrule. A war that takes out the castle and central city is a war that’s very nearly lost. (Hyrule Warriors losing Zelda AND the castle was a devastating, near-lose condition and his Hyrule is probably in severe condition.) Talon can afford to consider the affairs Time gets up to none of his business.

But that doesn’t make them perfectly safe. Malon can fight, she’s been drawn with bow and arrow before. Lon Lon Ranch, as noted, is behind a tall palisade and there’s the implications that Talon’s deceased wife might’ve been a Gerudo. He’s also old enough that he was a young adult at least during the Civil War that killed Link’s mother.

And, somewhere between that picture of Time at sixteen or seventeen, when Malon promised she wanted to know what had happened to him, and the start of Linked Universe (a gap that directly implies that this was not the result of Majora’s Mask!) Link lost an eye and gained the markings of the Fierce Deity mask. And, with it, he gained what we’re told by Jojo (in a VERY old ask) is a terror of using it again.

I’m not going to presume to say what exactly his trauma might or might not look like. PTSD and similar things manifest differently for a lot of people. But it could make Time react badly to the visceral reminder of going back into serious combat. A reminder like, say, a long wait for someone to recover from a nearly-fatal injury. Add in that on long campaigns, letters from Malon may have been his only piece of home, letters that likely carry her terror for his safety with them nevermind the specific news they contain and...

He might not be in a good state of mind when setting out once more with one of the young men he’s pulled into this fight with him. He might struggle to think clearly, when he feels so responsible for their safety and remembers how Malon reacted to Twilight, all because of what he told her.

He might say things in a poor way, with fear weighing more heavily on his mind than reason.

[crystal-cliffs]

Why Tartacchino is my OTP

A semi-long commentary on my favorite genshin impact ship because I want to talk about them so badly. Also this isn’t me pulling up evidence, this is 99% anecdote on why this ship is a huge comfort for me despite a lot of knee jerk reactions I’ve gotten when trying to explain it. So I’ve collected it all into a post that is 100% an excuse to ramble. Don’t expect coherency that ship sailed a long time ago and I’m only serious for about a minute or too.

If I had to give a song with their vibe it would be Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives so everyone should check it out if you’re already reading this.

This isn’t me trying to convince anyone to ship it either, though if I did I’d be surprised tbh. Just want something on the forefront that serves as a “this is what you’re getting into” vibe yk?

Why?

Because it’s fun… I like exploring ships that seem complicated and maybe wouldn’t even work out long term because it makes me think about the nature of human relationships. Whilst I have other arlecchino ships, thinking x Furina, x Xianyun, x Signora etc etc, I don’t… think about them the same way. Like they’re mostly fluffy to me and sweet and uncomplicated despite the fact that the reoccurring character that is Arlecchino would seemingly make it more interesting.

And yet it doesn’t for me, because I assume by default Arlecchino would treat these ladies like royalty and thus it’s settled.

With Tartaglia I don’t immediately assume that simply because the first question I ask myself is… why would Arlecchino even date a man? But when I stopped viewing these characters under such a strict guideline based on fandom interpretations of their sexual orientations, I came away with a different question. What would it take for these two to view each other in a light beyond mildly friendly?

And then I spiraled from there.

Sometimes I feel like shipping culture is so rigid that I fall victim to that, and don’t allow myself the ability to explore potential dynamics that usually wouldn’t be given a second glance. Tartacchino being one of them. The concept of them dating seems so impossible at times and to other people but I think that’s why it’s fun.

Alright Ramble Time but Serious-ish

I think sometimes we as humans forget the complexity of human relationships and we seperate them into these categories that simply don’t encompass the entirety of the human experience.

One common occurrence I’ve realized is how people look at relationships. You see two people who are dating and you personally believe that they aren’t good together and hey, they’ll probably break up in the next couple months. (This isn’t about toxic or abusive relationships, let’s not make it about those)

When the truth is, you only know half of the story. You don’t know what the two of these hypothetical people are like when they’re alone with each other and you probably never will because your presence directly affects these people’s behavior.

Tying this into Tartacchino, that’s the vibe the relationships always given me. Two people who seem incompatible to everyone around them, people who probably wouldn’t make it past a couple months before realizing the whole relationship was a mistake.

But they make it work.

I like exploring the complexity of human relationships and this ship allows me to do so somewhat. Imagining how they navigate an experience that even they themselves aren’t sure makes sense to them for whatever reasons I can conjure up. Sometimes it’s sexuality, sometimes it’s beliefs, personalities clashing, trauma and the inability to let yourself get too close, whatever.

Ramble time part 2: But not so serious

Actually, on the note of sexuality, the existence of a fandom consensus on a characters sexuality doesn’t make it canon. I’ve had multiple experiences where people have gotten upset at the prospect of me shipping a character that is headcanoned as a lesbian with a guy, some to the point of calling me lesbophobic which is ironic since I am a lesbian, that’s why I do this. As a lesbian I’m actually allowed to do whatever I want❗️/lh

…

So like… the post didn’t save when I wrote this part so now I gotta be even less coherent than I probably was.

Their relationship is very not heterosexual. They break the gender roles and stereotypes by being alive, their queerness happened the second they started living on the same plane of existence.

I just like to make all of the harbingers gender and sexuality fucked though, they experience gender fuckery and sexuality fuckery and who am I to interfere.

Like Tartaglia is a girl, a boy girl, a girlboy, I dunno it’s beyond our capabilities as humans without inter-dimensional parasites leaching off our life force.

Arlecchino is… let’s not get into that, he’s whatever you think he is frankly. She likes the speculation be so fr, she would.

Inherently queer, idk what else you want from me lol. Uhh they don’t kiss I feel like I should specify that, that’s to soft for them frankly. If they did kiss properly it would be bloody and painful and full of emotions neither of them would be willing to say out loud because they’re probably hateful lol I dunno. But they also do kiss each other, just not properly because for some reason that’s too intimate.

Their intimacy is sparring violently and then patching each other up because the passion is shown through how much blood is shed yk? Idk Tartaglia’s love language is violence so… why not❗️

Damn idk what I’m talking about tbh… I got less serious and realized I really don’t know how to explain my love and reasoning for this ship since there is no actual concrete reason, get bamboozled or something. I just like seeing girlboys and boygirl’s bloody, that’s all, it’s not a crime. That’s what the horror genre is for after all. Uhhh

They are not husband and wife nor girlfriend and boyfriend, they are that secret third thing. (Tho if they were we both know who the husband is and who the wife is)

We could get even more basic, golden retriever with rabies x wolf dog that knows basic human commands. They are not Goldie and black cat that’s wrong because arlecchino has wolf energy, dog energy, they both do, it’s just one is a little more intimidating than the other.

Just realized they’re hydro x pyro

Yeah there’s no argument, love Fire and Water, both equally dangerous in their own right, and they both live in a perpetual cycle of being capable of destroying each other and being used to destroy each other. There’s no point to this i just like Fire and Water.

Hoyoverse make them talk again they were so silly.

I think that’s it…

Yeah❗️

If you don’t like this ship idc, just don’t make it my business. Talk to me about one of the other 500 arlecchino or tartaglia ships instead or something, I still like a lot of those this is just my favorite.

And just to top it all off

We all saw wife right?

Right.

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (46)

part 46 of ?? | 790 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Nothing can ruin Steve’s mood this week.  

46.

Nothing can ruin Steve’s mood this week. 

So they haven’t exactly defined their relationship yet, so what? It’s so easy to fall asleep in the safety of Eddie’s arms that Steve feels more rested than he has in years. He’s started wearing chapstick again to combat what all of their making out is doing to his lips, prompting Eddie to kiss him even more—to steal some, he always claims with a devil-may-care smirk. It’s becoming an inside joke. 

They have inside jokes. Steve feels giddy from it, from everything. He keeps expecting Eddie to tell him to slow down, that he’s too eager or needy, too much. But if anything Eddie acts like he’s waiting for Steve to tell him the same thing, which is. . . . It goes against every one of Steve’s knee-jerk expectations, but he’s trying to work on that, to accept that Eddie thinks how he thinks and not how Steve expects him to think.

Case in point: Eddie actually likes him, actually wants him, and they're about to run out of new things they can do without taking off more than their shirts. When other people are around they play it cool, not touching much at all, but Steve can feel Eddie’s eyes follow him. He does the same thing, and he’s glad that Robin hasn’t called him on it yet because on top of not wanting to lie to her, he’s bad at it. Omission is hard enough, and he’s kind of bursting to tell someone about what feels like the first great thing to happen to him in years.

-

Wayne stops him a few days in, right after Eddie has left to get groceries. “You settling in alright, Steve?”

A little surprised that Wayne is asking now, after he’s been living here for a while, Steve nods, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s going great. Thanks again for letting me live here, sir—I mean, Wayne.”

That gets him the usual amused snort that Wayne does whenever he defaults too formal, like it’s an inside joke against Richard and Linda Harrington that only Wayne gets to enjoy. Steve doesn’t know too much about that other than Wayne and his dad went to Hawkins High around the same time . . . which could mean a lot of things. 

He’s glad it’s nothing terrible enough for Wayne to not give him a chance in spite of who his parents are, though. 

Wayne nods, slow and thoughtful as always. “Good. That’s good. And Eddie’s taken care of the apologizin’ that needed doing?”

Steve goes still, unsure. Had Eddie actually . . . actually told someone? About the blackmail? That's the worst part, the real reason he's avoided pouring his heart out to Robin so far. “Uh. . . .”

“There ain’t much that boy can put past me for long,” Wayne says, interpreting his reaction either correctly or close to it. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed loose across his chest, and it’s such an Eddie move that it almost gives Steve vertigo. (It’s always a bit wild to him when people act like family, like in the movies. Totally outside of his personal experience.)

“I guess not,” Steve says. He doesn’t want to feel on edge around Wayne, mostly doesn’t anymore—but this feels so surreal, he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know where to put his feet so as to not step on the invisible vines running through the conversation that he knows instinctively must be there.

Don’t be stupid, he tells himself. It’s just Wayne. 

“We’re good now,” Steve tells him. “He’s apologized plenty. More than he needs to, even. It’s like, water under the bridge now, really.”

Wayne is still watching him thoughtfully. After a moment he inclines his head, another gesture that reminds Steve of his nephew. “You know, I heard a fair bit about you before this spring. God knows you probably had to unlearn a lot of shit your daddy pressed into you before getting to the point where you saved Eddie’s life. Do you still feel like you’re making up for any of that?”

Face heating up, Steve feels caught out. He nods. 

“Then, might I suggest,” Wayne says calmly, “you let him apologize all he feels he needs to, just the same?”

The words send Steve reeling into a different kind of vertigo. He’s still trying to process the sudden reorientation going on in his head as Wayne pushes off the wall, claps him on the shoulder. Says something about heading out to work and don’t let Eddie burn the meatloaf this time. 

“Steve?” Wayne adds before he goes. Steve manages to look up in time to catch a rare, understated smile on his weathered face. “You boys are good for each other. I’m glad you’re getting along, son.”

[adelaidedrubman]

For the pride asks: 3. 6, 11 for both Jestiny and Jenna! 19, 20 for general Qs! 💕

HIIIIIIII CAYMAN thank you so much for sending these!!!!!! sorry they took ten million years but hey, it’s still pride month! (also sorry it’s so long as always i am thinking out loud and nobody has to Read All That disclaimer)

3. How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

so, i’ve joked before that jestiny’s bisexual awakening was the sneakin’ around number in dolly parton’s best little whorehouse in texas. (seen below for anyone interested and unfamiliar.)

but to be more detailed i think realistically by the time she saw that movie she was actually probably well aware going in that dolly was hot and she’d had a crush on her for most of her life and was there mostly just ogling her in that lingerie then saw burt reynolds getting flipped over that bed and said “well there could be something to that also!!”

maybe the bit with the vacuum hose as well. watching it over again that might have been a pegging metaphor

6. How does your oc feel about labels? Theirs, or in general?

jestiny is very casual and relatively eager with labeling herself, but her knee-jerk reaction is always to resist external labels — in part because she’s used to having to combat incorrect assumptions, in part because she’s simply combative and will yell at someone for assuming even when it is correct.

that being said she usually follows up with protesting labels by labeling herself with her chosen term, even when the person had already used it. “WHOA you have a boyfriend?? i thought you were a lesbian after that one chick....” -> “you shouldn’t think of me at all, because you’re wrong. don’t label me. i’m bisexual.” / “you’ve been with men AND women?? that’s so cool i didn’t know you were bisexual” -> “never said i was. that’s not what that means. don’t label me. i’m bisexual. but not because of what you just said.” / “i get it so like...... you don’t see gender your heart just wants what it wants...... sexuality can be so fluid and love is beautiful.” -> “ew no. speak for yourself. don’t label me. i’m bisexual.”

11. Is your oc open about their identity? Are they more lowkey or more blunt about it? Why or why not?

[tipping her women want me fish fear me hat] absolutely open, this is one of very few things it’s really easy to learn from her from the first conversation. she will quite literally tell people she’s bisexual before she tells them her name. she will tell them she’s bisexual while actively refusing to tell them her name because they don’t need to know her like that. primarily because jestiny doesn’t consider her sexuality to be like, particularly personal? this is boring demographic information you could learn about her as easily as jotting down her hair is red. and also because she’s the classic girl who comes out because she can’t resist making a well-timed joke about her sexuality. seizing every “i could see it going both ways....” may be low hanging fruit, but it’s honest fruit.

3. How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

jenna never had like, particularly strong expectations for herself to be any specific orientation in the first place, so to a certain degree it was just analyzing her feelings as she went while growing up. i mean she was definitely exposed to heternormative messaging but in the #Supportive and #Progressive way. cut to jenna’s straight parents explaining their grown-up friends coming over to dinner are both boys but they are married just like mommy and daddy, because boys can love boys and girls can love girls, and baby jenna being like “i have never assumed otherwise bc i am a child learning about the world for the first time but thank you for the information.” (point being she knew straight was the majority/considered default but not the only option.)

as far as a specific realization moment i am going to lean into the bit again and and say after eleven years of thinking probably only her feelings towards girls ever met the definition of “crushes” jenna kissed a girl she liked at science camp then decided she should kiss one of the boys there she found pleasant just to be sure then stopped in the middle of the kiss to pull out her journal and write down “hypothesis: lesbian”

she’s checked in with her feelings occasionally since then but it has always been “data collected confirms lesbian hypothesis”

6. How does your oc feel about labels? Theirs, or in general?

jenna LOVES labels. she’s a bit more interested in like, talking about the cultural history behind particular labels and the social practice of labeling gender and sexuality in general than she is getting into the weeds about the ones she uses for herself and why, but she does also enjoy her personal labels and will gladly talk about it as she’s rambling about generalities. (she tends to treat her own identity and feelings as secondary a global character trait for better or for worse, so.) that being said she also doesn’t try to limit anything by the available labels, certainly not for anyone else. like many things jenna values labels mostly for their present utilitarian value — they’re a means of quickly communicating via shared social meaning who she is and what she wants, and they do it very effectively.

11. Is your oc open about their identity? Are they more lowkey or more blunt about it? Why or why not?

jenna is quite open, and regularly volunteers the information before being asked, usually for the sake of clarifying interpersonal interactions. a man comes up to her in a bar and starts talking to her about a subject she’s interested in and she dives in with the preface “just so you know before we continue this conversation, i’m a lesbian.” flipside, her flirting also often reads quite dry and her interest clinical so she will clarify a compliment or question with “to be clear, i mean that in a gay way.”

AAAAAAND THE GENERALS

19. Do you have preferences about depicting homo/transphobia in your stories? What, and why? Does it vary by story?

it’s flexible, it’s not so triggering to me i absolutely have to avoid it full stop but i also definitely tend not to incorporate it into any setting that doesn’t require it, or make it the inescapable focus or driving force of things in settings it would realistically be present by no choice of my own. if it’s a fantasy world and the source material world build doesn’t specify otherwise, my go to is no -phobias of any kind. who cares there’s fucking spells and shit

as for real world settings, it tends to be there when and where it realistically would be to the degree it realistically would be, but again not the focus. like, everything i have written for fc5 has a montana 2018 degree of queerphobia as i have experienced it, but it’s mostly quick albeit dark jokes or noted generally when there’s other shit going on. (in part bc i tend to just decide i’m writing not cishet characters interacting with not cishet characters.) a few oneshots have incorporated it as one among many a notable plot/character things going on, but. i think my approach tends to always be “yeah obviously everyone is dealing with this but their entire experience of being a member of the community or a person isn’t defined by it.” i definitely don’t mind exploring Dark Themes, including the things i have experienced personally, but i only do it when it’s fun or enjoyable and this one isn’t as much.

20. Have your ocs helped you in self discovery? How?

this one kinda stumped me! i don’t know if i’ve necessarily learned anything brand new, but it’s definitely been a way to explore my experience and it has made me confident about saying loudly this is who i am, and the type of characters/relationships i want to see more of in media. it’s been self-discovery mostly in the sense it’s helped me with self-expression, a lot.

[shashibasket]

A heads-up for the MG RP community (UPDATED)

Oh boy. I hardly use this thing anymore except for extremely infrequent image posts, but now recent events have me looking for a platform that hopefully people still might glance at.

I wanted to get word out that someone out there is impersonating a friend of mine who plays a Draenei Paladin that has the in-game name Tiberíus (and that accent aigu as you will see is important) in Warcraft on the Moon Guard server by using a copy of his TRP3 profile and sending people unsolicited unsavory whispers.

As a quick note, there are about forty variations of the name “Tiberius” around being used for active RP characters and one of them you’ve probably heard of as the guild leader of The Imperium, a human character. He is not that one. ONWARD.

“Riiiiiiiight, it’s not really your bestie who would never ever do anything like that, suuuuuure,” I can hear you saying already, and honestly, that would’ve been my knee-jerk reaction on hearing the same from anyone else. I’d say, you don’t REALLY know what your friend is up to, they could live a whole secret life of youth-of-a-male-ing it up at random people and you’d never know. 

Fortunately, one person got in touch to let me know that it was going on in an attempt to warn me about my friend’s behavior and one got in touch with HIM to confront him about his behavior as told to them by one of the people who received one of these whispers and they both provided screenshots that made it clear what was happening. Unfortunately, the screenshots don’t say who would even DO this, holy heck, how crazy do you have to BE? But they do make it clear that the actual player of the Tibs character who is one of the kindest, most accommodating, most respectful people that I’ve ever encountered in RP and who I’ve been writing interconnected stories with for about four years and who NEVER showed any signs that they were this kind of person, isn’t living some kind of low-key scumlord life on the sly.  Incident One happened in early September. Someone who I didn’t know sent me a whisper asking if my ‘buddy’ was the kind of person who would send unsolicited mature whispers to people? I was baffled, alarmed, and defensive about someone potentially just looking to cause trouble, but asked if they had a screenshot so that I could look into it. They did! https://imgur.com/ocDLoDp On viewing the screenshot, a few things stood out: 1) The TRP3 icon for the character was wrong. It was the default Draenei male icon, which he doesn’t use for his profile, but it was present meaning the person who heard the whisper had loaded in the profile of the whisper-er, which would make the character name display as whatever the sender set it to.  2) The writing style is ALL wrong. I wouldn’t expect many other people to know this, but it’s LAUGHABLY not his writing style. Tibs is a casual character and is played casually, without any of the formality that Draenei characters can have sometimes. Even in the midst of the general perplexion we both had a big laugh about ‘the bull’. It has turned into a running joke, it’s just so ridiculously not a phrase he’d use. 3) Tibs has never once used the word ‘compatriot’ IC in the years that I’ve done daily hours-long RP with him, but he definitely knows how to spell it. 4) Being a person possessed of a full-time job, he wasn’t online at the timestamp that day (although it’s unclear what day it was from)

So this was a bit of a mystery! And all the rabbit holes of "but who would even do this and why, holy CATS?” lead nowhere solid, and since the whisper didn’t come to either of us and we didn’t know who it went to we couldn’t verify the OOC name of the character who sent it. It got filed under “Huh, That Was Weird” and we both moved on.

Incident Two was last night, where someone who I was actually aware of but never spoke with before got in touch with him directly to ask him what the heck was up with the whispers that he sent his IC wife. They also provided him with a screenshot! But this one, thanks to how WOW Instant Messenger works, had an important detail: 

https://imgur.com/XtDDN3r This time they had finally swapped in the actual character icon that he uses, but it showed the actual OOC name of the character, which was not Tiberíus (with a single accent aigu on the second ‘i’) but Tìberìus (with an accent grave on each ‘i’). Still, they had put his real IC name in as the character’s name in TRP3 which helpfully displayed that as the name of the whisperer. TRP3 is a great tool for immersion and has some really neat functions that don’t draw you out of it, letting people have OOC names like “Googlymoogly” and having it show an IC name like Lord Jacob Whittington the Third, but unfortunately those functions can also help someone with malicious intent impersonate another character very convincingly. 

The Draenei Paladin that someone made named Tìberìus no longer exists, the character has been deleted. Attempting to add the character to a friendlist confirms this. But that name was used within the last 30 days, as you can see when you try and make a new character with that name, the name is still reserved, and will be by whoever made it for a month:

https://imgur.com/nl0HvHA

It was a relief to have solid proof that it wasn’t him, but at the same time, there’s still a whackadoo out there who is apparently continuing to be terrible to people while deceptively pretending to play his character. There are, unfortunately, a whole lot of other alt codes that could be subbed in and used to continue to harass people in the name of the “real” Tibs. Neither one of us can think of who might be doing this and why they’d be using his profile of all the characters on the server to do it, he seriously doesn’t have enemies. He’s not a big-name player. He OOC and the character IC (slightly less so, Tibs IC can get flustered and cranky, but still) are friendly welcoming inclusive respectful cinnamon rolls. All of our various shenanigans pretty much fly under the radar of the server in general. Why, of all people, if someone was going to go around being terrible to people would they do it while pretending to be him? 

Which brings me to the point, finally, the one that elevates this from perplexing annoyance to Community Warning, which is that someone is out there sending unasked-for mature-content whispers to people (which isn’t a new phenomenon, unfortunately, I put in a message asking to not get unsolicited scene-starter whispers in my TRP ages ago) but also that if someone out there is doing it while imitating his RP profile, they might be imitating others. 

If you get one of these whispers, please right-click report it to the GMs. You won’t be doing any harm to Real Tibs by accident, because he’s not sending these whispers and TRP profiles don’t really factor in for GMs, they can see which account actually sent the message. He also has a ticket in for Ongoing Harassment, but there’s about a 24-day wait on tickets right now and situations like this can be complicated to get the GM team to understand when his character didn’t receive the harassment directly. Hopefully whatever crazy person is doing this will get their account dinged for it, but if they’re not banned or if they have the disposable income for a new account they might just double down on their efforts to be a nutty, nutty cocoa bean.

Watch out. UPDATE: A version of the impersonator was spotted in the wild! This one was Tíberìus - as predicted, with new variations on the alt codes. This time, the real Tibs WAS online at the same time.

[ness-plays-wizards]

Caesar Route Chapter 3 (10-14)

Last time on the Caesar route, we learned that Magic Soldiers are not actually magic super soldiers, they’re just corpses carrying a black robe plague variant and also it’s all Zett’s fault.

Everybody confronts Zett, who gets pissed that Caesar “betrayed” him. Liz’s knee jerk reaction is to defend Caesar, and

Yeah I don’t think that reasoning with this guy should be strategy number one. Man’s literally making corpse foot soldiers out of the fucking black plague.

So Caesar breaks up with Zett, and Zett defaults to “of course it’s because you’re into the girl” and then Caesar basically confirms that. Zett calls him naive and THEN

Put that down as stuff I didn’t expect to hear from Zeus. 

Zett pulls a smoke bomb escape. Zeus and Hiro run after him, so Liz, Caesar, and Alfonse have to deal with the walking corpses. Liz asks Alfonse if the Mikhail cells from last route will work, and Alfonse thinks they will. It’s a good thing that they masters mass producing them last route, or something. I don’t remember much of the plot anymore.

Liz and Caesar hold down the corpses while Alfonse uses the Mikhail cells on them. The Mikhail cells are effective. Alfonse leaves to visit the Goldstein Lab to get more Mikhail cells, which I’m sure will go Very Smoothly considering the state of the head of the lab. But the important thing to THIS route is that Liz and Caesar are now ALONE. 

Caesar starts reminiscing about Zett.

If he was your magic mentor and you’re calling him a “man,” why does he look like he’s 14.

Caesar describes Zett as not a very good friend and reveals they grew up in the Forgotten City, which if memory serves is just... the alleyways in Gedonelune? Why are they called like they’re the ruins of some basic-ass YA novel location? Who knows who cares.

Liz says she always thought Caesar was from nobility, he corrects it to a fallen noble house.

What exactly did the House Baroque do wrong, exactly? Because from what I remember about the Day King shit and what’s actually been parroted over and over again is that the Day King did all the bad things.

So Liz and Caesar hold hands and THEN.

NOT NOW CAESAR.

But apparently Liz’s EARS HAVE STOPPED WORKING because she doesn’t react to anything he says and he just drops it.

Liz starts to think her feelings for Caesar are changing and then THIS asshole shows up and recites more poetry.

Here’s where I’d make a Steven Universe reference but I actually don’t know enough about Steven Universe to make a reference. But it’s not lost on me that this poetry includes diamonds, a rose quartz, and amethyst, AND a pearl. Just throw in a garnet and the sets basically complete.

Anyway Liz gets a coin and then the chapter ends.

And look guys, I try not to go too overboard with JoJo’s reference just because Caesar is named Caesar and he flirts alot, but like... the SECOND i was typing the caesar raphael tag, the battle tendency opening came on spotify shuffle. 

I didn’t choose the reference the reference chose me ig.

Scheduled for January 31

[achubbydumpling]

[unfinished] Good Boy Bucky (Part 2)

Ok... So, I set myself this self-imposed challenge of writing/posting something every day in July, mostly for Get Beached. Up until now that's worked out to a few complete ficlets (yay me).

However, muses wax and wane and I've been blessed by Sappho the past few days—everything is fragments.

Posting my writing was just a way to set myself a deadline, but it's great to see some of you want to follow me. Since I'm the Captain of this ship I decide where we go and I set up this really nice calendar to cross off every day I post and I don't want to ruin my streak. So, this unfinished thing is me keeping my streak, because I make the rules!

Once again thank you to @wotvagyok for cheering me on and discussing many great chubby!kink ideas with me.

Rating: Explicit Words: 1850 Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Dom/sub, Belly kink, Gainer!Dom Steve, Daddy kink

Read on AO3

(also, I've been reading too many fics by howdoyousleep which is why Steve's suddenly Bucky's daddy.. surprise 🎉) They’d played those games before. Bucky asking Steve to control him, use him, hurt him. After Steve’s transformation he’d begged him to really damage him. Use that supersoldier strength to bite bruises into Bucky’s skin that he’d feel for weeks. That was easy for Bucky. Pushing for more, asking for pain. He didn’t know when those wires had gotten crossed in his head, but as long as he could remember pain and pleasure had been linked in his mind. First time he could remember jerking off, coming with his hand in his mouth. Tooth marks on his skin that lasted all night.

This, however, was something new. Something that had only started when he’d found his way back from the Winter Soldier into his own mind, Bucky’s mind—whatever was left of that. There he’d found this. This squirming, insecure little thing that wanted to be good to Steve, didn’t want to push him, but slide against him. Move when he moved, like they were one instead of two separate halves.

Bucky could feel his legs tingling, slowly starting to go numb on the hard wood floor. Steve was still working his way through the entire pot of food. Bucky smiled when he saw the way his belly was starting to really strain the buttons on his shirt. That had started a bit after Bucky had found Steve again. When he didn’t think about finding Bucky all the time, he’d let himself indulge in the new foods of the 21stcentury.

When those first ten pounds had settled on Steve’s hips, he’d wanted to slim back down immediately—stay at fighting weight. Bucky had sniffed out that little bit of apprehension though. After Steve had really used his weight to throw Bucky around, he’d teased that out of Steve.

He’d admitted it made him feel powerful, even bigger than Bucky, felt that dominating strength even outside their bedroom when he felt his waistband biting into his skin and his belly rounding out against his shirts. When everyone’s eyes first went to that pudge Captain America had put on. He wanted more of that.

Bucky had soothed his mind of being useless for fighting the morning after. Pulling out all stops, using every aspect of the Winter Soldier training. Steve still managed to pin him within a few minutes. That little paunch under his belly button laying heavily into the small of Bucky’s back, having him rut against the mat underneath.

Steve’s voice pulled Bucky out of the memory, “You back with me, Buck? You looked a little lost there” Bucky could feel that warm smile spread on his face, didn’t even have to nod for Steve to understand.

Bucky scooted closer to Steve, resting his head against Steve’s right thigh. Steve must’ve made a good dent in the food. His belly was rounding out almost spherical. Bucky could see his belly button through the undershirt that showed through the widening gaps of the button down. The button of his trousers was slightly obscured by his belly, but by the way Steve dug his finger underneath the waistband every few bites, it must be getting tight.

Bucky finally moved after spending so long in the same position his legs had started falling asleep. The buzzing rush of pins and needles running up and down his thighs made him shiver. Instead of rubbing the sensation from his legs, he moved further up and buried his face against Steve’s belly. His hands came up to frame Steve’s ball gut on either side. Steve groaned with Bucky’s hands finally on his belly.

“Don’t pull the shirt too much. Don’t want help popping the buttons, you understand?” Bucky hummed agreeable and began digging his knuckles into Steve’s belly. He wasn’t quite full enough yet, that Bucky had to be careful with his touch.

He could just enjoy that heavy feeling of Steve’s belly in his hands, the way it pushed out against him. Steve really must’ve indulged every offering at the banquet. However, his supersoldier metabolism was working through the food fast. Would Steve also put on fat four times as fast as the average human?

Bucky didn’t have another moment to contemplate that question. Steve groaned above him, and Bucky eased up on the pressure he was rubbing his gut with. The pot must almost be empty by now.

+++

There’s barely anything left of the curry. Steve has been working steadily on eating everything, but now his pace was slowing down, and his breathing was getting heavier. Bucky continued rubbing large circles over Steve’s gut, concentrating on the stuffed upper belly.

Almost finished. Just one more bite. Just one more. Steve hadn’t asked for Bucky to speak and encourage him, but a constant stream of it flowed through his mind. So proud to see Steve indulging like this. To see him grow. Growing heavier than Bucky by the day. His titanium arm had weighed a full forty pounds, but even the vibranium arm gave him a leg up by about ten pounds. Still, he was nowhere near as heavy as Steve, and he relished in the difference when Steve held him down.

+++

The shirt grew tighter and tighter. The fabric groaning with the strain, loud enough now for even unenhanced humans to hear, but the buttons just wouldn’t budge. High-quality materials kept Steve from ripping through the buttons with his stuffed gut. He gulped for air, there was nothing left to eat, but he needed something more.

“Get me something to drink, Buck.” He jumped up and almost ran to the kitchen, coming to a skidding halt in front of the fridge. Something to drink. Bucky defaulted to a glass of water, but then thought better of it. Steve had left the decision to him. He grabbed two of the beer bottles at the bottom of the fridge and raced back. Steve took both bottles from Bucky’s hands and quickly opened one with the other.

He put the first bottle to his lips and downed it within a few seconds. He slammed the bottle on the side table to his right and heaved a few heavy breaths, just as it seemed like Steve would have to open that second bottle as well. The button on the roundest part of his belly popped off.

His belly sagged forward filling the bit of space. Time seemed suspended in the moment until a chain reaction started popping the rest of the buttons and tearing the fabric where the buttons wouldn’t give in fast enough. Steve’s overstuffed gut surged forward, but not by much, weighing high and tight on his torso. He was heaving shallow breaths trying to work around the spasming muscles in his belly.

+++

“Wanna get those pretty pink lips on me.”

“Got myself all ready, so you can fuck me.” Steve’s expression soured into a frown.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to be a good boy for me?” Bucky nodded meekly. “Do good boys talk back when their daddies tell them what to do?”

Bucky’s mind caught on that word—daddy—they’d discussed a few names for the position Steve would be in, in this scenario. However, Bucky had not anticipated the dizzying headrush he’d feel hearing that word out loud. Having Steve say exactly who he was to Bucky.

The feeling shot straight to his dick. His hips involuntarily snapped forward. He let his head fall with the shame that burned on his cheeks.

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “you like hearing me say that?” He shoved another spoonful of curry in his mouth, savouring the taste, only after swallowing the food did he turn his full attention back on Bucky.

“I’m your daddy, Buck. You see how I gotta keep you in check, hm? Just there. You’re always so eager.” Bucky nodded along to Steve’s words. “But when I’m here to guide you, you take such good care of me don’t you?”

Steve clearly expected an answer. Bucky swallowed around the word in his mouth, it felt heavy on his tongue, like a momentous occasion.

“Yes.” He paused and swallowed again. “Daddy.”

Steve pulled Bucky up and up, off his knees and back onto the couch.

“You’re gonna make me come with those pretty pink lips, ok?” Bucky nodded and went straight for Steve’s crotch, eager to please. Once again Steve stopped him. Disappointed frown on his face.

“I try to teach you—” Bucky realised what Steve wanted from him. “Yes, daddy.” Bucky could see Steve’s hand twitch where it was resting on his stuffed belly.

“Don’t interrupt me, boy.” Bucky ducked his head and bit down on his bottom lip.

“I know you’re trying to make this so good for me, but you still have to listen to me, ok?” Bucky sat up straighter and wiggled on Steve’s lap a bit, then tapped his index finger to his ear. Listening.

“Good boy.” Bucky felt that familiar sweet feeling prickle at the back of his neck. He waited for Steve’s next order. Instead, Steve pulled him close by the neck and surprised him with a kiss. He pulled back before Bucky could really get over his surprised reaction.

+++

“Turn around, baby boy. Heard you got yourself all nice and ready for me.”

“What were you thinking about while you worked yourself open like that?”

“Did you come, baby boy?”

“No? Oh, you’re so good, waiting for your daddy to come home and tell you when you’re allowed.”

“Push back a bit for me.”

“Quit your whining that’s not gonna make me give you my cock any faster.”/”Oh, be a good boy and stay quiet, won’t you?”

“Yes, look at you. If I pulled at that little gemstone, you’d be all nice and wet for me. Do you think you should ride my cock right now?”

“Whatever you want, daddy.”

“Good boy. That’s right. I get to decide what you need. Can you sit back for me?”

“Yes, look at that. So obedient.”

“Why don’t you fuck yourself on it? You think you can come on this little thing when you’re used to daddy’s cock?”

“That was a question.”

“Whatever you want, daddy.”

“That’s right, good boy. You come when I tell you to, don’t you? Look at you rutting away on this little toy and leaking all over yourself. Think I can add a finger next to the toy? Oh, look at you taking it so well. Does that remind you of daddy’s thick cock?”

“Keep it up, baby boy. Want you to come just on that toy. ‘m gonna jerk you off to help you a bit, but when you get close you gotta tell me, ok?”

“Already? Ok.”

“I know, I know. Just a bit now. Lean back.”

“C’mon, my fingers not enough?”

“Oh, you need permission, baby boy, is that it?”

“Such a good boy waiting for that.”

“Come for me.”

“Oh, you were so good for me. You gonna be ok leaving that plug in for a bit? Yeah, you’re tired I know. Taking care of your daddy and having your pussy fucked takes a lot out of you. Let’s get you to bed.”

[redrosesartcabin]

The cave incident: Kenji x first perspective reader pt. 2 of 2

(Link to part one https://redrosesartcabin.tumblr.com/post/641312472793546752/the-cave-incident-kenji-x-first-perspective )

“Looks like we are stuck here”, Kenji said with a calmness, that however had that kind of underlaying tone that suggests a storm of panic coming soon.

“Hey hey hey: Not so fast. Let’s not give up just yet”, I answered softly, “Maybe if you could stabilize the motorcycle whilst I climb on top I could reach the edge of the cave”.

“Ok”, he said sceptically.

He held the vehicle whilst I stood on top. My fingers reached to the edge, but I was definitely still too far away. I knew that had been the only option, but still I tried contemplating.

“Ok, maybe if you sit on top and I get on your shoulders-“

“Y/n”, he interrupted that thought process bluntly.

“What?”, I grunted

“Stop. This may not be the deepest of caves…holes…cave-holes, but this ain’t a three feet puddle. Face it, we are stuck. We have nothing that could us even close”

“Yeah yeah, ok, you’re right”, I had to admit. Not something I liked to admit, but he was. But I sure didn’t do it without a glare.

“What are you looking at me like that for? Did I suggest riding the motorcycle?”

“Oh I see: now you want to blame it on me! The macho man finds himself in a bad situation and needs a scape goat. Ain’t that typical for you”, I hissed back.

Usually, or especially in the beginning, he would’ve kept on discussing and defending his greatness, but this time, to my surprise he flinched.

The quiet settled in faster than a second could pass.

He sat down on the ground and seemed to space out for a moment. I couldn’t move for a while, that’s how much that reaction surprised me.

Finally my body obeyed me again. I got down on my knees before him, trying to catch his eyes.

“Kenji, are you ok? I’m sorry I-“

“NO”, he interrupted me, “you’re right. I did try to act like I was better. I can’t seem to stop it… It’s a wonder anyone likes me at all”

“Oh hey now: What’s with the sudden change of attitude?”, I asked concerned, “didn’t you consider yourself the charming glue that holds the group together? Where has that Kenji gone?”

He let out a sad sounding laugh, “That Kenji did a run for it. That Kenji did call himself that but … did anybody ever say that about me because they genuinely thought that about me?”

“Did they ever dispute it?”, I asked, trying the lighten the mood, though I was starting to get his point.

He however still didn’t look convinced. I sighed in deeply, “Look: You might’ve started off as a jerk. Maybe even a major one. You might’ve come off as a rich, spoiled child. Which in many regards, is what you are: But you’ve proven, that that was just your outer shell. You’ve proven, that you are compassionate and understanding. And you know it.

We all have flaws. Some more than others. Some appear more undesirable and annoying than others. And especially those are hard to get over, because those have been acquired by default of how you grew up”

“Oh wow”, he simply answered, “I didn’t know you understood me… that well”

“I like psychoanalyzing people”, I answered with a bemused smile before I returned to the appropriate serious expression, “but besides that: I think we connected… or at least I thought so”

“No no … you’re right: We have but… I just… nobody ever even tried to understand me that way so deeply like you have, not even our other friends”

“It’s a gift I suppose”, I smiled, a concerned frown planted on my brows, “but I might have just also taken a liking in you”

“That’s the thing: I have taken a liking in you too. That’s why I realized more quickly this time, that this thing that I keep doing is just such an asshole move. I’m sorry”

“It’s ok-“

“No! It’s not ok.”, he interrupted me. The pain he had in his eyes almost hurt: I had never seen him so serious and broken, “I didn’t want to be like this. Not with you anyways. I know It’s not impressive or great. Yet that has been planted in my brain for so long. Like a tumor you can’t get rid of. And I just don’t know how to be different. How to connect to others my age that way.”

“But you do. You’ve shown who you are. You see: Getting out of a habit is a process. There are high and low points. Moments where you succeed and some where you slip again. But eventually you won’t slip at all. It’s a matter of patience and, you could say, practice. But eventually: eventually you’ll be the version you’ve always aspired to be”

He looked at me directly now. His gaze struck deep as he gifted me the most honest and cozy kind of smile he had ever mustered up, “How are you this understanding and patient with me? How do I deserve it?”

“I love you, that’s-“, I interrupted myself as he stood up in an abrupt motion and stared at me with his eyes wide open.

“Oh”, I whispered, “I slipped”, I said out loud, “that confession was way too sudden. Sorry”

He ignored my blabbering and asked instead, with a voice as quiet as a mouse, “When did you plan on telling me that?”

I chuckled saying, “probably never”, and averted my eyes as quickly as I could.

“So, it took us falling into a cave and an accidental deep talk huh?”, he said, seeming a little stunted at it all.

“I mean: I was afraid. I’ve always been someone afraid of rejection and I didn’t think you’d like me. And you apparently-“

“Do”, he interrupted me. Now I was the wide eyed one.

“I’ve been afraid too. And not even that cave made me slip You just seemed too kind, too smart for me”

“Oh wow”, I could only say.

I stood up as well again now.

The wind was cool down here and with the sun setting. The pink and red hues of the sun set crept down the hole and lay on Kenji like a bright shadow surrounding him making the moment even more surreal. He literally looked like I was looking at him through rose colored glasses.

I had to chuckle. Luckily, that loosened the tension and he laughed back.

Kenji dared to step forward now. He came closer and closer until I could feel his hot breath on my face. I looked up at him curious and expectant. He gave me that look with half lidded eyes, knitted eyebrows that suggested a certain gesture.

I closed my eyes and led myself be led by the motion he had initiated until I could feel soft lips on mine. A moment I thought I could only ever dream of had settled and I felt at peace.

“There you are! Guys I found them, they are more than fine!”, Kenji and me suddenly heard Sammy yell.

We broke apart quickly, a little embarrassed to be caught in the moment of our first kiss, yet very happy to be found.

We looked up where we saw Sammy and Bumpy standing. One second later Ben followed who scratched Bumpy’s head and whispered something I could decipher as “good girl”. Bumpy apparently was the one who had discovered us.

At last, the others came as well, who brought a big rope with them.

“Come on you guys. I fear we got to leave the motorcycle behind, but we’ll get you out in no time”, Yaz said and we kept it at that.

And in a matter of second we were up again, holding hands as we stood before our rescue squad.

Brooklynn smiled, “I knew it”

“I can’t believe I didn’t believe you. Again!”, Sammy had to laugh as well, “but there they were smooching it away”

“We were not smooching”, I pouted

“Wait: You two?”, Ben and Darius asked in chorus.

“Am I really the only one who noticed? Come on guys!”, Brooklynn asked. We all laughed at that heartily.

I had to give it to her: She really had a feeling for people. Not even I had noticed his feelings for me or vice versa.

“And that’s why you are the unboxing girl and not us”, Kenji chuckled.

“Very funny Kenji”, Brooklynn retorted, “but seriously: It took you both to fall into a freaking hole to confess. You both are chicken”

To back up that point both Darius and Ben made chicken noises at which Sammy laughed and Yaz rolled her eyes, but with an endeared smile as she looked at Sammy laughing.

‘Those two should confess too’, I thought but kept it to myself: They’d figure it out eventually.

“Ok enough of us and kissing in a cave…hole…cave-hole”, Kenji announced, “let’s get home”

“Let’s do”, I smiled.

‘Best accident ever!’, I thought, and I’d like to think, so did Kenji…

(I hope you liked it!) (please leave feedback if possible. Also: Feel free to send requests for one shots if there is something specific you’d like to read in regards to Kenji x reader fanfics (though I won’t accept every suggestion if its about something I have little to no experience with I hope you understand <3. With that I wish y’all a great day!)

[youngjusticeslut]

Something Just Like This (Chapter One)

Fandom: Young Justice Links: FF.net // AO3 Characters:  Jade Nguyen, Roy/Will Harper Summary: Roy uses Jade to find Speedy. Jade uses him because it's fun. At some point, it becomes something more. // Or, Roy and Jade in the five year timeskip, and the years that follow. Rating: M for violence, some cursing, maybe some sex later on if I’m feeling spicy but nothing too NSFW Word Count:  1.8k Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters or the Roy Harper journals from YJL

Athens December 24th, 23:37 EET Team Year Two

Roy doesn’t understand why she keeps doing this.

He aims an arrow at Cheshire’s chest, arms tight, eyes narrowed. The assassin cocks her head to the side. She loosely holds a sai in one hand, teasing him. Despite the arrow pointed at her, she clearly doesn’t see him as much of a threat. By now, Roy knows better than to underestimate her.

“No present for me, Arrow?” Cheshire begins, defaulting into her usual banter. “And on our first Christmas together. I’m hurt.”

A sigh lodges in the back of Roy’s throat, and he fights against the urge to release it. He can’t possibly fathom Cheshire’s inane logic that the two of them are in some kind of relationship. It’s always the same. She’ll tease him, make some snide remark about how lackluster their ‘dates’ are getting. They’ll combat. Cheshire will find some way to press herself against him and then just when his mind begins to question what’s happening, she’ll threaten to blow his cover and he’ll have to retreat.

It’s getting pretty tiring.

Part of him wants to respond to her. Shoot back an equally dry comment, if only to get a reaction. Another part of him, a much smaller, less logical part, wants to give in to her advances. Must be as a result of the clone programming. Less logical reasoning, or something. For now, he’s able to restrain both urges and remains on the defense, ready for another round of keep-away. Maybe this time, he’ll win.

It took Roy far too long to scope out this Lexcorp subsidiary to give up without a decent fight. He only needs a quick look at the place. If luck is on his side tonight, he’ll be able to take care of Cheshire, sneak in, and if all works well, he’ll have the real Roy back home in time for a very late Christmas dinner.

Then again, luck so rarely works out in his favor.

Cheshire slinks closer, using his stiffness to her advantage. In some ways, she’s his perfect foil.  Always moving, fluid, and quick with her mouth. She lacks his restraint, the hard-earned tension that drives him, and for some reason it drives him up a wall.

Roy pulls his arrow tauter, but doesn’t make any sudden movements. “Not tonight, Cheshire.”

“Ooh. Someone’s getting cocky.”

She twirls the sai around her fingers, ignoring his arrow and slipping around him. Her arm brushes his, light and quick. Then she sidles up next to him, inches away. Roy holds his breath, forcing himself to stay focused on the mission. He can’t let her distract him. Not this time.

Roy lowers his bow, feigning defeat. Then, before Cheshire can move, he lets the arrow loose by her feet, forcing her to jump backwards. He nocks another arrow in a matter of seconds and uses it to deflect the shuriken she sends whizzing his way.

Something is different about their combat tonight. Maybe it’s him. He’s angrier, tired of Cheshire’s interference. While her movements remain playful, nimble, his are rough, with a little more sharpness than need be. At one point, he notices an opening when she’s reaching for a weapon and attacks her directly, pinning her to the ground with his bow.

“Enough of this,” he growls, breathing hard. “Why are you here?”

Cheshire laughs. It’s a mocking, sultry kind of laughter that sends shivers down his spine.

“Didn’t realize you were such a Scrooge. Where’s your holiday spirit?”

In one swift movement, Cheshire locks her leg around his thigh and flips them around so she’s on top. Before Roy can shove her off, she presses another sai to his neck. Any sudden movements and he’s a goner.

With her other hand, Cheshire drags a gloved fingernail down his jaw. “What a shame. And after I came all this way to see you, too.”

Roy scowls, trying to ignore his racing heartbeat at Cheshire’s touch. Her games, while unwarranted and certainly unwanted, ignite a feeling in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Longing. Albeit mixed with disgust and confusion, but it’s definitely longing. One of these days, she might actually break him enough that he gives in.

Of course, the moment he thinks the thought, he shoves it far, far into the back of his mind. He isn’t thinking straight; must be the exhaustion.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asks, more genuine than he means to sound.

Cheshire’s eyes crinkle under her mask, amused. Clearly, she enjoys confusing him. “And what is it that you think I’m doing?”

To be fair, even Roy isn’t exactly sure. He’s been careful to operate on the sly, but there’s a possibility that the Shadows have figured out his game plan and have sent Cheshire here to kill him. Against his better judgement, he bites. “If you’re here to kill me, then get it over with.”

Cheshire doesn’t move. Her fingers remain on his jaw, holding it taught. “Do you really think I’m here to kill you?” With her other hand, she pulls the sai away and twirls it around her fingers. “Be reasonable, now.”

She’s right. If her job was to kill him, he would have been dead weeks ago. There would be a whole slew of Shadows here with her, fighting to take him out.

It occurs to Roy that with the sai off his neck, Cheshire has left him an opportunity to escape. Interesting. Either she’s really just toying with him, or she expects him to attack and is prepared with a countermove that will leave him with bruises for weeks. Given how battered he already is, he remains still, pretending he hasn’t noticed.

“So, you’re not here to kill me,” Roy deadpans.

“Correct.”

“But you also won’t tell me why you’re here.”

“You catch on quick, Loverboy.”

Roy’s watch beeps. Shit. He missed the guard change. A solid week of stakeout and learning the shift schedules is now completely wasted, thanks to Cheshire’s little interruption. Given that the schedules change by the week, he’s now completely lost his opportunity. Speedy wouldn’t be coming home tonight.

Screw the bruises.

He jerks his head forward hard, crashing against Cheshire’s. It hurts, a lot, but it startles her just long enough for Roy to regain control. Using his arms, he flips them once again, disarms her, and then pins her neck to the ground with his forearm.

Cheshire stiffens, just for a moment. Then she relaxes under his hold. “Wow. If you wanted to be on top, you only had to ask.”

Roy barely has a chance to register her words before she knees him in the gut. He should have braced himself against the blow, but he stupidly flinches. Cheshire uses it to her advantage and wrestles her elbow free so she can elbow him deep under his ribcage. The attacks came so swiftly and in such ferocity that he's forced to let her go. Roy staggers to his feet and grabs his bow, but Cheshire was expecting that. Once she’s on her feet, she kicks him square in the throat so he chokes and recoils.

While he gasps for air, Cheshire grabs his bow. Roy knows that if he goes hand-to-hand with her, he’ll lose, so he’s unable to do anything but watch as she swiftly breaks the bow over her knee. He doesn’t have an equipment cache anywhere in the city and he’s been traveling light, so he doesn’t have a backup bow on him. Athens is now rendered a total bust.

If he was a vindictive type of person, he would seriously have it out for her right now. Thankfully, his morals haven’t completely abandoned him just yet.

“This has been fun,” Cheshire simpers, completely oblivious to his anger. “But I’m afraid I have other plans.” She turns her back to him, sauntering away as if she hadn’t just rendered him completely immobile. Roy stumbles to his feet, breathing hard. “What do you want from me?” he asks, his voice raspy.

Cheshire pauses. She turns back to look at him, the white of her mask glowing in the moonlight. “I think you know what I want.”

“I think you know what I’m after.”

“I do actually. Do you?”

The memory returns to Roy suddenly, like a hot flash through his brain. Much of his memories of the past six months are scrambled, foggy, lost between what he was programmed to do and things he did of his own volition. He remembers now. She was there, with Sportsmaster, his former handler. Taipei.

She knew.

By the time Roy realizes it, Cheshire is gone.

Despite his better judgement, he sinks down on the roof and sits. Cheshire knows about him. If she knows about him, she must know about Speedy. Or at least, how to find him. That certainly changes things.

For the better part of the past two years, he went about it the right way, using all of the League’s resources to try and find his original. Dick, Wally, Jim, Kaldur, Ollie and Dinah… they all tried. He narrows his eyes and grasps at his hair with one hand. Maybe it’s time he stopped thinking like a hero.

If he wants to get closer to the real Roy, he’ll have to use the resources of the people that kidnapped him. The Light. He balls his fist. Speedy must be suffering in their hands, and he’s wasted enough time on his own trying to get to him. Red Arrow would never be able to get close to the light… but Cheshire, a Shadow? She might know. Better yet, she might be able to bring him closer.

Roy picks himself up off the roof, grimacing at the pain in his chest. Exhaustion rolls over him in waves, fighting a loud battle with his injuries. He’s pretty sure a couple of his ribs are cracked, if not broken. There will be bruises on his throat in the morning. Maybe he should have taken up Ollie’s invitation to come back home for the holidays and rest. He wonders if it’s too late.

No. He can’t afford to think like that. If he needs a break to recover and get supplies, fine. But he won’t let himself go home, not to Speedy’s life. He can’t take another holiday away from him. Not when he’s still out there.

Roy knows what he has to do now. The next time he sees Cheshire, he’ll go along with her games. He won’t fight her. She has to know something he doesn’t, and morals be damned, finding Speedy takes priority over any discomfort he has.

He has to keep trying to find him.

No matter the cost.

--

Athens December 25, 20:02 EET

Tracking Luthor's operations have led me here. Feel like I'm close to uncovering something big—maybe something that could lead me to Roy—but Cheshire keeps getting in my way. Can't fathom why that woman works so hard at thwarting me, except that it seems to give her some kind of perverse pleasure...

But that pleasure may be the key. I'm beginning to think she's my best hope for infiltrating the League of Shadows and getting closer to the so-called Light. Next encounter—I'm throwing the fight.

Oh, and Merry Christmas, Roy. I'm getting closer, I swear.

[ticklishraspberries]

A Day (Or Six) in the Life

Note: This is from Richie’s POV sorta, so fair warning, there is some vulgar language from time to time. Hope you like it!

Sometimes there’s just too much shit going on in Richie’s head. 

And like, don’t get him wrong – he loves the weird crap his brain comes up with. Makes things entertaining, a little spicy, a little zesty. The only problem with it is that he can’t find the damn remote that turns off the six different brands of Looney Tunes going on up there. 

(He’d once spent an entire lecture assigning different Voices to the markers his professor used on the whiteboard, to the point that he hadn’t retained a single iota of anything the man actually wrote down.)

Man, that red little minx was pretty sexy though.

He snorts to himself as he comes out of his dozing, shoved back into the real world for the present. He can feel the hot line of Eddie at his back, leg hooked over his hip like a seat belt. His lil jet pack. 

Richie reaches blindly for his glasses and pushes them onto his nose, sniffling. It’s still fairly early by his standards, but he doesn’t glance long enough at the digital clock to tell for sure, choosing instead to take one of Eddie’s hand and squeeze like it’s his own personal communications device. “Ground control to major Eds, come in, major Eds?”

No response.

Richie huffs, squeezes harder. “Psht. Major Eds? What’s your mission status, major?”

Maybe Eddie understands what he’s saying, maybe he doesn’t, but Richie receives a huff of hot breath at the back of his neck for his efforts, followed by what feels like a cheek smushed against his head. “S’too early, Rich.”

Flabbergasted, Richie turns over completely to grip a disgruntled, squinting Eddie by the front of his sleep shirt. “It’s never too early in outer space, Eds! Did the academy teach you nothing? I’m ashamed.”

And Richie doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing Eddie so ruffled in the morning. Slow, blinking away sleep from his eyes with those impossibly long lashes, yawning around perfectly white teeth that look like little moon rocks, and - and it definitely seems like there’s a theme going on in his head today, doesn’t it?

“What are you even talking about?” The question sounds irritated, but that’s never stopped Richie before. If anything, it means that he has to go and run his mouth harder, because that’s his default reaction to any indication that someone might be upset with him.

(Except they both know that if Eddie really felt like it, he could just pick up his hot little self and go back to his own bed across the room. Hasn’t happened yet, so. Free game.)

“What am I -? I’m talking about the great race, major!” He pokes Eddie’s side, smiling knowingly at the resulting yip and defensive curl. “Space ain’t some pre teen with a secret collection of skin mags, babe-be, it’s not gonna explore itself.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose but can’t bury his smile in his pillow fast enough for Richie to miss it, sighing a long-suffering breath. “You’re so gross.”

“I try.”

“Where am I going, anyway?”

“Hm?” Richie kinda shifted out of the moment there, it’s gonna take him a second to catch up.

“You know,” Eddie yawns again, gesturing to the ceiling with a limp hand. “Space. Tell me where I’m going.”

“Oh, yeah. Uncharted territory, actually. Forgot to mention that.”

“Mmm…”

A moment of silence passes between them, which is really fortunate for Eddie because it gives Richie an opening for just about the best joke ever. 

Gathering him in his arms slowly, he kisses his cheek, nuzzles up to him, and whispers, “To infinity… and your mom!”

Eddie, who had resettled peacefully in the crook of Richie’s arm, stiffens instantly and snaps one angry eye open to glare at him something fierce. Before Richie even so much as smirks, he finds himself pushed down into the squeaky mattress, two hands digging into any spot they can reach.

“Wait- W-wait!” Richie tumbles back with the force of it so hard he thinks he might get whiplash, but it doesn’t matter because he’s laughing around his next breath, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut.

Eddie’s like a freight train when it comes to this, hands jumping from sides to ribs to neck to armpits to stomach - it’s all Richie can do to hold on to his wrists, tickle-weak and letting it happen. 

“Yeah, laugh it up, Trash mouth.” Eds hisses, though Richie can see through a few tears that he’s grinning, biting at his tongue in concentration. Richie loves it, loves how Eddie can just reach into his head and jumble his brain until his thoughts whirl around like confetti in a snow globe. 

At any rate, those insistent little fingers wring every last one of them out of him by the time he stops, looking down at Richie’s flushed excuse for a face and beaming like he won a prize. Always a competition with him, hoo-wee. “You done yet?”

Richie blinks, drudging through the mud pile that is his brain for a witty retort. “Uh… I…”

Eddie leans down and kisses his nose. “Good. Let’s go get breakfast, I’m starving.”

——————————

“Oh. My. Fuck.” Richie pulls off his hat and tosses it aside the moment he’s through the door. He stops only to kick off his shoes, one landing near the rack and the other hitting the wall. He doesn’t care, though, limping into the living room. After an eight hour shift, he has no fucking business being vertical and wants no part of it, no sir.

He collapses face first into the cushions of their couch and breathes in. It smells like Bill’s cologne. Richie’s back fucking hurts. 

“Owchie mama, that’s sore.” He complains out loud as he stretches to the full length of his gangly limbs, feet nudging the arm of the couch. He doesn’t expect his legs to get lifted up though, hello?

“What’s sore?” A voice asks curiously as the couch dips under his weight, Richie’s legs falling back down across a certain someone’s lap.

Mike. A godsend, for sure. “Oh Micycle, is it really you? It’s been decades since I’ve heard that macho voice, I almost forgot what it sounds like.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Rich. How was work?”

How was work? How was work?? Richie’s gonna combust, but he’s too tired to go all out, so he settles for a small tantrum, flailing. “Never mention that word to me again. If you do, we’ll have to get a divorce, and then who would look after the children? The traumatized little lads, fuck.”

“That bad, huh?” Mike chuckles, and it’s deep and fond and warm, and Richie looks over his shoulder just so he can picture it better. Mike’s holding a book in one hand, and the glass sitting on the table means that he was definitely sitting there before Richie got back, but now he’s sharing his seat like the fine friggin Georgia peach that he is, holy shit. 

Richie whines. “I thought being a barista would be sexy! Like, a wet dream soccer team of sweaty Brazilians asking me for juice and my number, but instead - pardon my French - I get a bunch of douchebaguettes complaining how I spelled their names wrong. I’m gay and illiterate and I didn’t fucking ask them, did I? Stop laughing at me, Mike n Ike, this is serious business.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles again, chest shaking with it. “Douchebaguettes?”

“You’re making fun of me. I’m wounded. Way to kick a man when he’s down, M- ah… never mind, I love you. Keep laughing at me.” He groans outright when a warm hand wraps around his foot and squeezes, eking out the ever-present ache that Richie had gotten used to ignoring. 

“I love you, too.” Mike snorts, and Richie doesn’t have to look to know he’s shaking his head. Fine by him, as long as he keeps touching him like that.

“Mm, your hands are the best,” he slurs into the couch. He will abso-fruitly say anything to encourage him at this point, not that Mike seems to want to stop anyway. His palm pushes delicious friction along his arches, pulling satisfied purrs from Richie with each pass until he’s a good and proper puddle. He might actually be drooling, a little bit.

It’s only when his touch lightens that Richie jerks, and the hand pauses. “Is this okay?”

Bless Mikey’s farm boy heart, asking for consent. Richie’s heart’s gonna burst. “Y-yeah, m’good.” 

And he is. Mike’s fingers trace, feather-light, and it’s like there’s shivers buried underneath Richie’s skin, waiting for Mike to pull the trigger. It feels good. 

It also really, really tickles.

He snags a cushion to bury his smile in, the muscles in his leg going taut every time Mike’s fingertips venture down towards his toes. More than a few times, Richie’s foot twitches away from the tingly zaps before he can stop himself, choked off mirthful noises tightening in his throat until a few burble out.

Each time Mike waits patiently until Richie resettles his foot back in his lap, and then his drifting touch returns, slow like tree sap and unbearably electric. It’s an awful game that forces Richie to expose how much he really wants it, but then again, Mike never plays like that intentionally. He just does what seems right because he’s perfect and a gentleman. 

Richie loosens like an uncoiled spring when Mike rubs his thumb over his heel, whining his loss. 

And because he’s a fucking gem, Mike picks up on it right away and huffs softly. “Sorry.” He scribbles gently at the arch of Richie’s slender foot in apology, earning him a muffled snicker and scrunching soles.

“Mihihike.” 

“Mhm?”

“Tickles.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Pfft. Richie shakes his head, laughing harder into the cushion when Mike’s fingers drag down to his toes, scritching repeatedly. It’s not fair. He’s still wearing his socks with the pineapples on ‘em, and it’s worse than if he’d gone bare foot. He guesses it’s true that standing around for too long makes them more sensitive, but then, he’s always been this way. 

His knees jerk far more often now that Mike’s put some gusto behind it, albeit a very small amount, but Richie thinks he does a damn decent job at keeping his feet from wiggling away, all things considered.

Still, eventually, he hears the sound of the book getting set aside. Mike stops his gentle tapping at his soles, and Richie realizes as he sags back into the couch that he’s… tired. Like, stupid sleepy. He yawns and stretches again, humming his surprise when two strong arms turn him over.

“Well hello, handsome.” Richie grins back at Mike’s amused half-smile, more than happy to be the center of his attention for a while. 

“C’mon, Rich. It’s late, time for bed.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

He doesn’t fight it when Mike uses those absurdly strong arms to lift him up, despite being taller than him, wrapping his legs firmly around Mike’s hips and holding on to his shoulders. “Onward,” he yawns with enthusiasm. “Quick now yungin’, before we die of dysentery. Go on now. Git.”

Mike rolls his eyes and adjusts his grip as they head for the stairs. “Yeehaw.”

——————————

Richie tosses his controller on the couch beside him with a pout, watching the letters ‘game over’ flash across the screen. “Man…”

Behind him, he can hear the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, and with a furrowed brow he gets up to investigate. “If you’re here to rob us, take Eddie first. He’s the easiest to carry.” 

Around the corner, Ben smiles up from where he’s taking off his shoes by the rack (careful, because Stan insists). He’s beaming, actually, and still in his hot little karate outfit that makes him look like a formal dumpling. “You’re so mean to him. What if I wanted to rob you instead?”

“Everybody wants to rob me, Benny boy, get in line,” He hops up onto the counter to watch Ben’s face in the refrigerator light as he goes rummaging for a smoothie. “I’m just saying, if you’re any good at this, you gotta take the valuables first. Bottom shelf.”

Ben chuckles, leans down, and reappears, drink in hand. Richie nudges the door shut with his foot and grins back. “Who says you aren’t valuable?”

“Aw shucks.”

“Besides myself, I mean.”

“Benjamin.” 

Ben laughs at him around a sip of his drink, and Richie couldn’t stay fake mad at him even if he wanted to. It’s really nice that the cheeky fuck has some confidence now, since he’s been losing some extra pounds here and there. He’s not afraid to brush past people anymore, doesn’t shift uncomfortably when his thighs touch someone else’s, and he hip-checks them on purpose with a sly look every now and then. He’s not afraid to take up space now, and all of the losers are proud of him for it, including Richie.

(He’s just, like, super jealous that he can’t have that sorta weight transferred over to himself. Just a little bit, so he’s not all jabby angles and pointy bones. Also? He’s going to miss Ben’s love handles.)

“You seem extra bold today. Care to share anything with the class?”

That happy look from a few minutes ago returns like Ben just remembered something important. “Yeah, actually - hold on…” He turns, fishing in his bag for something before turning back, fingers clutching a bundle of blue fabric. “I, uh, I got my blue belt today.”

“Holy shit!” Richie adjusts his glasses, leaning in to run his fingers over it when Ben offers it up. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re making it up.”

“I’m not!” Ben’s voice just brims with infectious joy, like a little kid excited to show their first ever drawing from art class. He even has the little jump in his step, too.

“Benny, that’s awesome, dude!” He jumps down to punch Ben’s shoulder, smiling wide at the other’s shy but obvious pride. “And you know,” he thumbs at his upper lip and sniffs. “Not to fuck my own ass or anything, but I’m something of a dōjō master myself.” 

“Really?” Ben smirks, pushing back when Richie continues to push at his shoulder with his knuckles, bouncing on his heels anime fighter style.

“Really really. Call me Sensei, ‘cause I’ll teach you to mess with me.” He dodges with a surprised bark of laughter when Ben grabs for him, ducking and bringing his hands up to defend himself as they tussle right there in the kitchen, play-wrestling – Richie’s favorite thing.

Well. Almost favorite.

“Oof!” Richie hurumphs when the quick scuffle ends with him caught in a headlock, twisting back and forth fruitlessly. “Oi! Unhand me you fiend! You scoundrel! I’ll have you nicked, I will!”

Ben, not even winded, slaps his hand away. “Admit that I won and I’ll let go.”

“I’d rather bloody perish.”

“You’d rather perish?”

“Aye.” Richie grunts, straining against the hold. It’s like trying to empty a lake with a bucket. It just ain’t happening.

“Okay.”

Ben’s free hand digs into his side and Richie collapses back into him instantly, like a buck learning how to walk, except he’s really fucking bad at it and giggling maniacally. “Ben!” 

They crumple to the ground together, though Ben anticipates it, wrapping a solid arm around Richie’s waist as his other hand snakes up under his shirt to scribble at his ribs. 

Richie himself is a pale pile of squirming limbs, pushing back into Ben’s chest and squeaking with each sneaky pinch to his side. He tosses his head back against Ben’s shoulder in helpless snickering, tugging at his arm. “Ch-cheater!”

“I don’t hear you complaining!” Ben shoots back, fingers darting to where his shirt rucked up at his stomach to lay ticklish waste there. They move in a constant clawing motion, gentle because Ben is always gentle, but sadistic in the best worst possible way.

Richie convulses with how hard he laughs. He’s trapped in the most backwards tickle hug to exist, socks slipping on the tile of his kitchen floor, getting tortured by the group’s designated teddy bear.

A wayward finger brushes over the curve of Richie’s hip, sending him jolting even farther into Ben’s lap, tittering. 

“C’mon, Trash mouth. Fess up.”

If Ben thinks he’ll ever tap out, he is sorely mistaken.

“Never!” Richie cries, and then dissolves into cackling when Ben goes straight for his momentarily unprotected armpit.

Neither of them notice when Stanley steps into the doorway and promptly turns to walk back out, not once looking up from his phone.

——————————

Every now and then, Richie forgets that he might actually come off as attractive to the other losers. He’s always jokingly attractive, obviously. ‘Who wouldn’t want a piece of me?’ or ‘Golly, buy me dinner first!’ Are a few easy phrases to throw around, usually with a suggestive cock of his hip or an over exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes, which gets him a laugh now and then.

But like, for realzies? Richie isn’t hot hot, not like Mike or Bill with their big shoulders and mouth-watering biceps, Jesus Christ on a stick. He doesn’t have that cute allure like Eddie or Ben, either. Richie’s just a scrawny friggin beanpole, lanky, unlike the elegant way that Stan and Beverly manage. 

Being so gay is hard sometimes. Everyone looks hotter than you. 

“Rich?” 

He startles out of his musings and comes firmly back to himself where he’s reclined next to Bill on the trampoline, reminded of how his train of thought had gone that route; they’d been messing around until they weren’t, until Bill had cupped his face and brought him into a kiss, and then a fuzzy little parasite called insecurity reared its fugly head.

Richie squashes it down around a dazed smirk, seemingly quelling the momentary unease on Bill’s face. “Yowza.”

Bill snorts and rolls his eyes, plays with the hem of Richie’s “Support Whale Sex: Use Shampoo” shirt. “I thought you weren’t in the mood, for a second.”

“Vat?” Richie cries incredulously, shifting upwards and straddling Bill’s lap. “Bullsheet. Lies.” As if Richie could ever resist a man with legs like that. Damn.

Bill’s smile is genuine when he pulls Richie back down into another kiss, their lips meeting sparking a whole new wave of something in Richie’s chest, so intense that he’s pulling back within a few seconds, “Ven you look like zat? You lift, yes? Vat kind of –“ 

A hand covers his mouth, and Rich realizes that Bill is furrowing his brows at him. “Why are you doing a Voice right now?”

“…I’m nervous.” He apologizes, muffled. 

Bill snorts again as if to say ‘yeah right,’ but his expression softens when Richie doesn’t say anything else. “Nervous, huh?”

Richie nods, then licks Bill’s palm. He pulls it away with a disgusted chuckle, and then.

Then Richie is suddenly on his back, looking up at two dark, mischievous eyes. “Hoo shit.” He whispers. They are not in Kansas anymore.

“You should be.” 

That’s all the warning Richie gets before devilish fingers attack his sides, letting loose a bout of hysterical giggles from somewhere deep in Rich’s stomach. It’s like opening the floodgates every time. A head rush and a half. He squirms immediately, laughing harder when Bill drags him back down and pins him with one forearm against his own.

“Where are you going?” He muses, fond, and Richie’s face blushes ten different shades of crimson.

“B-Bill, please!” He wriggles, fingers clawing uselessly against slick fabric. If he struggles any harder, there’s a good chance the trampoline might start bouncing them for real.

“Please what?” His fingers are skittering up his ribs now, because Bill knows Richie just can’t stand that, and he’s smiling down at him like Richie makes him the happiest he’s ever been, and Richie can’t stand that either.

He squeezes his eyes shut, laughter coming freely the more that Bill tickles up his sides and over his stomach, curling up. Bill doesn’t seem to mind his lack of answer or the way Richie’s knees jerk into his hips, content to pull an endless amount of loud snickering from his partner.

It’s only when Richie arches away with a desperate wheeze that Bill stops what he’s doing, hands rubbing firm circles into the hips he’d just been scritching at - probably a routine he knew well from getting revenge on another particularly bony little shit they knew.

“You’re so - so mean. Gah. I’m taking you out of my will, Billiam.” Richie breathes, reaching up to wipe behind his glasses. 

Bill just chuckles at him and leans down, and they share a soft kiss that makes Richie’s heart flutter in his chest all over again.

——————————

 Kerplunk, sploosh. Kerplunk, sploosh. Kerplunk – 

“Fuck!” Richie jolts with a quiet hiss of surprise, shifting his attention from the lake to the offending pen that had just jabbed his side. Bev, sitting next to him, giggles and points to his textbooks with it. 

“Focus.”

Richie sticks out his upper lip, dropping his handful of pebbles in the grass at his feet. It took him, like, a whole twenty seconds to find those. “I was focused.”

“Focus on your homework, ding dong.” She gestures with her pen again, not looking away from her own book, which she holds easily in one hand. Show off.

Richie grumbles and hunches over, scrubbing a hand over his face. He makes it through two paragraphs before he fidgets again, making to reach in his shirt pocket for a smoke before he realizes, oh, yeah, I’m giving those up. Shit. 

Sometimes character development is just not worth it.

Bev appears to notice the gesture though, because she gently elbows Richie this time, gesturing to the book. “It’s really not so bad. You’ve already gotten through a few pages.”

“Yeah, with like, a bajillion more to go.” He huffs, flipping through the pages one more time before sitting up straight and slapping the table. “That’s it! I quit college.”

“Mhm.” Beverly is far too nonchalant but she can afford to be, since she’s heard the exact same statement fourteen times since the beginning of the semester. Two weeks in and going strong.

“I’m serious this time! I don’t need a degree to be funny, I’ve got that part in the bag. Also, capitalism? Who needs it.”

“Do you really hate classic mythology that much?”

Richie groans and drops his head against the picnic table. “Yes.” He’d thought that it would be cool! Gods and Goddesses and monsters (oh my), but instead he has to bear through three whole paragraphs of a list of men, all sons of other men, because any of that is just so integral to the understanding of the Trojan war. Everyone knows that Achilles was the only real bitch on that battlefield, okay? Literally nothing else matters.

He jumps again, this time snickering, when Bev scribbles at his side. “Hehehey!”

“Cheer up, Tozier. Your vibes are ruining our study date.”

Richie eyes her up, adjusting his glasses. “Are you saying that my vibes are off, Marsh?”

She nods sagely. “They’re atrocious.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve never failed a single vibe check in my life.” And that isn’t going to change today, no sir. Just ask Eddie, the last time he tried to pull something. 

“You’re gonna fail more than just this vibe check if you don’t do your reading.”

“Not true! I know the stuff, I just… don’t like it.” He’s of the philosophy that memorizing shit just makes it harder to remember. Richie can go over some of the professor’s notes online and be just fine. 

Heaving a sigh, Beverly gets up. She pushes at Richie’s back. “Scoot in.”

“If you say so, ma’am.” Though Richie just complies because he wants to see where this is going. When Beverly slides in behind him, legs on either side of his, he can kinda feel her boobs pressing against his back. Nice.

“Oh hello.” Richie grins, feeling free to press back into her. She smells nice - changed her perfume for some reason - and her presence is a welcome warmth, inviting and –

She blows a raspberry against the back of his neck.

– and a fucking trap!

“Bev!” He jerks forward instantly, shoulders hunching. She follows, nuzzling into the space behind his ear, and Richie shivers violently. “O-oho my gawd, why?!”

“I’m just making sure you pay attention.” She teases, weaving her arms around his chest so that her fingertips rest at his sides, making Richie tense. But nothing comes, yet.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tickling him is definitely not going to make him want to read more. It’s going to make him want to be tickled. It’s like trying to punish an addict with cocain.

Bev snorts, fingertips wriggling briefly enough to get a squeak and a weak squirm out of him. “Just keep reading. If you slack off, I’ll bring you back!” 

Ah! So simple! Haha! Wow. Genius. 

Richie sighs heavily to indicate how much he turns his nose up at this frankly childish behavior, but reluctantly opens his book back up to where he was before. Admittedly, having Bev close might help his attention span, just slightly. He can feel her cheek resting against his back, ankles brushing his every now and then, and her arms are a soothing weight against his chest. Like the fancy weighted blanket that Eddie uses on his more fidgety days.

That doesn’t stop his attention from drifting occasionally, of course. When he takes a little too long to turn the page, Beverly tweaks his ribs or snuffles at the side of his neck until he lurches forward in a bout of giggles, holding on to the wooden table for support. And sometimes, when his leg starts bouncing of its own free will, she smooths her hand down his thigh and starts squeezing his knee, earning stronger fits of squirming and yelping that even gets her to laugh. What a meanie.

“You have your own stuff to read, you know.” He huffs after a brutal attack to his hips, having nearly torn his page in half. Richie immediately regrets it though, because he doesn’t want her to stop. He silently prays that she doesn’t move, and whoever’s listening grants him a little mercy.

“I know.” She says, nudging his head with hers. Richie reaches for her hand, thinking he might off himself if she doesn’t take his back, but she does, and they sit like that together for a while, listening to nature do its thing.

“Hey, Rich?”

“Yeah?”

She uses her free hand to get at his stomach, and Richie chokes.

“Do your fucking reading.”

——————————

They’re barely three steps through the door before Stan is on Richie like strippers to a pole, pushing him up against the wall and staring him down with so much intensity that Richie doesn’t have enough breath left to ask the obvious question: what the fuck?

He grips his bag with his work outfit inside of it and tries to remember if he did anything particularly annoying on the drive home, but nothing comes to mind other than when he tried to poke Stan’s jaw and he swatted him away. Richie wasn’t actively pursuing anything because that never works with Stan. He’s like a fucking cat that way; if he gets even the slightest bit ruffled, he leaves the room, all indignant and huffy. 

Hence, his confusion at this particular stunt.

That doesn’t last long though, because Stan shakes his head slowly and pulls Richie’s hat off his head, tossing it aside without even looking to see where it goes, which is a very unlike-Stan gesture.

“Stan –?“

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

They look at each other, and Richie nearly trips over himself when Stan starts moving them both backwards, towards his room. Normally that might raise some flags, but they’ve been through scenarios like this before. Richie doesn’t really mind getting pushed around (in fact he might even like it a little bit if his first childhood crush is anything to go by) but not knowing the reason is… fishy.

Stan kicks the door closed behind them, still walking Richie backwards, but grabs a hold of his shirt before he can go tumbling back on the bed. “Here’s how this is going to work.”

“Uh –“ Richie’s already on board.

Stan’s grip tightens, and then Richie’s world goes scrambled for three seconds when he gets pushed - fucking pushed, the nerve - onto the bed, Stanley following after him easy as pie and hovering over him, predatory, focused. “I’m going to tickle you.”

Richie can’t hide the way his body almost seems to curve up at that statement. If his body was a temple, it was a temple to some very traitorous limbs. Stan deciding he wants to do anything even close to roughhousing is a special treat, but this one in particular has Richie’s name on it

He realizes after a beat that Stan is waiting for him to say something, and Richie, in true Richie fashion, momentarily forgets the English language. “Uhm - yes?”

“Good. Put your arms up.” 

That’s not going to last, but Richie does it, and Stan leans in like the sexy Mr. Rogers that he is and… plucks his glasses off his face, sticking them in his shirt pocket. Friggin thief. When did everyone in this house get so bold? “Hey –“

“Can’t risk breaking them.” Stan answers, fingers already slipping under Richie’s shirt to flutter at his sides. Richie wiggles and his complaint trails off into a snicker. Can’t argue with that anyway he guesses.

Stan tickles him like he does everything else: thoroughly, and with dedication. Quick and nimble fingers drill into the spaces between Richie’s ribs, blunt nails scritching down to his sides, then pulling at his jeans just enough to expose his hips, and Stan’s ducking his head and Richie can fucking see those curls, almost, through his blurry, tear-stained vision, helpless with laughter already, grabbing at the head-board -

– And they pause. Stopping is so much than starting. Richie can feel Stan’s breath against his stomach, where his shirt is rucked up, when he speaks. “When’s the last time you took a shower?”

Through giggle-heavy breath, Richie struggles to answer. “Uhm, like, y-yesterday? Wh- fuhuhUCK!” 

He squeals when Stan’s tongue joins the mix, starting at his belly button until he meets the curve of his hip, nibbling along his V-line with so much enthusiasm that Richie thinks he must actually taste like the coffee he smells like. That’s the only explanation for such an assault.

Richie curls in on instinct, hands going for Stan’s hair, but he must anticipate this because he sits up instantly, grabbing Richie’s wrist and glaring at him. Or, he’s probably glaring. He looks like an angry blur at the moment.

It’s…. pretty hot. Not gonna lie.

“I said keep your arms up.” He growls. When Richie slips obediently back into place without question, Stan moves down even further, hoisting Richie’s calve over his shoulder and setting to work again. 

The sweeping motion of his fingertips is not as aggressive as before, though it’s probably because they don’t need to be. Even through the denim, that light swishing motion from his thigh to his knee and back again has him cackling, all reserve flying out the window as he scrambles, pulling at the sheets.

Stan pulls at him in response, taking a firm hold of his ankle and scribbling in a relentless, spidery motion at the back of his knee.

Richie 1. Screeches, then 2. Does his best impression of a hula dancer having a seizure.

Apparently breaking the arm-up rule no longer matters at this point, because Richie is just beside himself in the agonizingly sweet, tingly jolts running through his nervous system, spasming on the bed and doing anything within his physical power to get away from it.

Stan doesn’t let go, though, only moves with him, tickling and tickling. Yes, Richie thinks. Please don’t stop. This has to stop. Don’t stop. Don’t let go. Oh god, this is the fucking worst this sucks this is so good, don’t stop, don’t stop – 

By the time Stan has thoroughly decimated Richie’s thinking capabilities, having seen to it that both legs have received proper attention, Richie is a curled ball of silent, wheezing laugher in the center of the bed. He takes a deep breath only to let out another fresh peal of laughter, shaking, as Stan lays beside him to rub his shoulder.

“Don’t.” He sighs after a few moments of cool down, as if exasperated, but it sounds fond. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh while you were killing me, I’ll take note of that for next time.” Richie snarks, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“No, I mean don’t whine like that.”

Richie whined? “Like what?”

“Like the minute someone stops touching you, it’ll never happen again.” Stan explains patiently, like it’s obvious, twisting one of Richie’s curls around a slender finger and, for now, neglecting to mention how he needs a hair cut.

Oh, that… that – “You don’t know that.” He defends feebly, accepting his glasses when they’re pushed into his palm. Sometimes he forgets how easy it is for Stan to just look at him and see him. It’s unnerving how perceptive he can be, and possibly just as unnerving how much Richie wants to be seen, scary as that might be. He’s had killer clown dreams that terrify him less, and yet.

“I do,” Stan disagrees, making room for Richie to turn over. Neither of them are surprised when Richie ducks his head to hide his face in Stan’s button-up, cheeks burning pink from more than just exertion. “You make it painfully obvious, but it’s a ridiculous fear. There’s six other people in this house. No one’s going to stop touching you unless you ask them to.”

Richie snorts into Stan’s chest. Fat fucking chance.

Still, there’s always that lingering Voice - the one that sounds most like himself - asking him if six people will be enough. Richie Tozier has not one, but six partners and he still wonders if that attention is enough. Talk about high maintenance.

Richie closes his eyes and just enjoys Stan’s hand in his hair, trying not to think about that too much, even as he counts down the seconds to that touch stopping too. “Is it…annoying?”

“That you like tickling? No.” Stan scratches at the base of his neck and Richie hums, pressing closer. “It’s only annoying that you think it’s going to go away.”

Well fuck him, Richie can’t just control how he feels about it, okay? It’s not like he hasn’t tried before. It’s hard, he doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t want anything good in his life to ever end, and he especially doesn’t want Stan to stop tracing the curve of his ear like that.

Two fingers tilt his chin up, and Richie blinks back at Stan’s surprisingly soft eyes. “It’s not going to stop.” He murmurs, then kisses Richie’s forehead. 

It hits him harder than a baseball bat to the gut. How did Richie Tozier die? It was the curly twink in the bedroom with unconditional love.

That being said, it’s not like he doesn’t appreciate the reassurance, even if it makes him the slightest bit vulnerable. Just a little too open. A little too raw. Tickling allows him to be like that for a short while, and maybe that’s why Richie likes it so much. Instant satisfaction, zero commitment, and it’s fun too. No arcade game or cold shower can scratch an itch for something like that.

He smiles back up at Stan and took his hand so he could kiss the back of it. A moment of mushy, romantic weakness if you will. “Aw, Staniel. You make me blush. If you wanted to woo me so badly you could have put on some judge Judy and those cute little pajama pants, maybe with some ice cream - no, definitely with some ice cream -“

Stan sighs but indulges Richie in his rambling, fingers trailing through his hair all the while. Things have already shifted back into normal territory, but there’s this new, unspoken truce between Richie and this obsession of his - the confirmation that each of his partners knows what he needs, when he needs it, and that they’re not going to drop-kick him out of their lives for asking for it one too many times. It’s nice to have something consistent in his life.

But if those six losers think they don’t have the same exact fate lingering over their heads, they have no idea what force they’re reckoning with. Richie is nothing if not a giver, and he intends to deliver their due retribution.

In full.

[bigskydreaming]

For the record, I focus a lot more on Dick and Jason’s relationship than I do Dick and Tim’s, but that’s because I don’t tend to agree with a ton of the more popular Tim takes out there, so there’s not much....drive for me to interact with Tim content too much. And also, I was a fan of what little we got of Dick and Jason being brothers before ADITF, like right when I first got into comics as a kid, and then I quickly burned through that and caught up with what was being currently published, and found out Jason was dead, lol. 

And then Jason was dead in the comics for like 15 years while we had plenty of Dick and Tim bonding on the page, and then Jason came back and was written very shittily IMO, so I was mostly just flip-flopping back and forth between “yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay they brought Jason back” and “noooooooooooooooooo they’re making me almost sorry they brought Jason back” with little else in between.

And then they stopped being Completely The Worst with Jason, and when I popped back up in fandom again this past year, Dick was still...not super popular with Tim fans these days, because of the whole RR thing with a lot of people.

While meanwhile, after yeeeeeeeeeeeeeears of a lot of fans defaulting to the take that Dick hated Jason and was an asshole to him before he died and Jason never liked him either, people seemed to actually be receptive to the same kind of “hey what if Dick and Jason were brothers who actually loved and valued each other and Dick missed him and mourned him” takes I’ve been making for like twenty years, because I AM a broken record, in fact.

All of which is just to say.....I write a lot of stuff about Dick and Jason and focus on their sibling relationship for a lot of reasons. I’m a reader before I’m a writer, particularly when it comes to fandom content - I’m never lacking for ideas, and the more I can read of what I’d like to see, the easier it is to pick from what’s left over and write just the stuff that I’m NOT finding anywhere else, that’s less likely to exist if I don’t write it myself. 

So basically.....I tend not to write for stuff I don’t see a lack of. If I can already find enough I like in some specific direction to read, I’m doing that. Its the stuff I can’t find anywhere outside of my own thoughts that I most focus on, writing-wise.

And given that I’ve been wanting to see more of Dick and Jason as brothers since I was ten, and had a lot of years after that of Dick and Tim......I just have a lot more stuff to say about Dick and Jason, and a lot more that I want to read/write of them.

BUT its never been that I don’t like Dick and Tim’s sibling relationship, or Dick and Damian’s, or Dick and Bruce’s parent/child dynamic from when he was younger and they were really close. Its just....I don’t see those as really being things that lack for content if I’m not writing things myself. So I don’t hate Bruce and Dick getting along.....but there’s a ton of content out there where they’re just Good Dad Bruce and son, and far less that delves into the less pleasant aspects of things, but which I very much have thoughts on. 

I LOVE Dick and Dami together, honestly, because for years now, Damian has pretty consistently been one of the only characters shown.....meeting Dick half way, and like, ‘putting up with stuff’ he’s not comfortable with for others, just for Dick’s sake and because Dick being happy matters to him, and then shown grudgingly liking the hugs and whatnot in return as well. 

That’s ideal for me, a dynamic where Dick isn’t just constantly the only one changing to be what the other person wants or expects him to be, or the only one putting up with things that maybe he’s less than comfortable with just to make someone else happy....a dynamic where he’s not the only one expected to change in order to make things work.....that’s ultimately all I’d like for any of his relationships to be. With Damian, I tend to find a decent amount of that already existing in fandom, at least far more than any of the others, so there’s never been much of a pull towards writing that specifically.

And while Dick hasn’t tended to be too popular with a lot of Tim’s fandom in recent years, at least comparatively speaking, there’s still a decent amount of older fic I find, pre-BFTC, that has the dynamic I really enjoy from them. And aside from that....I’d say they actually have the most canon content out there of the two of them being brothers who love, value and respect each other, going all the way back to Tim’s earliest appearances. I’d argue they actually have more along those lines than Dick and Damian, just because sheer length of time involved......Damian’s still only been around a little over ten years, whereas Tim and Dick were close for almost twice that by the time Damian came along, so there really is a ton of canon content out there of them being close.

And of course, there hasn’t been much of Dick and Cass in aaaaaaaages, and there’s basically no Jason and Cass, which in turn fuels a lot of my recent “What if Dick and Jason and Cass were all close as the three eldest kids” talk of late, etc, etc.

So, if you were ever curious about what pulls my focus the most and why, that tends to be how things break down for me. The more I have to say about specific characters, stories, scenes or dynamics, and the less I see anyone else saying it....that’s what tends to get most of my energy.

BUT also just for the record.....that doesn’t ever mean that I actually dislike or am open to hate on any of the Batfamily, I always say I’m here for the WHOLE found family, and I mean it. I’m critical of Bruce in areas and times where I think he’s done things that are worth criticizing and that don’t go away when I just pretend otherwise.....but the criticism comes from a genuine desire to see him written BETTER, without the abusive overtones and outright abuse he’s been written with at times. 

And yeah, I’m occasionally petty about Tim, sure, but that tends to be more me just knee-jerk reaction to seeing a thing elsewhere and tbh is not usually meant all that seriously. He’s not my favorite, but I don’t hate him, and I could never imagine writing any of his siblings as actually hating him for the same reasons I don’t write them hating any of each other either. I don’t like writing families that play favorites, or have members they actually hate or don’t like. It just....defeats the point of them being a family, for me? Like, that’s really all it comes down to. People have asked me about whether I’d ever write Dick leaving the family to strike out on his own, and tbh, that’s usually a no, because that’s not what I want, as I also don’t think its what his character would ever want.....he wants his family, I just want to write them as ALL getting along and being healthy for ALL of each other.

But bottom line there is just....Dick is unabashedly my favorite, Jason my second fave, the others all tending to ebb and flow at times to different levels.....BUT I never actually hate any of them, and I’m not trying to give that impression or receive a lot of takes based on the assumption I am or looking for solidarity on hating any of them. Sometimes some of the other characters tick me off, sometimes fans of another character tick me off, I be petty or vent, and then its usually over and I’m back to good. *Shrugs*

[demytasse]

  [Shinzaya] Past Affection

— 

  The afternoons which bordered Summer were just as much a nuisance as they were a spectacle.

On one hand, they were the creators of colourful settings—beautiful, vibrant hues that blended from one stage to another; and the sun, a keen mage, slowed the passage of time until it was difficult to determine the current hour. Moments were easily lost, now with an unfamiliar schema that needed to be followed. That was the unfortunate other hand.

To which lost moments were already too many for students who’d been locked away in stuffy classrooms prior to the bell. Because all things considered the school grounds weren’t the place students wanted to remain past academic droll and extracurricular electives—sports teams and clubs. Yet inevitably time would get away from them; at least in return they created lifelong memories.

  One day—in exact two before Summer—there was a particular club that fell victim to that of an extended school day.

The club was its own undefinable thing; a sort of study hall but also not. A science club by name, but a ruse. That and it was comprised only of a peculiar pair who had decided to rehash middle school upon a whim—late in the game, mid-career.

Hardly needed was a biology lab they once took advantage of, so a sterile box was ditched for an unused classroom that lacked decorations and student accommodations.

Beside its wide window were the founders, Izaya and Shinra, who had positioned themselves across from one another and occupied two turned desks united at their cutoff. Under the table their ankles did much the same—rested near each other, suspended in open space, their legs crossed in mirror.

Though one was a bob, a percussion that Shinra played against Izaya’s leg without his awareness; hardly nervous, rather a content tic—an old habit that resurfaced, years unpracticed thus a drumming disaster instead of something consistent and precise.

Regardless, he continued on with his unconscious backbeat for the seasonal cicadas and conditioned air flow—just as well accosted Izaya with low key affection.

Struck, Izaya was separated from his studies, hit with memories he wasn’t prepared to remember; scenes from his early teens, details he had tossed aside for less important ones. Though he was innately familiar with the beat, it was easy to move on.

That is until Shinra started to hum a swooning melody that matched the calm afternoon; that was when Izaya completely lost concentration.

    He stuttered words within his notes, failed to comprehend excerpts already read in his textbook. It was far too difficult to focus with a track sweetly and tenderly sung in reverb; the only song Shinra ever hummed.

With that calling it was a struggle not to smile.

Though maybe he had, despite his wishes—given the glance he shared with Shinra for a second before his clubmate went back into space and beyond.

Further a distraction was the song itself. Izaya never had a name for it—nor did he have an artist or lyrics, just a general genre. Truly it never bothered him before, but lost in the moment it did, like he wanted to steal an mp3 from the internet in order to listen to it on repeat, unsure of if a moment like this would continue on in the future.

That aside it was pure curiousity.

A mystery he wanted his friend to reveal as a detective Izaya hired under the table with a nudge to halt the beat.

    "So, I believe it's due time that you fill me in on what song you've been humming."

    Shinra stopped. "Was I humming?"

    "You weren't aware of that?"

    "Well, I did have a song stuck in my head..." he looked to the ceiling, finger at his chin.

Izaya knew Shinra’s obliviousness was straight up crap.

    "Perhaps you’ve had the same song in your head going on four years, then. Not like I doubt the possibility, with your proclivity to obsess over solo things."

    "Oh geez, did you become an esper without me knowing? I mean, I would expect your desire to pry into the inner workings of other people’s minds, but never mine."

Shinra remarked slyly which ruffled Izaya.

He already had a hard enough time asking an oddball question out of the blue. Rather, it was odd for him to ask a personal question of a person he knew personally. Mind you, fairly exact.

    "No." Dead-eyed, he continued. "Like I said, you hummed out that incessant ear-worm...and have been for so long that it’s permanently attached to my eardrums."

    "Right,” Shinra nodded, “and just now you’ve begun to wonder what the song was." 

    “I’m sure if you roll back the script you’ll find your answer.”

    “Well if you insist, should we take it from the top—” Izaya kicked Shinra, who laughed when his knee jerked in reaction.

    “Spare me, Shinra.”

    “Haha, alright! Alright! I’ll relent.” His laughter died as blind thought replaced his bespeckled vision.

    Surprisingly the name wasn’t at the tip of Shinra’s tongue, unlike the wit he usually taunted. With a slack frown, he reviewed memories played in reverse.

All the while Izaya studied Shinra; heavy head in palm, pen long ditched, opposite hand a paperweight.

    "Hmm...you know…” Shinra relaxed his confusion when the answer clicked.

    Izaya hummed for him to continue.

    "It wasn’t ever a song I intentionally picked. As cheesy as it might sound, the diddy automatically played whenever we were alone."

    "Hu. I didn’t expect that… What is it, then? The song."

    "I don’t know, Izaya. It probably shares the tune of a preexisting song."

    "In other words… You made it up."

    "I guess so. Is that so bad?"

Shinra looked without a care, his head nudged in favour of the window, enough to watch the sunset as it painted drifting clouds.

    "Isn't that just like you..."

    There was a definite pause—long enough for Izaya to put his pen to paper, but not enough for his paper to accept written word.

    "Though it's funny, isn't it? That I never thought twice about it... That's rather not like me.”

    Shinra spoke indolently, “but I realised something while thinking over it.”

Izaya let him continue.

    “To be honest, it just reminded me of you," he stirred clouds with his finger, “much like the sunsets often do."

The confession was blunt, but in a good way—in response it widened Izaya's eyes, and all of a sudden the low sunset was blown into full saturation. Not in the sky, but a kaleidoscope swirl upon Shinra's cheeks.

The answer held more weight than he expected. More heart, more sentiment, more romance… It lulled simple honesty, acted as proof that they had become fully comfortable with one another. Finally, an overdue rain-check—fulfilled in the middle of golden hour on that random day.

Izaya remained entranced by his brightened view of Shinra, just as his object of attraction was lost in his skygaze.

     "...ah…"

    Shinra chuckled. “That's all you can respond with?" Clearly, Izaya knew how he really wanted to respond, but he struggled with how to do it; how to redirect that wistful stare upon him.

Even though he was handed the perfect opportunity it was difficult to craft something appropriate for the lackadaisical mood. To pull Shinra closer—more than a friendly distance, shorter than their default comfort zone.

Pathetically, the only thing he could muster was an edge forward with his fingers in lead; but beyond a few inches he froze, contemplated if he could see the simple plan through.

He couldn't.

His desire felt like it would ruin the moment—he lied to his cowardice. Which in return his confidence reassured him that sometimes a moment was better kept beautiful, uninterrupted.

Instead Izaya decided to reciprocate the warm caress of his ankle that Shinra reinitiated, in hopes that it wouldn’t sacrifice their intimacy upon contact.

Shinra twitched, but barely acknowledged it. He simply tapped the tabletop to invite Izaya to connect with him, at the very least by hand.

Covered in shadow Izaya’s smile probably went in vain, though it certainly spoke through his response; a sigh that mocked the blow of air conditioning.

    "Mmm…” Izaya nodded.

    “...that’s all."

—

AN: This is the cheesiest sht. This was originally an idea that was part of my fic Hold Me Tight (Or Don’t) but it didn’t quite fit after things progressed. I loved it too much to let it go to waste. Err...that’s why the setting about them rehashing their middle school biology club days is...is similar. Eheheh...

[phantoms-lair]

Alternate Realities-Nerima Snippet - Pre Beach

Pidge eyed the swimsuit section, trying to decide which style to go for. Normally she wasn’t one for too many frills, but with all the testosterone she felt surrounded with lately, she was tempted. On the other hand the last thing she wanted was for the people she was judging to think she had jumped into the contest herself.

It wasn’t worth it. She sighed and began looking at the more modest suits. Doctor Ono (she couldn’t call him Dr. Tofu with a straight face) paid her a modest wage, but since working for him included room and board, she hadn’t had to spend it on much it on, especially since the tech level of this world was decades behind the Earth she knew and even further behind the Alien tech she’d become accustomed to( she was so grateful she’d had a backup laptop in Green).

A soft “Oh My,” let her know Kasumi was in the store, but she paid no attention. Unlike her sisters, Kasumi never started trouble and was likely just there for a suit of her own.

Hence it surprised Pidge when when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Excuse me Gunderson-san, would you happen to be looking for an outfit for the upcoming beach trip?”

Pidge laughed nervously. “Yeah. Shampoo and Ukyou found out about it, so they’re heading to the beach too. So this is a chance to observe and see if a different environment yields anything.”

Kasumi smiled. “Oh, I’m not upset, I expected Ranma’s friends to show up, they always do.” There was a bit of sadness in her smile. Pidge was sure she was as done with the mess as everyone else, even if she tried to always appear happy and serene. “I just was worried none of these suits would be comfortable for you.”

Pidge blinked. “Why, are the brands not good or something?” “Oh not at all. It’s just there’s a lot of water at the beach. And it does tend to be on the cold side.”

Pidge’s mind tried to figure out why Kasumi was stating the obvious when the words cold and water came together. “Oh...I’m not going to be able to be a girl there at all, am I?”

“Ranma hasn’t managed to stay male at the beach more than a few minutes.” Kasumi explained sympathetically. “Of course if you still want to look feminine I know Ukyou’s friends Tsubasa and Konatsu might be able to help.”

Pidge held up a hand, stopping her. “Crossdressing would be a crutch. It might work now when my forms aren’t too different, but that’s probably going to change. I’ll get some trunks. It should be fine, I’ve been living as a boy for-”

This time it was Kasumi that gently stopped her. “Ukyou-kun was forced to live as a boy for years, and I think is a prime example of how living as a boy doesn’t make you one. If you’d like I can at least stitch the word ‘Girl’ onto your shirt.”

“But Nannichuan does make me a boy, at least sometimes.” More often than sometimes, if Pidge was being honest. “If this is going to be my life now, I can’t hide from it.” 

Kasumi cocked her head to the side. “You know, Gunderson-san, I think you’re the only curse victim I know who just immediately accepts the idea that you’re not going to be cured.”

Pidge shrugged. “That makes sense, honestly. The cure exists, it’s just not going to be safe to get for a year or so. They’re all going to be here for that, no matter how much they hate waiting. Me? If I’m still here in a year it means I failed my family, both of them, and that’s not acceptable for me.”

Kasumi smiled again, but it seemed different this time, almost more genuine, though Pidge hadn’t thought the previous one insincere.

A flash of curiosity hit Pidge. “Kasumi-san, may I ask you a question? It’s kind of personal, so you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Of course, Gunderson-san.” Kasumi answered without a second thought.

“Please, call me Pidge. And I was wondering, the day Ranma showed up you and Nabiki had kind of a knee jerk reaction to Ranma and the situation you were in. Not that I blame you in the slightest, but I was wondering with what you know now, would you have done anything different?”

Kasumi went quiet for a moment. “Yes. I think I would have accepted the engagement myself.”

Pidge’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I mean, I didn’t think Ranma was exactly your type?”

Kasumi’s laugh rang crystal clear. “You are so refreshing Gunder-, my apologies, Pidge-kun. And you’re right, Ranma’s not what I’m looking in for a husband at all, but-” she became more solemn. “It wasn’t just a knee jerk reaction to Ranma’s uniqueness.”

“You can can say you were weirded out by the curse. It’s a weird thing, that won’t insult me.” Pidge assured.

“Well, even aside from that, I saw an opportunity. Akane had developed such a distaste for boys after what Kuno put her through, I thought Ranma turning into a girl would put her at ease.” she sighed. “I was very wrong. Akane didn’t see a safe middle ground, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Should Nabiki been made to take up the engagement, she would have destroyed Ranma to preserve her own freedom. I would not be happy married to Ranma, but it would have brought less disharmony.”

“Kasumi-san, there is no harmony in a loveless marriage.” Pidge said insistently. “Sometimes there’s no right answers. Sometimes there’s not even a good one. We just have to do what we can with what we’re dealt. I was just looking for some insight.”

And she’d gotten some. That Nabiki would destroy Ranma was really more confirmation that anything. But that Kasumi felt it was better that she lock herself in a loveless marriage than have paired Ranma and Akane said volumes.

The Tendo agreement was going to be dissolved. It didn’t matter that it seemed to be viewed as the default engagement, none of the sisters would be happy wed to Ranma. While it was true the only stipulations given were that honor and law be appeased, Pidge wouldn’t condemn anyone to a miserable marriage. And if pressed on the matter she’s simply say she found doing so to be dishonorable, which would violate the terms,

But that was for later. Right now it was time to get a new swimsuit. A drinking fountain provided the cold water (thankfully Pidge had taken to wearing men’s underwear at all times. It was far more forgiving in the case of an accidental change and cheaper to boot). He grabbed a few different pairs that looked about the right size and took them to the fitting room.

The first two pairs didn’t fit right at all, but the third was fine. Pidge made note of the size and looked himself over in the mirror. Pidge’s bust was modest, still in early development after all. But looking into the mirror and seeing those completely flat pecs was still a bit jarring.

“Find anything?” he heard Kasumi’s voice from over the wall.

“Yeah, I think I did.” Pidge called back.

“Well, let’s see.”

PIdge smiled, reminded of shopping trips with his mother (oh he was not looking forward to explaining the curse to her). He reached for the changing room door and opening it before he jerked it shut again, his one free hand attempting to cover up his chest.

This is silly He told himself. I’m a boy right now. Boy don’t wear shirts with trunks. He tried to open the door again, but froze up.

An article of clothing was slid over the top of the stall. “Maybe this will help?” Kasumi asked.

PIdge picked up what turned out to be a swim shirt and pulled it on. “How did you know?” he asked, leaving the changing room.

“I’m a girl too, you know. And it does look good on you,” Kasumi said appraisingly.

“Thanks, I thought I was doing better than that, though.” Pidge said sheepishly.

“Undoing a lifetime of social conditioning isn’t a quick process.” Kasumi assured. “I guess. Let me get changed and pay for these. Were you picking out something too?” he asked,

“Oh no, I just saw you through the window and thought I could help.”

“You really did. That would have sucked to figure out at the beach.” Pidge went back into the room and began to change. “So what brings you out this way?”

“I was just doing some grocery shopping. I have to restock some pantry items, as well as pick up some food for dinner.”

“Need a hand with that?” PIdge asked, leaving the changing room.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose,” Kasumi tried to wave him off.

“I don’t have plans for the rest of the day and you helped me,” Pidge pointed out. “Besides, what are friends for?”

Kasumi went stock still for a moment, then beamed at him. “Well, I wouldn’t mind the company. It’s been quite a while since I had a strapping young man by my side,” she gently teased.

Pidge grinned back. “Well, any young man would be honored to accompany you.” he bowed slightly, carrying on the joke.

She extended an arm and he took it. Sure the Nerima rumor mill would be going full tilt tomorrow, but maybe at least it would convince people he really had no interest in Ranma Saotome.

[calleo-bricriu]

What's your problem with Aurors?

This is less opening a can of worms and more hitting a large hornet nest with Confringo.

Though, in fairness, I'm more inclined to leave hornets alone because hornets don't involve themselves in other peoples' business and are generally harmless unless provoked.

There is no short answer, but I'll try to keep it in some sort of organised list format:

1. Remember that bit earlier when I mentioned that what they do and who they target depends heavily on the social and political climate?

Well, it does, and it got really bad during the First War.

Anyone suspected, with or without proof, of any sort of any kind of leaning toward quite literally anything related to--no matter how incidentally--the Dark Arts was under heavy watch.

The problem is, while it did net them a small handful of supporters or followers of the Dark Lord, the majority of what was thrown into Azkaban were addicts who weren't a danger to anyone but themselves. Most of them never left Knockturn and, even in Knockturn, were too out of it to do much more than ramble incoherently at people who passed by.

They were guilty by virture of existing in the wrong place at the wrong time, and there were rarely trials.

Even the trials the Ministry did have were, at best, show trials; those people had already been deemed guilty before they were ever hauled before anyone to hear their case.

2. And, when you criminalise addiction at its base, you only feed the cycle.

The cycle between the Department of Magical Law Encforcement, specifically the Auror Office and Azkaban is--unpleasant.

Azkaban, per the Ministry's constantly pushed view, is meant as a deterrant; it has solitary confinement, it has Dementors, it has psychological and likely some level of physical torture involved because of those two things and because the Ministry has been very thorough at demonising addicts as dangerous criminals when the vast majority are not.

So, what you get is a perpetual cycle: You get arrested for some type of use of the Dark Arts. You go to Azkaban for however arbitrarily long that decision is for; it can range from a few weeks to a few years, and only those convicted of (with or without proof of guilt) either murder, using an Unforgivable in an Unforgivable way, or sometimes just by association with the "wrong" sort, tend to get life.

You spend that time in isolation and, at the very, very least, being under constant psychological and physical distress due to the presence of Dementors.

Dementors, being creatures that spawn from Dark Magic, not-so-inadvertently keep an addict an addict and can even make new addicts out of people who are in Azkaban for other petty crimes.

You get released, the underlying issue of an unmanaged addiction is still present but, now, you've got the  proverbial scarlet letter of Azkaban on you.

That leads to problems finding employment, which leads to worsening or continued financial trouble, that drives people further into addiction as a coping mechanism or because they know they can make money dealing in the Unseen Market and that's the only option left because very few businesses are willing to hire or re-hire someone who's been to Azkaban due to the stigma surrounding being sent to Azkaban in general.

And Azkaban becomes a revolving door that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is only too happy to keep feeding because it's drilled into Aurors that, "Dark Arts = Bad. Only Bad People get involved."

3. So now, you've got a situation fueled by paranoia and a fundamental misunderstanding of how addiction works spearheaded by people who have been thoroughly convinced that anyone who uses or has an interest in the Dark Arts is, by default, a dangerous criminal.

4. That leads to a massive level of distrust between the Ministry in general and anyone who has an interest, regardless of how well or poorly managed the addiction that comes with it is.

You're always under watch.

You're always a target.

And that is exhausting after awhile, especially when you know there's nothing you can really do to convince the majority of them (let alone anyone at a trial, if you're lucky enough to get one) that you're not a danger to society at large.

5. The reality is that the vast, vast majority of those who study or use the Dark Arts are not a danger to anyone and, if they are, they're only a danger to themselves. That doesn't matter to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, however, and you can thank Barty Crouch for the majority of it as he's the one who ramped up that type of "enforcement" during the First War.

Admittedly, once the war was over, he got a whole hell of a lot of backlash for his draconian policies and enforcement but all he got was a slap on the wrist and a departmental transfer.

The majority of what he put into place is still in place, it's just not made as loudly obvious to the public anymore.

6. Great, now that we're past the part of criminalising addiction, the perfectly legal torture of prisoners, and the whole revolving door to Azkaban thing, let's move on to that bit I mentioned where how and what gets enforced depends largely on the political and social climate.

Up until about 1925 or so, the Ministry's overall policies could be condensed down to, "Hey, look, you really shouldn't be doing this but as long as you're not bothering or harming anyone else with it, it's really not our business."

After that point, it kind of turned into a bit of a J curve in terms of how completely and utterly nitpicky they became about what qualified as "dangerous" for a variety of reasons, the most common being back-to-back series of Dark Lords because of a fundamental refusal to understand why those sorts of people have so little trouble gaining a following.

7. The problem there is even that cycles back to being able to play to the disenfranchised; the people on the edges of Wizarding society, the people who are sick to death of living in states of oppression and fear.

It's so easy to convince them to follow along when what you're offering--whether you can deliver on it or not--is some measure of control to people who feel they have none.

You don't even have to offer them a way out, just a way up, and fear is so easy to redirect into anger and lashing out at a society that's told you that you're unwelcome and unwanted.

This creates another cycle; the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sees that sort of thing happening and their knee-jerk reaction is to crack down on it as swiftly and harshly as possible and that only proves the point(s) being made.

You can't legislate and criminalise addiction and expect the people it affects to be willing or able to say, "Oh, yeah, you're right, I'll stop now."

That's not how it works. All it does is drive them away from anything and anyone who might be able to help them get a handle on it because there's always the risk that if you actually try and seek out any sort of help, you'll be arrested and thrown into Azkaban.

Have you noticed a pattern yet?

8. Completely arbitrary enforcement.

That's not me imagining things; it's very arbitrary.

There are some people, notably those with money, who rarely end up on the wrong end of an Auror. It's easy to buy the department if you're a large part of what funds it, after all.

Most people who are targeted are what you find in Knockturn.

What you find in Knockturn are, as I've mentioned, largely harmless to anyone but themselves addicts.

They're noisy and can be a bit weird about personal space but the majority aren't dangerous.

9. While there are a few exceptions that seem to be primarily kept around so the Minister can point at them and say, "See? These people are clearly not bought or influenced by outside sources!" whenever anyone brings up #8, they are, at the moment, the minority.

And where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement goes, the Ministry--apart from the Department of Mysteries, as they don't answer to anyone--goes.

Where they're going at present is not likely to end well.

Go and re-read #6.

10. Look at almost any other country in Western Europe; hell, at this point, you could even look at MACUSA's enforcement, though it does vary from state to state there.

The countries that have largely decriminalised the Dark Arts and provide not only instruction on how to safely handle them, starting from about age 11 (here's a tip: It's not just Durmstrang, they've just got the loudest reputation for it), but also provide assistance to people who have developed an addiction to help them safely manage it or break it if that's the route they want to go have lower prison populations as well as significantly lower recidivism rates when compared to the UK.

[someobscurereference]

unfinished fic meme

I got tagged by @kimium in a writing meme!

“Rules: post your favorite parts of 3-5 fics that have been sitting abandoned in your drafts for ages. (for extra shame, throw in when you last worked on each thing.) tag 5 other writers to reflect on their life choices.”

I don’t think I have anyone else to tag, lol. So if you want to participate, just say I tagged you!

Most of my unfinished work here are things I haven’t looked at in a long, long time. I don’t even recall where I intended for some of them to go. Here are some brief previews of that unfinished work (under the cut because they’re long):

1. The one where I basically wanted to write that scene from Finding Nemo except with Leo and Odin instead (blood tw)

Leo’s heart stopped. He froze.

Odin.

Leo only had a split-second to register the sight before him, but that was unmistakably Odin, slung over the ruffian’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, horribly limp. Parts of his blond hair had been dyed shockingly red with blood, and though Leo couldn’t see his face, Odin looked awfully pale. Fat drops of crimson dripped from Odin’s hair to the floor, trailing behind him.

Dead, Leo thought before anything else. He’d dead.

He didn’t know that, not for sure, but Leo was already raising his arm again on instinct. He yelled something intelligible as he fired off the shot, some words he didn’t even recognize himself, too focused on the sudden overwhelming flood of grief and anger in his chest for self-awareness.

At the sound of his voice, Odin’s head jerked up, his eyes wide. In that same moment, Leo fire his spell.

Shocked, Leo froze.

Odin did not.

With the element of surprise apparently on his side as well, Odin twisted out of his captor’s grasp, landing flat on the floor just before Leo’s spell made contact with the ruffian’s back. With a strangled cry, the ruffian hit the floor and didn’t get up. Odin pushed himself to all fours, surprised written all over his features.

“My lord!” Odin cried, sitting up. “I hadn’t expected you so soon! It must be fate’s will that we have crossed paths like this. Are you all right?”

Leo’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Blood sluggishly trickled from a thin cut on Odin’s forehead. There was a bruise on his cheek and another just above his eyebrow. He looked dirty and worse for wear, but unmistakably, he was alive. His wounds were much more superficial than Leo had initially registered.

Still, Leo’s hands shook. He breathed in and steadied himself.

“Lord Leo?” Odin said, a little more hesitantly.

Instinctively, Leo said, “I’m fine.” He looked at Odin, who was still very much alive. “Are you all right? Can you fight?”

“Of course!” Odin was all energy and focus, same as always. He leaped to his feet and barely wobbled. “I was merely looking for a proper opportunity before I staged my surprise attack! It seems you took care of that before me though.” He flashed a smile. “As expected of my lord.”

Leo barely resisted the urge to sigh.

(Notes: I wrote 3K of this like a year ago and could probably finish it with a handful of paragraphs. I just didn’t love it, I guess. There was something about it that made me not finish. Maybe the tone or the plot not feeling as strong as I wanted it to be? I’m not sure. I still really like the concept though, lol.)

2. The Modern Trio travel between Nohr and Ylisse via water all the time (like Inuyasha) and Inigo and Owain have a fight about going out and acting their age sometimes (maybe have shown some of this before?) (alcohol/getting drunk mention)

(snippet 1)

“You just want to go out without me,” Inigo said tearfully. “You even got Severa to go with you! You both lied to me!”

Owain bit the inside of his cheek. “Sometimes we don’t want to have to play rock-paper-scissors over who has to take your drunk self home that night.”

“Excuse me,” Inigo squawked, indignant. “I don’t get drunk every time.”

“You do,” Owain told him matter-of-factly. “And that’s fine. Have fun. But you get smashed, and then one of us has to take you home and…”

He felt his face grow warm.

“Oh, I saw,” Inigo said knowingly. “Sometimes you want other people to take you home.”

Owain looked determinedly toward the castle. They were crossing the bridge.

When Owain didn’t say anything else, Inigo said, “I’m not a child, you know. Even if I’m a bit tipsy, you don’t have to fight over who takes me home. You don’t have to take me home at all. I’m an adult.”

For all of Inigo’s whining all afternoon, this was the first time he’d sounded truly serious. He might have meant his complaints before, but he clearly meant this way more.

Owain’s frown deepened. They neared the end of the bridge. The two guards stationed at the castle gate nodded solemnly at their approach, and Owain and Inigo nodded back. They didn’t speak again until they passed the gate.

“You are an adult,” Owain agreed. “But I would feel like a bad friend if I didn’t make sure you got home safe, especially when I know that if we go out, you’re going to get drunk—"

“Not every time!”

“It is every time, and sometimes—”

“You make me sound like the worst version of myself.”

“It’s not bad! It can just be—”

Inigo scoffed.

Owain spotted a flash of blond hair in the distance. He got ready.

After a beat, Inigo started, “Am I really—”

But Owain was already jumping into action. He pointed the other way.

“Ah!” he said loudly. “Lord Xander! I didn’t see you there!”

Inigo instantly straightened and looked around wildly. Owain booked it in the other direction.

(snippet 2)

“So,” Niles said, suddenly slinking out from around the corner like a cat, “men who look like they could snap you over their knees are ‘the dream,’ are they?”

For the second time that day, Owain choked on air. Under Niles’s even gaze, Owain cursed Inigo’s big mouth and recovered as quickly as he could. It was a bit of a struggle.

“An eavesdropper, eh?” he hedged. He tried to gauge Niles’s reaction, but he was a hard man to read. “You didn’t have anything else to do but listen in on private conversations then, I see.”

“Given the volume with which Inigo likes to shout from the rooftops,” Niles said, “I wouldn’t particularly call it eavesdropping.”

(This one I like the concept for but I guess didn’t finish because it’s a version of the Trio I don’t think I’ve ever written before. Or at least rarely dabble into outside of the privacy of my own head/a close friend. I don’t like going out or getting drunk or anything, but a lot of people my age do and I kind of wanted to show that side of modern life where you go to clubs and maybe have a casual hookup sometimes. I often write the Trio as people who don’t have many (or any) romantic relationships before meeting Whoever I Ship Them With In X Fic, but part of me wants to change that default sometimes. I do think about modern Odin who has no problem meeting dudes in bars and having a brief fling or doing other, wilder stuff that his friends (especially in Nohr) maybe don’t always know about. I thought it would be a neat exercise, and I still think about it. The Modern Trio having their own lives that the Nohrians aren’t privy to and are maybe curious/romantically jealous over when they find out? Also I like the idea of characters having “types” (just like real life people do sometimes) and other characters who are romantically interested in them do hear about it (as seen above, lol.). This fic was leaning to be leo/odin/niles or at least niles/odin, I think. It’s been on my computer for at least 5 months. I just really like this concept in general but I guess I’m a little embarrassed because it’s so different from what I normally write. Maybe I’ll go back to it, one way or another, someday? Also Inigo and Odin do make up, yes.)

3. The college AU Severa/Owain fic where Severa propositions Owain about getting it on (Nothing actually happens, it’s all talking)

“I can get your character sheet drawn up in no time,” Owain continued. “In fact, I think I have some extras—"

“We should have sex,” Severa said.

Owain, suddenly red-faced and wide-eyed, choked on his never-ending list of nerdy suggestions about why he thought Severa had appeared outside his window. He looked at her in disbelief. Severa took the opportunity to roughly shove Owain’s upper body back through the window and crawled in after him.

He stumbled back, too surprised to protest, and Severa fell to the floor in an ungraceful heap. She plucked a leaf from her hair with a pout, grateful to finally be on solid ground again and hoping Owain’s mother hadn’t noticed Severa sitting in the tree outside her son’s room for the past several minutes.

“Uh, I don’t,” Owain stuttered as Severa climbed to her feet. “I mean, you—”

“Seriously?” Severa said, cocking her hip in a way she hoped was sexy.

What was she talking about? She was definitely sexy, childishly climbing trees or not. So what if she’d been too embarrassed to knock on Owain’s front door and risk the chance of one of his parents answering when Severa had come with a request like this? Nobody else knew that.

She continued, “That’s all you have to say?”

Owain sputtered out several more unintelligible phrases until he finally said, “You don’t… feel obligated or something, right?”

The tips of his ears were very, very red.  

Severa crossed her arms, scowling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” Owain held up his hands defensively, looking like he was regretting his words already. “I just meant—You don’t. Like. This isn’t a peer pressure thing, right?”

“What are we, fifteen?”

Owain stared. Severa’s scowl deepened.

“No,” she said. “It’s not a ‘peer-pressure’ thing or whatever.”

She used air quotes.

“Okay,” Owain said slowly. “Then… why do you want to…”

He couldn’t even say the words have sex. Severa was suddenly very doubtful she had come to the right person at all. But who else was she supposed to go to about this? Lucina? Kjelle? Inigo?

Absolutely not. Owain would have to do.

He’d always put up with her enough that she’d thought… Well, maybe he wouldn’t say no outright.

Not that things were off to a great start already.

Feigning indifference, Severa shrugged and looked at the wall beside Owain’s head. “Do I need a reason?”

“Yes,” Owain said bluntly. His hands were still raised. As though just realizing this, they fell to his side.

Severa couldn’t help but make a face. She didn’t want to explain herself. She didn’t want to say anything about what she was thinking or why she wanted to have sex, as sudden as it must have seemed to Owain. But she knew it wouldn’t have exactly have been fair of her to ask without him at least knowing something.

Because the thing of it was—

Embarrassing, she mentally chided herself with a grimace.

The thing of it was that at twenty-one years old, Severa was still a virgin.

There was nothing wrong with being a virgin. Severa knew that. Logically, she knew that.

But it was hard to convince herself that it was true.

(This one is also a modern au exploring a lot of pressures that young adults might feel when comparing their own experiences to people around them.Severa goes on to explain a lot of her reasoning to the reader about why she’s propositioning Owain, but it was getting really long so I didn’t include that here. Mostly it was about controlling the experience of your first time and when you want to have it. I never got to the actual sex part, lol. It would definitely be awkward and slow if I did. Purposely, of course. Also Severa has always lowkey liked Owain like that.)

4. The AU where royals and their retainers have a telepathic link

Niles stands at his side, impassive as any proper retainer should be at public events, and Leo does his best to appear the same when Odin’s voice rings through his mind, laughing and giddy with the exhilaration of a fight.

That was so cool! That explosion was like BOOM! And that fire! Like pfft! I wish somebody else was around to see that. Oh well, I can describe it for everyone later.

Odin’s inner voice never sounds the same as his speaking voice. Not unless he knows Leo is listening and wants to put on a show. Odin’s inner voice lacks the extravagant dressings he layers upon his words aloud. Occasionally, Odin still narrates in his mind, still writes long novels with every adjective and made up noun under the sun. But more often than not Leo finds Odin’s inner voice to be much freer and more easily understandable than he would have first expected before he’d experienced Odin’s thoughts firsthand.  

Odin, Leo projects, pretending he is paying more attention to Xander’s speech than he really is. Some of us are trying to focus on our own missions.

Not that attending a meeting is a mission, per say, but it’s an important duty nonetheless. It gets the point across, anyway.

Oops! Odin accidentally projects more than Niles ever did, even after having years to get used to it. Now that he knows Leo can hear him, Odin makes it a point to use his narrative speech instead. My sincerest apologies, my lord! I’m afraid I was overcome for a moment, my mental barrier weakened through some villain’s curse. But fret not! My mental shield—

Odin, Leo projects, aiming for serious and fearing his true feelings may betray him. He knows there is no curse or attack, though there may have been minutes ago. Odin is simply too excited and eager to share, just as he always is. Leo is trying very hard not to be distracted right now, but it’s difficult when Odin’s bluff and bravado are still somehow more interesting than running the same tactical drills Leo has run a hundred times over already, necessary as they may be.

Leo also knows Niles should be hearing their exchange as well. Niles’ face betrays nothing. If Leo didn’t know any better, he could have mistaken Nile’s tiny exhale of breath as one not so amused at all. But Leo always knows.

(Note: I’d definitely rewrite this now if I ever started it again, but the core concept is still a little neat, I think.)

I have a few other fics, but they’re not that old just yet. These are all about 6 months or more old. Maybe one day I’ll finish them? Or at least use their core concepts again, lol. I hope you enjoyed these snippets anyway! 

[99lufttentacles]

Stripped Gears

A/N: This story features my character Gavin “Torque’ Touraque from When The Rendezvous Is Compromised. Here’s a  summary: It’s 1983. The hit went south and now whilst on the run you and The Asset await extraction. You are at the last Hydra outpost in the state, stuck in a car and will try to survive a massive gunfight come daylight. But first, you must survive the night in frigid temperatures.

Which you can find here or at AO3

In it, the reader is “cast” as a gay male. My intention was to challenge where the boundaries of the phrase “Y/N” begin and end.

But this story is a matter much different...

I: Rumlow was pretty bored already. The mission had been a success, but he hadn't expected anything besides that. It had been a simple one for a change, they barely had to do anything, it was mostly just dropping the Asset at a determined place and letting him do spy stuff. Rumlow loved some action but an easy one was good for a chance. Ir uwas good, but now he was bored as he sat on the back of the van with two other agents and the Asset, who wasn't wearing any of the heavy gear he usually wore, since this job had been more about stealth. He looked over at the Asset and moved closer, suddenly pinched his nipple and smiling at his reaction. "How are your tits today, huh? Are you nice and full or did those jerks at the lab already drank everything?" He said and tugged the shirt up, uncovering the other's chest and taking a handful of his right pec, squeezing it. Some milk came out with that and Rumlow licked his hand. "Good... hey boys, you thirsty?" He smiled at the others who hadn't been paying attention until now. "Come on man, we said we wouldn't fuck him in the van anymore, just wait until we get at the base where there's aircon." The older one said. "Who's talking about fucking, you moron? His tits don't count."

J: 'It is starting to fill up again which it doesn't find rewarding or useful. It has a way to deal with pain but it highly prefers to be emptied when it comes to this subject. ' The Asset thinks. He wants very much to be milked, actually for the most part has a lot of positive associations with the word 'milk'. He hears his handlers talking and knows he should not be, even to himself. 'Toys aren't alive and have no wants. It has no wants. It follows programmed protocol or instructions. The Asset must remain silent and give no sign of it's own will. The only thing it is allowed to use such knowledge for is combat and espionage endeavors. Dependent on the whims of his handlers, he is usually the last to know of his needs and many times finds himself waiting to be asked to feel what his current needs are, so this is already a skewed response to internal stimulus. He keeps his face carefully neutral while accepting his nipples hardening and tingling in anticipation. 

I: The older agent, Rollins, just rolls his eyes then and sighs. "Ok ok, yeah I could use some milk right now." Rumlow smile and put a hand around the Asset's neck. "You get the left one, the right one always tastes better." He said to Rollins and pressed the Asset against the van so he was sitting up as straight as he could. He gave the Asset's tit a little slap and smiled at the drips of milk. "He's getting really full now." He said and squeezed the other's pec again, making a stream of milk run down the Asset's torso. "Oh yeah... look at that. Remembering to give him those shots every week is a pain I'm the ass but it's worth it." He said and licked the Asset's nipple, then sucked it into his mouth. J: The men's teeth were rough on his tender nipples but the suction was greatly enjoyable. Already he was finding it hard to not get carried away with his body and the erogenous effects it had in him. They were quite noisy in their sucking and licking, sometimes leaning back and squirting the liquid out of him into their mouths four inches away. Hearing the trickling g wet sounds of it was no help. 'It's just a container full of liquid and they must drink.' He thought as they growing enthusiastic sucked hard on his nipples then pulled their heads back from him till his nipple slipped free of their pucked sucking lips loud noises. I: Rumlow sucked hard on the Asset's nipple until he wasn't getting anything out of it. Even then he kept sucking, biting on the tip a little before actually letting go, seeing a little bit of blood coming from it. He smiled and squeezed it. "Fuck that was good." He said, but Rollins was still at it, face pressed against the Asset's chest. "Did you like getting your titties sucked? Huh?" He said and laughed, pinching the other's nipples between his fingers, then moving his hand down, stopping between the Asset's legs and giving him crotch a squeeze. "Hard to tell with that holding you tight huh?" He said and put his hand inside the Asset's pants, tugging on the tight metal chastity device. "Do you think he even remembers his dick without the cage?" Rumlow said to Rollins, laughing under his breath. J: At the sight of his own blood The Asset remained unphased but was starting to sweat from keeping his breath even. Rumlow was sometimes a bad bad man and could hurt him much much more than this but he felt himself stirring in ways best left unnoticed. Indeed, he had forgotten the parts in his pants. 'Drainage system, nothing more. ' he thought and pushed away the strengthening fluttering happening there and was distantly disturbed by Rumlow touching him there. Disturbed and gratified at the someone anyone's touch there. Not good. This was both good and not good at once. 'Wires crossed. It's going malfunction if it has to feel much more. No no no!' He thought.'The Asset is supposed to do as it's told and respond as directed but it can't. The stupid machinery of it's body isn't as easily programmed as the rest! It doesn't want to know what it feels but at the same time it knows it needs to be emptied in other ways. Bad. This is all bad.' As he thought the last a distorted an nearly unheard par of his mind said the opposite. 'Good. This is good. It finds content at being put to use. It has worth this way.' I: Rumlow raised an eyebrow when he the asset's dick twitched in his hand, inside the metal chastity. "Oh? Would you look at that. Someone thinks it gets to feel good." He said as Rollins pulled away from the Asset's nipple, wiping his chin. "What? He got hard?" He said, not quite believing it. "Not quite, but I think it wants to." He said with a menacing smile. He pulled his hand out of the other's pants. "Strip and get on your knees, come on." He said, grabbing the Asset by the hair and shoving him on the floor of the van.  "Rollins do me a favor and kick that piece of shit in the balls until it remembers it's place, will you?" J: The Asset follows instruction being quick so as not to anger Rumlow further. He is also a bit terrified of what else may be done for no reason which he can control. 'Peice of shit, yes. This is whatever you say it is. It does whatever you tell it to. Use it up. Use it's pain.' Free of clothing including shoes he presents his bruised and marked body head down palms on the floor of the van. All the while becoming more confused. 'Objects don't hurt! There is or there isn't, real, not real!' he thinks with mild alarm, the kind a person displays if a little of their drink splashes out if their cup. He awaits the punish and instructions about how he may respond. I: Rollins clearly isn't into the whole scene Rumlow made, but he is very curious that the Asset had the beginning of an erection. It was probably the relief of getting the milk sucked out of him. He stood up behind the Asset and looked at him in the humiliating position. Of course, the Asset wouldn't think it was humiliating, because he didn't think. "Well of it had a hard on before it's certainly gone now. Look, its balls are all drawn up. Poor thing." He said and shook his head, he leaned down and grabbed the Asset's genitals by the base, yanking them back and slapping them a few times quickly, aiming for the unprotected testicles. He then let go and drove hos boot right into it with a hard kick. J: Stars exploded behind the Asset's eyes. The pain slides down his legs and up into his belly but he hardly moved at all as it was he default command to feel nothing. The movement he did make was from the momentum of the blow. Immediately after he straightened himself making his sensitive zones accessible. That same deviant voice in his head supplied an unwanted chant of 'Pain is a powerful tool. ' His mind wanted to further distance itself from reality but knew no such thing was needed at this time and the further he tried to withdraw the more they would hurt him. So something else began to happen. Endorphins began to slowly release without his control and the pain began be interpreted as energy mostly. The spike of white hot energy lancing into his groin and belly radiated out into the rest of his body. And still some of it was interpreted as pleasurable sensation. I: Rollins got a few more kinks in before he noticed it and stopped on his tracks. "Holy shit, Rumlow." He said and laughed. The other handler, who had been sitting there palming his pants while he watched frowned. "What?" "It's hard. It's full on hard, all squeezed up in the cage. Fuck. It's getting off on this. It likes it. That's it, they fucked up its head to the last level." He said bit was still laughing. Rumlow got up and stood up. "Asset, roll over, spread your legs, you fucking useless piece of garbage. I can't fucking believe it." J: He didn't know what was worse to be visibly afraid or  to try and keep his mask of complacency up. Either was a horrible prospect. 'No no, this isn't how it's supposed to be! But it hurts, it hurts, it hurts... 'and just then something awakened inside 'It hurts so... Good!'. He could feel the blank going out of his eyes and didn't know how to stop it. This had never happen before. Usually everything thing he does is to avoid pain and be praised. He had never wanted pain itself. The part of the Asset's mind which was panicking was being silenced not by them this time but by himself. He did as he was told thinking 'This isn't what they want but I don't know what else to do!' I: Once the Asset rolled over and Rumlow looked at his hard on with a scowl on his face. "Fucking dumb fuck. It is getting off on it. Now that's just great. How are we gonna use this fucker now? And punish? If it enjoys it?" He said and kicked the Asset's balls again. "Maybe it's time we set it up for a wipe. It's been what? Three months? Of course it was too good to be true that it hadn't broken yet." J: At that moment the voice in his head took over his entire face. He was either about to be blinded in both eyes or serve them in a new capacity none of them seemed to have thought of yet. He thought either could work. 'Even if It is terminated after today I will still serve them well if not as intended.' He flicked his hair back over his head sitting up further. A grin of utter insanity was plastered over his face. He had bitten his lip to the point of bleeding and had been keeping the blood behind his lips but now chose to let it run down his chin and chest. His eyes were lit with manic glee. "Please, Sir. It's been ever so good. So fuck it up, stab it through its palms, knock it's fucking teeth out, peirce it's most sensitive flesh with needles! Have fun because toys are to be played with, toys are to be played with, toys are to be played with...! " The slap rocked him back knocking him to the floor where his head collided with metal for a second but through his thick hair went unheard. He blinked and  suddenly had no idea where he was or he'd come to be there. The man was yelling at him so he obeyed dazedly understanding he had just been doing or saying something and now must do only what he was told and to say nothing. He complied as quickly as he could shaking his head a bit. There was something foul tasting in his mouth. His body seemed to buzz with sensations he was I'll equipt to recognize at the moment. For some reason he felt a sense of relief and knew what it was though. He pressed himself against the wall playing back the man's words to himself as he placed his hands obediently behind his back. Rumlow just stood there for a moment, watching the Asset closely, like he could snap at any moment. What had just happened? The image of the lustful bloody smile flashed into his mind again. He shook his head a bit and grabbed the handcuffs there were specially made for the Asset. He locked its wrists under his back, then grabbed him by the hair, so he could face him. He looked at those grey eyes and was relieved when he only found the same terrified confusion behind a blank stare that he had seen many times before. "It definitely needs a wipe. Can't got another day without one. Fuck... Where's the cane Rollins? Grab the cane, hit his back until he bleeds, if he starts getting hard stop and smack him in the face." Cane? Did he hear correctly? He knew he had. He was also feeling a pull generated from somewhere inside. He felt it was very important now stop thinking, stop the questions from rushing around in his head and do '...what it is supposed to do.' When the first blow landed he knew he was not doing what he is normally supposed to do. With a sense of failure and overwhelming shame he sobbed quietly but hard all the same. 'It been bad and now it's going to have nothing but punishes until... Well until they saw fit to stop. There is nothing The Asset can do except take it. If It has to do it in tears on the floor naked and afraid then that was what it will do.' He thought. Heart pounding skin burning he remained in place for more. But something was still wrong. Somehow he was getting it wrong. I: Rumlow noticed the Asset wasn't keeping his usual blank face. Even when he was getting tortured Rumlow had barely seen the asset let out more than a few breathy grunts and an almost imperceptible frown on its face, but now Rumlow could hear him actually cry. Something was very very wrong, but he didn't stop Rollins, the asset was taking its punishment without questioning or resistance, so it'd do for now. Soon there were blood dripping down from the asset's bare back, running all the way down to his thighs, but the mark of the first blows were already disappearing. "Alright, that's enough. Let's leave him alone for now. We'll clean and dress him up before we hand him over to Torque. Fuck, what a mess." J: 'It doesn't understand what has happened. How does it regain control? 'It's thoughts leaped from one concept to the next, scrubbing it's information stores for something anything to use and help right the world again. A passing phrase came to mind "-with these changes in hormone levels brain chemistry is also effected causing a varies range of psychological responses-". With a sensation like he is running through his mind flipping switches turning dials. He grasps at his capabilities putting them into action right as he is thinking through what may need to be done. The experiments from his estimations has changed his biological properties which in turn have changed one of the most invisible yet powerful forces that comes from him: chemical balance through hormonal changes. These in turn may have effected his mental states. With careful mood moderation he may be able to return to optimal function. With all the different types of training he has had it is not difficult to change his breathing, calm his pounding heart. He feels as if he is a train car reclaiming it's orderly place on the tracks. 'Emotional output 20%. Body language, 89% complacent, 97% docile. Sexual response 13%. Pain response 13%. Biological output Waste 0%, Lubrication 2%, Blood 21% and falling.' He distances his mind in a way that has been most typical before the experiment started and prays for the determination to regulate himself closely for as long as he can. He doesn't want to think about what may happen when he cannot any longer. An image comes to mind unbidden. It's Rumlow and reflected in Rumlow's eyes his own mad bloody grin. I: When they finally deliver the Asset to the next unit, it is dressed, but still soaking wet from the bucket of water they poured over its head to clean off the blood. Torque finds the Asset standing at the door of the room, and it's almost imperceptible but he's shaking, maybe from the cold, maybe from whatever abuse he went through. Right away Torque knows things didn't go as they usually went, but he knows it wasn't a failed mission from the report, so whatever went south happened on their way back. He stood in front of the other with a bittersweet feeling. It was good to be in his presence again, but awful to see him in that state. "Hey." He said in a soft voice, stepping closer. He knew the asset wouldn't remember him fully, but knew once the asset looked at him something would click, and the asset's behaviour would change and he'd relax more. "Do you wanna get rid of those damp clothes? I gotta clean you up but I have nice warm water and soft towels afterwards, no hose, promise." J: The Asset says nothing but feels something cool and soft in his mind before the man speaks to him. He doesn't understand it is a small amount of happiness. He struts forward to present himself to the agent. 'Thompson? Divue? No, these are not his name.' It feels familiarity and positive at that so his comments are not a trick meant to lure him falsely. But he worries all the same the tight sense of pressure has begun to rise as his mammories continue to produce milk. Soon it will leak and seep through his shirt. He both does and does not wished to be milked. His head is still fuzzy but he remembers the start of today problems were caused by his need to be milked. He still worries about his ability to fight his own brain chemistry the remainder of time his hormonal levels are fluctuating. I: Torque sighs when the asset didn't relax at his words. Usually that did the trick. He risks a touch, that could be a good or bad idea, only one way to find out, so he reaches the asset's shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "It's ok soldier, stop worrying. You'll be taken care of. Come, follow me." He said as gently as possible, and walked towards the bathroom. Torque knew the other handlers usually just took the asset to the back of the unit and hosed him off, but not him. His soldier deserved hot water and privacy, so he had made sure they had the showers to themselves. When they got there, Torque folded his sleeves and the hem of his pants after kicking his shoes off, then turned one of the showers on, adjusting the temperature carefully. "Ok, can you undress yourself? Do you want help?" J: The touch. Jesus Christ, the touch is all it takes.  Unaware he is being lead away, abruptly he feels knowledge about the man, Gav Touraque he now remembers. He feels how gentle he has been, how warm. He has saved his life and Torque sometimes saves him. He feels he doesn't need to speak they have worked together a lot and non verbally so Torque can he read his expressions better than any of the others. Because he's looking for something more when he looks into The Asset's eye he finds the hidden messages there. When asked if he wants help The Asset begs with his eyes: "Help me, please!" I: Torque smiles at the look the Asset give him, because he should've known. The soldier is a tough man of course, but with Torque he can enjoy some babying, and Torque enjoys it just as much. He steps closer to the asset and tugs on the other's shirt, sure enough he raises his arms and Torque takes it off, then he notices a little white dot on one of the man's nipple. "Oh, right. They're still giving you those shots huh?" He says and shakes his head a bit before he moves to the asset's belt. "Its ok, I can milk you if you want, I'll do it quick, unless you want me to do it slowly." He says thaf last bit in almost a whisper and without looking up. The soldier isn't always in the mood for that, even with Torque, sometimes the other handlers would've just finished having their way with the asset, in those cases they mostly have a cuddle or just sit together while Torque talks about mild topics. But Torque can't tell if the Asset would want some closure or not, of course, they only actually fucked a few times, but they have a little fun sometimes. Once he's done stripping the Asset he gestures for the shower. "It's nice and warm, but not too hot, don't worry." J: Under his breath just audible to Torque he says "Slow please, Sir." Safe from the problems he'd  been having for a while, he softens his demeanor. This is what he needed to be emptied and for someone to let it be soft. Their words, their gestures, their touch even the way they finish him off, all soft so he can keep a difference between pain and pleasure, function and disfunction clear in his mind. When they are together sometimes The Asset goes to a place of complete trust of Torque. He calls him 'Sir' knows it will be rewarded. He tries once more that day to keep his biological response from growing too strong. He steps into the shower and begins to speak more than he ever would to any of he other men at a level only Torque who stands neaby can hear. "The Asset is afraid to touch itself. Anywhere. Something... Is getting it very... agitated. They saw and they punished but punish... play... pleasure... It's  all mixed up and It's afraid, Sir... " I: Torque smiled at the answer and nodded. "Ok, I will then, as soon as you're nice and clean." He said and grabbed the soap, massaging the asset's shoulders gently, avoiding his swollen chest. Torque had seen the wounds on the asset's back, knew they were probably gonna heal up ok, but didn't touch them at all, no need to cause the other unnecessary pain when the water would be enough. He heard the Asset talking and a part of him went a little soft. Torque loved that man's voice, he wished he could hear it more. The things he was saying though, weren't so nice. "You malfunctioned, so what? It's not your fault. They've been sending you to missions one after another, wiping you but not giving you any time in the ice. It's probably that. It's gonna be ok, soldier, you're gonna be put in ice tomorrow. I know the chair will hurt and the ice stings, I know, but at least you can rest then." He says, because it's all he can offer. "Besides, we have the rest of the day together." He's lowering his hands now, and squats down in front of the soldier, rubbing the soap on his legs. His face is very close to the soldier's dick. He really wished he had the key to that stupid cage. When he stood back up, he grabbed the shampoo bottle he had set there before. "Look what I've got for you. It smell really nice, I'll give you a nice head rub. Wet your hair a bit more please." J: Wires crossed!' And echo of a memory flashes in his mind. It feels like an electrical cord with a short in it has produced sparks when the word hurt reaches his ears. He takes a big stuttering inhale at the sensation feeling a muscle down below clench pleasurably for a second. But the smell of the soap is soothing and it presses his hackles back down feeling well known hands sliding up and down his legs. He discovers with the water inside the steel cage he is able to rub a little against it when that muscle flexes. He wet his hair and leans back again so Torque can wash it. He slips further into the warmth and calm Gav provides and feels a burden lifted when he is reassured they do not have to part from each other quickly. I: Torque washes the asset's hair slowly. It's mostly just a massage at that point, and he drags it out because he can see how much the other is enjoying. Once he's done though, he helps the asset rinse it and then turn the shower off. He quickly grabs a soft towel and wraps the asset with it burrito style, hugging him in the process. They're facing each other and Torque smiles at the closure. "I missed you." He said and give the other a soft, gentle peck on the lips. "I always miss you." He says then looks away for a moment before he starts actually drying the other and his hair. He's almost finished when he sees a trickle of milk running down the soldier's chest, and quickly dries it off. "Sorry. I didn't forget about that. Let's sit down." He says and takes the asst's hand, bringing him back to the room they were previously, and sits the asset down. "I'll try not to make a mess." Torque said and he got down on his knees in front of the asset and licked one of his nipples. "It tastes good, you know?" He says and then takes the asset's right tit into his mouth, sucking gently, but already so much milk comes out. J: Still nervous but willing, his eyes flutter then he closes them. His head tips back a bit and his building desperation is relieved in Gav's warm soft mouth. Mentally he feels as if he is sinking into a warm soft vast bedding. 'Drainage system filling to max capacity with genetic discharge.' The Asset thinks. It isn't long before something that has never happened does for about the third time that day. Soft waves of erotic energy begins flushing out from his chest down his solar plexus and core into his pelvis and on to a node of pleasurable sensation buried deep inside him. He allows himself to breath faster knowing Torque likes when he can tell The Asset feels good. Unable to stop himself he hugs Gav about the head and shoulders whimpering in quiet whispers "Thank you, Sir! " while grasping about his shoulders clutching a handful of his shirt pulling Torque toward himself. I: Torque coughs a little as he tries to swallow the milk in his mouth with the asset hugging him abruptly. He smiled though, and hugs him back, keeping his arms low enough it won't disturb his wounds. "You're welcome... I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm not finished yet though, let me finish, baby." He said and kisses the asset's arm before pulling back, then he notices it. The asset is hard. He has a hard on. Oh. He just stares for a moment, then sighs. "This probably has something to do with the problems you had earlier, huh? Fuck, sorry sweetheart." He bites his bottom lip and touches the Asset's genital, lifting them a little, then he tries something. He leans down and licks the soldier's balls tentatively, then looks up at him. "Feels good, huh?" J: The Asset bites his lower lip with his front teeth nodding three times. His flesh is slightly cold from being wet and Torque's tongue is hot and pliant it's surface exquisitely textured. As the man licks The Asset slides his hands up to the side if his face holding his head gently as he tilts it at an angle to lick under the device. Being as hard as he is with the device on hurt but it's a good hurt. The majority of his hard on exists lower on his pelvis in the portion of his cock that leads into his perineum. He can feel blood pulsing there. He leans back in the seat and gets his left heal up on to the edge of the seat presenting the part of his penis that can't be locked away and therefore can be touched and licked. He removes his left hand from Gav's face and presses it against this rubbing up and down a little. Once more communicating with his eyes he asks: "Touch here please, Sir?" I: Torque smiles when he looks up. The asset looks astonishingly beautiful like this, horny and pliant. Torque could never refuse. He leans down and licks over the stretch o skin between the asset's hole up until the cage, then places his open mouth over it and sucking gently, moving his head a little, up and down, on that spot. He can feel how hard it is under the tender skin. He keeps doing it, and places his hands on the asset's thighs, feeling it tremble. He wondered if the soldier would be able to cum from this. He had never seen him this hard before, just slightly hard maybe from needing to pee. He had milked the asset's prostate before and he had been soft then, so seeing him like this was really a treat. J: His heart us pounding again but it is good. The Asset has no idea why but imagery of the time the basically served below zero temps because they fucked an ketp each other warm thought the night is returning to him. He breathing quickens once more as in his mind he remembers lying on Gav's lap with his mask on a strip of duct tape covering the hole in their front to control The Assets breathing. Torque's mouth had been like nothing he had ever felt. He remembered panting and crying out moaning and nonsensical as he struggled not to cum before he was allowed to. He had kept wanting to fill his mouth with Gav's cock in return but this was also not allowed. Chest pistoning he saw Torque in his lap bracing himself with his hands behind his back as he  gave The Asset the control to fuck him with. The pounding in his ears as his blood rushed throughout his body his mouth whispering "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" with each breath once the mask had been removed. I: Torque was giving the asset everything he had, he knew he was definitely taking the other to his edge now. There was pre cum dripping down the soldier's chastity and his balls were tightening. Torque moved one hand to the soldier's balls then, massaging them gently without tugging, and letting out a few encouraging moans. It didn't even take that long, he just felt the asset spasming, and there was hot cum all over his face. Torque had a lustful smile on his face as he lapped some of the cum into his mouth, but then he looked up and saw the tears on the asset's face and frowned. "Hey, what's wrong? Did it hurt? Are you ok?" J: "No, no. It's good. You made it feel good a lot of times haven't you? " He replies. His entire body is tingling. He has goose bumps all over and his legs are shaking still. He places his left fingers under Gav's chin and tilts his head up. He leans forward and licks the dribbled of his on cum off Torque's chin. "May I service you? "He breathes with his lips a hair breadth away from Gav's. Still his blood pounds Thump! Thump! Thump! In his ears. I: Gav sighed in relief then and let out a little moan when the asset licked the cum off his face. He got up from his knees and took the asset into a full on, deep and sloppy kiss. "You may, but there's no rush." He said and grabbed the towels next to the asset on the bench, cleaning up his face. "You must be cold... let's go the examination room, there's a big enough bed there and some warm sheets, come on. Do you think you can walk?" He said the last part with a teasing smile. Thankfully the examination room was directly connected to the room they were in at that moment. J: The Asset calmed and complacent and trusting follows Torque to the adjacent room. There is low lighting cause by a bank of small lights under the cupboards over the sink. It caused the room to be filled with cool tones reflecting off the smooth surfaces and absorbed by the softer ones. It had a very so thing effect. His back still hurt but the malfunction had dissipated so there wasn't any more confusion. He waited for Gav to tell him what to do. He was unsure what he should do or could do. Or ask for. Or deserve. I: Gav brought the asset to the room, locking the door on their way, it probably wouldnt bee frowned upon to be caught fucking the asset, but being gentle with him? Would be trouble. Then lead him to the bed there and took his own clothes off. He got in the bed and gestured for the other to follow him. "Come here sweetheart." He said and then laid on top of the soldier, keeping his weight off of him, then kissed him tenderly, while one of his hands reached between his legs. "Can you spread your legs for me?" He whispered against the asset's mouth. J: 'It feels so good to obey when someone is kind as they make orders. If things were like this all the time,  it would be easy and I wouldn't have to hide the frail parts of me.' The Asset spreads his legs and bends them at the knee to make more room between his thighs then whispers "Like this?". He is trying hard to take in as much of Gav as he can before tomorrow comes. 'For now,' he thought, 'let me be with you. ' I: Gav nodded and his dick pulsed just as he watched the soldier spreading his legs. He knew the soldier wasn't actually able to say no, and that doing this was shades of fucked up, but he looked so good, so invinting. He just wanted to make thar man feel good, feel human. "Yeah baby, like that. You're so good." He said and then spit on his fingers, then spread the moisture against the man's hole. "It doesn't hurt here today, right?" He was pretty sure the other handlers hadn't had their way with the soldier this time, probably too freaked out by his malfunction to risk it. J: "No, Sir. It feels... "He said sighing as Torque's fingers caressed and massaged, "...it feels... Uhn! Feels... " and he lost his train of thought. He was quickly losing his words and going to a place where all he heard were commands and opportunities to serve. Everyone who gave him orders were his dominants but this person was his master. The Asset would never falter to please him nor give of himself to him. Usually he is to never look into anyone's eyes unless told to but with Gav he looked. Pools of almost hunter green made him think of the grasses that grew deep in lakes sometimes, secret and quiet. That's what he hungered for after his long periods of time away from him, a chance to go somewhere secret and quiet. To be comforted and used in ways that make his body shiver with bliss. As the warm fingers probed him he sucked in a breath over his teeth and gasped in exhale. I: Gav smiled at the asset's reaction, there were not many things more fulfilling than getting those sounds out of that man. Gav couldn't be prouder of knowing how to play him like an instrument. He sank his finger finger I'm slowly, while kissing the asset's neck slowly. He liked it this way, slow, soft, gentle, the complete opposite to the rest of that tortured man's life. He made eye contact with him and held his breath for a moment. The asset looked at him with those pale blue, almost grey eyes, and he was so vulnerable, so trusting, he truly belonged to Gav, no amount of brain washing could change that. He worked his finger in and out, aiming for the soldier's prostate every time. He pulled back a little and removed his finger. "Wait here a bit, I'm gonna go grab some vaseline." He whispered and pecked the asset before getting up. He came back quickly, and went right back to what he was doing before, adding a second and then a third finger. He took the opportunity to start sucking on the asset's left tit, which was still full. J: Already breathing a bit heavily The Asset's sense of erogenous response went from perhaps a 2 to an 8 rather quickly. Mewling with Gav latched on his nipple and in his ass, he bucked and arched his back leaning further into the man's touch. Flashes of erotic sensation erupted from his prostate over and over. His previous sense of pleasure eminated from his nipple along some hidden road of nerves down his torso and into his pelvis. "Ah! Ahh!! Aaagh! " his cries choked and seperated but long held breathes until they burst free of his chest. He presses his chin downward to try and see Gav's mouth at work. He glimpses his tongue flicking and heat him making small kising noises. I: As if he could sense the asset looking, Gav opened his eyes and looked up. He smiled with the man's nipple still on his mouth, then thrusted his finger in deep, pushing against the asset's prostate until he moaned again. He let go of the man's nipple with a pop and licked over it a few times before he adjusted himself between the soldier's thighs. He slicked his dick with a few strokes while looking at the other. "I'm gonna put it in now, ok? I want you relax for me, I'll do it really slow, it won't hurt at all." He said and lined up the tip of his dick to the asset's hole, pushing it in with his hand rather than moving his hips, slowly and carefully. Once the tip was in he kissed the asset, slow and deep. He slid his dick inside bit by bit, pulling back then in again, until he bottomed out and stayed still. J: Teased nearly to a frenzy The Asset once more nodding vigorously closed his eye and tipped his head back as Gav pushed slowly inside. Much of his pleasure was derived by feeling something stimulate the entrance of his hole and prostate. Torque was gentle as promised. Me moved his hips in slow wide circles doing something to the Asset which was closer to making love than sadistic torture which the The Asset was used to and was completely unfeeling about most if the time. He opened his eyes then looking at Gav and arranged his expression by biting his lower lip with his two front teeth drawing his brows together in an almost frown his eyes wide and guileless. He said in quiet amorous tones "It loves to be played with so nice. It will always be good for you, no questions or fear again. You're the only one It needs. " I: Gav didnt like to hear the soldier talk about himself as if he was a thing, but he couldn't blame him. The man underneath him was strong enough to kill everyone there, but at the same time fragile and small, and yet here he was, pouring his feelings out because Gav made him feel good. The soldier gave him his utmost loyalty because Gav treated him well. He knew he shouldn't, but couldn't keep those words from coming out as he spilled inside the man. "I love you." He said breathlessly, his hips snapping against the asset a few more times, hammering his prostate and ignoring his own discomfort. He needed to push the asset to the edge, wanted him to scape reality for a little longer. "Cum for me baby." J: Gav said a word he hadn't heard in a long time in that context. He had heard "I love how I can stick anything in you... A finger, a cock, a knife..." And he had heard "I love how obedient you are. You make the perfect sexdoll. I love your dead empty eyes." But this way, oh this way made something inside him open up again. "...love... " the words echoed and reverberated off of the residue of memories long hidden away from him. Someone warm on top of him  kissing at his ear gently while they give it to him slow and hard from behind. "I love you I love you I love you... " Being held under his thighs he holds on to the person fucking him around their neck as they stand using momentum to keep him swinging back and forth toward their dick. " I love you, love you, love you... " Gav kissing his lips both of them panting from exertion. "You're eyes are so beautiful. " He had said. But it hurt as well. His heart was hurting because it couldn't stay this way forever. "You're such a very good boy. " Aware once more of his humanity he began to cry. He was going to forget again. He wouldn't remember love anymore. No wires had crossed this time. The reality was life is pain. Sometimes it's bad pain that makes you want to die, sometimes it's good pain and you can't wait for the blood to being flowing. But sometimes it sweet and good to the point it can make one sick, lovesick. Yes, sometimes it's good and you wish everything would stop and that moment would last forever. And when it doesn't, it hurts. Taking hold of his own agency he pulls Torque closer hugging and holding him saying out loud be damned if the others hear,  "I love you! Gav, I love you! " He arched his back then cumming with so much intensity he could feel the pressure releasing as fluid pumped out of his cock spurting up onto his belly and chest. Erotic bliss flushed out into his limbs. Information in his mind crystallized and he knew himself and what was going on. His memories we're still a scramble but he understood what he was hat was going to happen tomorrow and who he was with. He also knew it was futile to fight the circumstances. He also knew he didn't want to fight Torque. His trust remained as did his fondness and attraction. Once more he said "Mmm... Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much for giving me good things to feel. " I: Gav was still on top of the asset, looking down at him with a mix of emotions on his face. "I wish I could make you feel good always." He said, caressing the asset's cheek. "I'm grateful that I get to be alone with you for a moment, but I wish I didn't have to..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He still made no move to pull out or get up. He'd drag this moment out as much as possible. "I can only promise you that when you wake up again I'll be here, and that I'll make you feel good again. I'm sorry soldier." He said and kissed the other slowly and tenderly. "You're so pure... I don't understand how they can do what they do to you. Sometimes I think about doing the impossible, you know? Going to hydra's enemies, telling them everything, and maybe you'd be free. But they... the others wouldn't be any kinder with you." He talked to the asset almost as if he was talking to himself. "I wish you had it in you to just kill everyone here, kill me, and then run away. You could do it right now, but you won't." A single tear fell from Gav's eyes and he let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe one day." J: "No." said The Asset. "If I could choose there would be no killing. But there is no where for me to go. And what if... somewhere else is worse? Maybe you could go and get help but maybe If you are here then I can be here." He doesn't explain there is a part of him which is forever corrupted that would tear each of their heads off, would dance ballet to Ludovico Einaudi's Primavera in their blood and one person in particular he'd use a bone saw on to open a five inch hole in his skull with him alive take out his cock undoubtedly hard with bloodlust and- But there's a fail safe. He would never be able to actually get to the point of killing any member of Hydra without the breaking the mental conditioning first. Instead he asks again "May I service you? You are my only... So let me focus on us, on this. I don't want to think of the other things. Let me just be here, now. " I: Gav nodded quietly, then wrapped his arms around the asset and closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, let's just enjoy this." He whispered and then kissed the asset's cheek. After a bit he finally pulled out of the man and laid on his back beside him. His face was turned toward the other and he smiled a little. "You're beautiful. You know that? You're the most beautiful man I've seen. Sometimes I wish you weren't, maybe if you were an ugly mug they wouldn't do those things to you and you'd be just mine." He reached over and started playing with the asset's hair gently, massaging his scalp. J: "Most times I don't look into mirrors and stuff. I forget what I look like. And when I'm... doing what I have to do to be what they want me to be, I forget what I am entirely. Then you come along. You remind me that there is something to remember to begin with. When I come to like this I can feel again and you make me feel beautiful." Says The Asset rolling onto his side a little and using his right hand to pet and scratch Gav's short beard. As he speaks his hand slides down Torque's chest till his palm rest over the man's heart. "You are beautiful, too. " Already he wishes to lean forward and start kissing a line down from Torque's ear along his neck setting something in motion. But he is becoming tired now that the oxytocin levels are evening out again but the hormonal imbalance still exists so he is still burning with desire. But he now must sleep a while.